Chapter 4 - The Betrayal Inside Matteo’s House
Matteo’s younger brother, Luca, had died six years earlier.
Officially, he drowned when his car went through the railing of a bridge outside Milwaukee. Matteo had identified the body himself. The funeral had been private, the casket closed.
Yet someone had used Luca’s old security credentials to enter Martin’s hospital floor.
The camera footage showed a man wearing a medical mask and baseball cap. He kept his head lowered, but his height and build matched Luca’s records.
“That does not mean he is alive,” Matteo said.
We stood in the mansion’s security room while technicians replayed the video.
“It means somebody wants you to think he is,” I replied.
Matteo’s face revealed nothing, but his right hand curled into a fist.
Luca had not merely been his brother. He had been Matteo’s closest friend, the only person in the Falcone family who wanted to turn their operations completely legitimate.
Three months before his death, Luca had accused Victor Salazar of stealing from family accounts.
Then Luca died.
Victor remained.
I stared at the blurred figure on the screen.
“Did anyone investigate the crash?”
“Victor handled it.”
“Of course he did.”
Matteo looked at me.
“You say his name as if it tastes unpleasant.”
“It does.”
The Zurich key opened a deposit box registered to a corporation that had been dissolved five years earlier. Matteo arranged for a trusted attorney to access it.
Inside were transaction records showing millions of dollars taken from Falcone shipping companies and moved into shell corporations controlled by the Maro family.
Isabella’s family.
But the final document was more disturbing.
It was a life-insurance policy taken out on Matteo.
The beneficiary was a holding company owned jointly by Isabella and Victor.
The policy would become active upon Matteo’s marriage.
“They never intended for the marriage to last,” I said.
Matteo stood motionless beside the library table.
“They intended it to last long enough.”
Once Matteo married Isabella, she would gain legal access to specific family assets. If he died after the wedding, the Maros would control shipping routes worth billions.
Framing me served two purposes.
First, the scandal made Matteo appear distracted and emotionally unstable.
Second, the theft from his charity would justify an internal investigation, allowing Victor to move money and destroy records under the excuse of protecting the Falcone organization.
The mistaken ring had not been part of their plan.
I had been meant to appear in photographs speaking privately with Matteo later in the evening. Victor would then leak false evidence of an affair.
But the coordinator had pushed me onto the stage too early.
Instead of a secret mistress, I became the woman Matteo appeared to choose publicly.
The mistake brought immediate attention to me before the fraudulent money could move.
It forced the conspiracy into daylight.
“Why did Isabella order me dragged out?” I asked.
“To make you appear guilty,” Matteo said.
“No. She looked genuinely furious.”
“She was humiliated.”
“She was frightened.”
I remembered the coffee stain on her glove and the warning she had given me.
You should have kept walking out of that ballroom.
“Isabella knew the plan,” I said, “but she didn’t know Victor intended to put the ring on me.”
Matteo’s eyes sharpened.
“You think Victor changed the cue without telling her.”
“I think he wanted photographs that would destroy both of us and weaken her position too.”
“Why weaken his partner?”
“Because people who plan to betray one powerful family rarely stop at one.”
Matteo summoned Isabella to the mansion.
She arrived wearing a white wool coat and carrying no handbag. Two Maro security vehicles waited outside the gates.
The three of us met in the formal sitting room.
Isabella looked at me.
“You’re living here now?”
“For my protection.”
“How convenient.”
Matteo placed copies of the insurance policy on the table.
Her face changed when she saw Victor’s signature beside hers.
“I have never seen this.”
“Your company is named as beneficiary,” he said.
“My father controls dozens of holding companies.”
“Your personal signature appears on the final page.”
“It was copied.”
“Like Amelia’s?”
Isabella looked at me again.
For the first time, her hostility seemed mixed with uncertainty.
“You think I’m being framed too,” she said.
“I think Victor intends to leave no one alive who can challenge him,” I replied.
She laughed, but the sound was thin.
“Victor has served Matteo’s family for decades.”
“So did Judas,” I said.
Matteo glanced at me.
“What? I went to Catholic school.”
Isabella crossed the room toward the windows.
“My father arranged this engagement when Matteo and I were teenagers. It was delayed repeatedly because neither family trusted the other enough to combine assets.”
“Why agree now?” I asked.
