Chapter 3: Everything You Were Never Going to Give Me
The dining room felt very large suddenly.
Lorenzo looked at his brother — the same dark eyes, the same jaw, the same hands that had once grabbed his when they were boys crossing a busy street in Rome — and felt the distance between them measured in something other than years.
"Say it plainly," Lorenzo said.
"What did she promise you?"
Nico pushed back from the table slightly.
"Your share of the Moretti holdings." He said it without flinching.
"The portion Father always said would come to me when you married.
The transfer clause."
"That clause requires my signature."
"It requires your signature or your d*ath." Nico's voice didn't waver.
"Those were Father's exact words.
You never read the full document, Lorenzo.
You never read anything you didn't have to."
Lorenzo said nothing.
"Valentina did," Nico continued.
"She found it two years ago.
She came to me six months later."
"And you said yes."
Nico stood up.
"I said yes because I have been standing in your shadow for thirty-four years.
Because Father gave you the company and gave me a monthly allowance like a child.
Because every room I walk into, people ask me how you are." His voice cracked at the edges.
"I am not a footnote, Lorenzo."
"No," Lorenzo said quietly.
"You're a conspirator."
Nico's jaw tightened.
"I didn't want you hurt."
"Then what did you want?"
"I wanted it to look like an accident.
I wanted the clause to trigger.
I wanted what was mine without—" He stopped.
"Without what?"
"Without having to watch you hand it to me out of pity."
The room went still.
Lorenzo stood slowly.
"You sent that message tonight."
Nico didn't deny it.
"Move the plan forward." Lorenzo repeated the words from memory.
"What plan, Nico?
What exactly were you moving forward?"
Nico looked at the table.
"There was a car.
A second car.
Not yours.
It was supposed to intercept the convoy on the highway outside Miami." He exhaled.
"No one was supposed to be hjt.
Just — delayed.
Frightened.
The lawyers were already prepared to file the clause petition the moment the incident was reported."
"The mountain road three months ago."
Nico's eyes came up.
"That wasn't me."
"Then who?"
"That was Valentina.
Alone.
I didn't know until after." He pressed both hands flat on the table.
"I told her it was too far.
I told her I was done."
"But you sent the message tonight."
"Because she threatened Sophia." His voice dropped.
"She told me if I walked away, she would make sure Sophia's name appeared in the investigation.
She would plant something.
She would make it look like Sophia had been passing information to our rivals for years." He looked up.
"Sophia has nothing to do with any of this."
Lorenzo studied his brother's face.
He had known Nico for thirty-four years.
He knew when Nico was lying.
He also knew when Nico was afraid.
"Sit down," Lorenzo said.
Nico sat.
"You're going to tell me everything.
The lawyers.
The clause.
The Miami plan.
Every name."
"And then what?"
Lorenzo picked up his phone.
"And then I decide what you are to me."
Nico flinched as though he'd been struck.
He reached into his jacket pocket and placed a folded document on the table.
"I printed this last night," he said.
"I was going to destroy it this morning.
I couldn't."
Lorenzo unfolded it.
It was a signed agreement between Nico Moretti and Valentina Ricci, dated eight months earlier, witnessed by a name Lorenzo didn't recognize.
A name he intended to know by morning.
He folded it again and put it in his own pocket.
"Marco is outside this door," Lorenzo said.
"You're going to stay in this room until I come back."
"Lorenzo—"
"Don't."
He walked to the door.
"I loved you," Nico said behind him.
"I still do.
That's the part I can't explain."
Lorenzo stopped with his hand on the frame.
He didn't turn around.
"I know," he said.
He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him.
Marco was there, exactly as promised.
"Get someone on that witness name," Lorenzo said, handing him the folded document.
"I want a full identity by six a.m."
Marco took it.
"And Valentina?"
Lorenzo looked toward the east wing.
Her suite light was still on.
A thin line of gold beneath the door at the far end of the corridor.
"Not yet," he said.
"Let her think she's still in control."
Marco nodded.
"One more thing," he said.
"We pulled her phone records.
There's a number she called four times in the last week.
Prepaid.
Untraceable so far."
"But?"
"The calls were made from inside the estate." Marco paused.
"From the landline in the library."
Lorenzo turned slowly.
Only two people used the library landline.
Himself.
May you like
And his estate attorney, Renato Fiore, who kept a standing Thursday appointment there to review documents.
Today was Thursday.
