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The Grandfather

The memories rushed back in sickening detail. The elderly security guard who had approached her in the lobby weeks before. When Roberto said "old friend" to her during their confrontations. The way some employees acted nervous around this one older man. She had thought it office power dynamics, but never could have believed she was being watched by her own grandfather — a man who she believed was dead, a man whose crimes had cast the long dark shadow over her entire family.

"Get the security footage," Luca said sharply, his voice like shattered glass. “Every camera, every angle for the lasts two months. I want to see everything."

In less than half an hour, they had proof. The man showed up at various spots all around Luca’s docks—all in the background, just places he’d notice but no one else would. He obtained access to sensitive locations using forged identification, some how avoiding security checks. He loitered outside of Luca's office more than once, standing and watching through the glass door like he was a predator waiting. He had been through the building’s administrative chambers, examined floor plans and watched routines.

Val felt violated in a way that sent shivers down her spine, that made her want to shower and never be able to wash away the feeling. A grandfather who had abused her was stalking her, and he had been for weeks. He had been there, observing, measuring, plotting something horrible.

“He got into employee files,” one of Luca’s analysts intoned somberly, face grim. “Medical records, personal data, calendars. He knows your schedule precisely. He knows when you have appointments, what time you get to work, your habits and patterns. He’s examined you like a specimen.”

“Blueprint, literally,” added another analyst, his voice taut with controlled anger. “Security measures, pass codes, weaknesses in the perimeter. He has researched this building as a general might study the landscape of a battlefield ahead of an invasion. This wasn't casual observation. This was reconnaissance."

With that, Luca’s face turned to ice, pure stone. Chu's mistake — his not catching of this infiltration despite the protocols he'd implemented for security — was etched on his being like a scar. He could see that rage there, that mortification of self, the sheer resolve that this would be set right at once.

Elena, watching the footage, gasped. A hand flew to her mouth, as though she had just screamed. "He's planning something. He always does. That is how he has survived this long. He doesn’t take rash or careless actions. He has meticulous designs and careful execution. Whatever he has in mind, it’s already on its way.”

Massimo had made a decision by morning after hours of strategic discussions: they would, yes, make Val bait but it would be monitored and carefully managed bait. Val would publicly go to Antonio's grave, supposedly visiting her father. It would be transmitted to employees, news that would find its way to her grandfather via whatever networks of loyalty he’d built up in the company.

He would come. She’d seem vulnerable, grieving and unfocused, he would think. And they would be prepared, posted in layers around the cemetery — watching at every angle.

Alecia called, demanding to participate. Val refused absolutely.

“If this all goes to hell,” Val said quietly, in a steady voice, “the baby will need family. You have to be alive and protect our child if something happens to me. Promise me you'll stay safe. Promise me."

The goodbye between the sisters was hard and heavy with dreadful alternatives — that “this would be the last time they talked to each other.” They clung to each other across the line, neither wanting to be the one to hang up, both knowing what was at stake.

“I love you,” Alecia whispered, tears in her eyes. "Please be careful. Please come back to me."

"I love you too. I'll be fine. Luca will keep me safe."
\---

Val looked down at her father’s grave; the evergreens cast long, deep shadows in the early mornin light making it met with a dramatic scene. The stones and markers were set up around her in patterns that she and Luca's men could understand—seemingly random, but actually representing something before they all shifted. And snipers were perched in trees with clean shooting lanes. There were agents undercover among the groundskeepers. Scores of armed officers, all watching quietly, all ready to react instantly to any danger.

Luca was further back, his cell phone pinned to his ear, the conductor of this operation with flawless military structure. Every few minutes, his voice crackled in across the concealed earpiece Val wore beneath her coat: reports from various places, updated threats or not-threats, affirmations that every position was still secure and primed.

Hours passed slowly. The sun rose further into the sky. The tension rose with every minute, every increment of normalcy that still seemed more and more surreal. They were on the point of abandoning the enterprise when an old man entered the glade, hobbling along.

He walked as if he was in no hurry at all, as if there were nowhere else he had to be. His grey hair was sparse, his face wrinkled and lined by years, but those eyes -those eyes were bright and deranged with that predatory focus firmly on Val.
Marco De Santis. Her grandfather. Isabella's father. The man who had amassed a fortune off the backs of suffering children and broken families.

He moved slowly and there was nothing tentative or afraid in his walk as he came toward her like a man walking through his own house.

“Hallo, Valentina,” he said, his voice bearing the posh accent of someone who has attended fancy schools all over Europe. "You favor my Isabella so much. It's remarkable, really. The resemblance is almost complete."

“Keep away from me,” Val said, her voice sounding calm despite her fear, her heart beating the brink of beat with adrenaline.

“Is that any way to treat family?” he called out, walking down with an easy confidence. "I'm your grandfather. The only true blood you still have after Antonio.”

He shifted even closer, and it was there in his eyes—his merciless certainty; a man who considered himself above any possible retribution.

“I wrecked nothing,” Marco declared, starting his monologue in the manner of one used to total subservient obedience. "I built something meaningful. An empire of clear-eyed appraisal of the hard facts of existence. Your mother—Isabella—she was weak. It was unbearable to her that sometimes hard things are required. That children. … ” He hesitated, looking for the right words.
"Children are resources. And you should use resources to best effect.”

Val's stomach twisted with revulsion.

“She killed herself because she couldn’t stand the thought of what I have to do,” Marco added. “Because she was broken by her weakness and morality. And now you, with your mother’s frailty in all your blood! You're pregnant, yes? With a child reared under sentiment and cant?”

He stepped closer still. "I'll protect you from repeating her errors. That little thing you’ve got there, I’ll bring it up right.’ How I should have raised my daughters. Strength. Discipline. Knowledge of the real picture of the world. Power."

“You’re deranged,” Val said, disgust that was undeniable. “My kid is never seeing you. Never."

Marco smiled—an unnatural smile devoid of warmth or humanity, which seemed to display something old and evil. "We'll see about that, granddaughter."

He lifted his hand and heard the screams: faint, but unmistakable—from the direction of the safe house where Alecia was being kept.

Luca’s radio sputtered with frantic, panicked voices: “Breach at Safe House Beta! Multiple hostiles! They were coming in from the eastern edge, we didn’t see them until—”

“It’s a decoy,” Luca recognized at once, and his words rang like metal.

Marco laughed, but not in his usual fake victorious laugh. “Did you believe I was all alone once again, granddaughter? While you are trolling games in this graveyard, my people are extracting the other twin. One of you is all I really need. But Alecia… well, she's given me plenty of trouble already."

“Val!” Luca’s cry into his radio echoed the struggle between rescuing Val and saving Alecia. The men scattered around the cemetery made a beeline for Marco, but all he did was raise his phone and issue an even-tempered command.

The bullet-flower burst in the graveyard— not a shot at Val or Luca, but covering fire to hold their positioned men’s heads down and prevent them from advancing. Marco walked through the frantic mobs, directly toward Val, looking serene.

"Come, granddaughter," he said something almost gently. “Or I will have your sister murdered, your friends slaughtered, and all you hold dear wiped out. You have, oh let's say thirty seconds to make up your mind."

Chaos had broken out in the cemetery.