Chapter 142 Fiorella
The warehouse smelled of gun oil and metal, sharp, sterile, and grounding. I stood by the table, watching my men unload the latest shipment of modified pistols and custom rifles, each one gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights, the black steel catching reflections of movement. My mind wasn't here, though. Not really.
Leo stood beside me, clipboard in hand, running inventory in his usual quiet precision. "Two cases of Berettas, one crate of silencers," he murmured, ticking boxes.
But my mind kept drifting. Every time my phone buzzed in my pocket, my pulse jumped-half expecting him.
N.
Since the last message, the mysterious number had been silent.
At first, I thought it was some kind of sick joke. I had dismissed it, turned my focus back to business, but the words kept echoing in my head like a whisper I couldn’t shut off.
I had been told my mother was dead, didn’t really remember my memories with her but why all of a sudden I am getting messages thst suggests otherwise.
But something in that message, it was too confident, too sure. Like whoever N was, he knew something I didn’t.
“Leo,” I said suddenly, pulling my gloves off. My voice sounded strange, even to me, uncertain.
He looked up immediately. “What is it?”
“My mother,” I started, then hesitated. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest. “You were with my father when she died. You helped handle the funeral arrangements, didn’t you?”
He nodded slowly, cautious. "Yes. I remember that time well.”
“Did you ever see her body?”
The question made him still, pen at an angle in the air, and furrows creased his brow. “What do you mean?”
"I mean, did you see her body?" I pressed, stepping closer. "Not just the coffin, Leo. Her face. Did you see it?"
He frowned, visibly trying to recall. “No… your father handled it privately. He didn’t want anyone around. Only said she passed suddenly and needed to be buried quickly. I assumed…”
“You assumed,” I cut in, my tone sharper than I meant it to be.
His eyes met mine, realization slowly dawning. "You think she's alive?"
“I don't know,” I whispered, rubbing my temple. “But someone keeps contacting me. Someone who knows things—details they shouldn't. They called themselves N. They said I look like her… and they hinted that I should ask Phillipe where my mother is.”
Leo's face hardened. "Phillipe?"
“Yeah,” I exhaled. “Which makes no sense, because what could he possibly have to do with my mother?
“Fiorella,” Leo said carefully, “if what you’re saying is true, then someone’s playing a very dangerous game. Don’t let them get into your head. We’ll look into it discreetly.”
I nodded, but my mind was already racing.
I retreated into my office once I had finished up at the warehouse. The blinds were drawn, and the dim amber light from the desk lamp made the room feel like its own small world. I opened my laptop and fingers flew across the keys, running searches through the encrypted network.
Nek.
Whispers of the name would pop up again and again, from dark web forums, through anonymous transactions, encrypted communications related to southern Italy's smuggling operations.
But no picture, no clear identity, only a trail of shadows.
Whoever N was, he was good, too good for a trail to be easily found. Every digital thread that I pursued ended up being tangled in someone else's server, someone else's file, until my screen felt like a maze of ghosts.
At one point, I leaned back, exhaling hard. My neck hurt, having been tense for who knows how long. I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath.
My phone buzzed on the desk. I froze for a heartbeat.
It wasn’t N. It was Rocco.
Rocco: Checking on you. Did you eat?
Me: Barely, too much work. You?
Rocco: Still alive, but barely. Miss you, bella. I'll make you eat when I get back.
Me: Promises, promises.
His reply came with a picture, his hand on a steering wheel and his watch gleaming in the night lights: simple, steady, grounding.
For a moment, my chest eased. Rocco had that effect on me, this strange ability to calm storms I didn't even realize I was standing in.
A few minutes later, he called. I put him on speaker and leaned back in my chair.
“You sound tired,” he said, and his voice was low and warm through the line.
"I've been better," I admitted. "N is back."
“The bastard who's been texting you?”
“Yes. But he's gone quiet for now. Still…” I paused. “I’ve been trying to find out things about him, about my mother too, I asked Leo, and he didn't actually see her body. Isn't that strange?”
There was silence on the other end. Then, “Fiorella… your father was a complicated man. Secrets were like air to him. If this person knows something, we'll find out, but not through panic. I'll handle it.”
“I’m not panicking,” I said softly, though my grip on the phone tightened.
“No,” he said gently, “you’re not. You’re just thinking too much again.”
I could almost see the faint smirk on his lips.
I smiled faintly. "Guilty."
“I'll come by soon,” he added. “We'll talk properly. For now, lock your door and get some sleep. Promise me.”
“Alright,” I said, even though I knew I wouldn’t.
After hanging up, I sat for a long time, staring at the faint reflection of my face in the screen of my laptop. The only sounds in the room were the hum of electricity and the beating of my heart.
Something didn’t feel right deep inside, a tension I couldn't name.
Just as I was about to shut down the computer, there came a soft ping from my phone.
Phillipe
That text preview made my stomach drop.
P: Dear niece, prepare for the biggest shock of your life.
My fingers went numb.
The room suddenly felt too small.
I gazed at the message until my screen dimmed, my reflection staring back with eyes wide and pulse thundering.
Phillipe.
Did he really know something or he was messing with me?
Could it be? Was my mother really… alive? And if she was-why the hell was he hiding it? The phone buzzed again. One more message appeared, just a single word that made my blood run cold.
N: We’ll see. Soon.