“My father’s health is failing. He wants the Maro name protected before he dies.”
“And you?”
She turned.
“I wanted control over my own life.”
“By marrying a man you don’t love?”
“Love is a luxury women in my family are not encouraged to request.”
For the first time, Isabella Maro looked less like a villain and more like a prisoner wearing expensive clothes.
Then Matteo asked about the stage coordinator.
Isabella’s expression closed again.
“She contacted me a week before the gala. She said someone had altered the schedule and instructed her to place Amelia near the stage.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Matteo asked.
“Because I believed it was a minor attempt to embarrass me.”
“You ordered security to remove Amelia.”
“I needed the room to believe I was in control.”
“And the coffee on your glove?”
Isabella looked down at her bare hands.
“I confronted the coordinator behind the curtain. She panicked and spilled it.”
“Did Victor see you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then he knew she had spoken to you.”
Silence settled across the room.
The coordinator died the next morning.
Isabella’s face lost its color.
“You think Victor killed her.”
“I think he removes people who become inconvenient,” I said.
A gunshot sounded outside.
Matteo pulled Isabella and me behind the marble fireplace as his guards rushed through the doors.
More shots struck the windows, but the glass held.
Matteo covered us both until the security chief announced that the shooter had fled into the woods.
One guard was injured in the shoulder but remained conscious.
A black envelope had been attached to the outer gate.
Inside was a photograph of Matteo and Isabella signing their engagement contract.
Someone had drawn a line through Matteo’s face.
On the back were four words.
The wedding happens Friday.
“That’s three days away,” Isabella said.
Matteo tore the photograph in half.
“There will be no wedding.”
“There has to be,” I said.
Both of them stared at me.
“Victor believes the ceremony is still necessary,” I continued. “That means he has not secured everything he needs.”
“You want us to continue?” Isabella asked.
“I want him to believe you will.”
Matteo’s voice became sharp.
“No.”
“You said we needed proof.”
“I will not use a public ceremony as a trap.”
“He is already using it as one.”
“And you expect to be there?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Isabella folded her arms.
“For once, I agree with her.”
Matteo looked between us.
“This alliance is deeply irritating.”
“We have that in common,” Isabella said.
The plan was dangerous but simple.
The engagement ceremony would proceed on Friday, publicly described as a private wedding rehearsal. Matteo and Isabella would appear prepared to sign the final marriage agreement.
Meanwhile, I would examine the original gala seating plans, charity records, and staff schedules to identify Victor’s remaining accomplices.
Isabella supplied access to Maro financial files.
For two days, the three of us worked together.
The more I learned about Isabella, the less simple she became.
She was cruel when frightened, proud when cornered, and trained from childhood to believe vulnerability was a fatal weakness. She had not created the conspiracy, but she had agreed to hide parts of it because she feared her father.
That did not excuse what she had done to me.
It explained it.
On Thursday evening, Isabella entered the library while I was alone.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
I waited.
“I judged you because it was easier than admitting I was afraid.”
“That is not much of an apology.”
She exhaled.
“I am sorry I ordered guards to drag you out. I am sorry I allowed reporters to attack your appearance. And I am sorry I sent that legal threat.”
“Better.”
“I still don’t like you.”
“The feeling has survived.”
Unexpectedly, she smiled.
Then she placed a small flash drive on the table.
“I found this in my father’s private office.”
It contained audio files of Victor speaking with a man whose voice had been electronically distorted. They discussed moving assets after Matteo’s death.
One sentence repeated throughout the recordings.
Luca’s credentials will open the final door.
“We need to know what that means,” I said.
Matteo entered behind us.
His face hardened when he heard the audio.
“There is a vault beneath the old freight terminal,” he said. “My father stored original ownership documents there.”
“Who can open it?”
“Luca and I were the only biometric keys.”
“But Luca is dead,” Isabella whispered.
Matteo looked toward the dark windows.
“Then someone has his hand.”
The mansion lights went out.
A second later, the security alarms began screaming.
In the darkness, someone grabbed Isabella.
She shouted once.
By the time the emergency lights came on, she was gone.
A message had been written across the window in red lipstick.
BRING AMELIA TO THE TERMINAL.
Matteo read the words.
Then he turned toward me.
“You are not going.”
I picked up Isabella’s abandoned coat.
May you like
“Yes,” I said. “I am.”
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