Chapter 8 - The Captain at the TableMatteo had eaten at Lucia’s table every Christmas.
That was the thought she could not shake.
Not the gunshot.
Not the smoke.
Not the broken locket.
Christmas.
Matteo laughing beside the fireplace, accepting a second slice of Lucia’s orange cake, kissing her cheek in the old-country style while calling her “Signora” with warm respect.
He had brought flowers when Lucia miscarried three years earlier.
White roses.
Nico had been unreachable that morning, trapped in negotiations in New York. Matteo had arrived instead, solemn and gentle, telling her Nico was on his way.
Lucia remembered gripping those roses and crying in the upstairs bathroom so no one would hear.
Now she wondered whether Matteo had reported the exact sound of her grief to someone else.
The safe house felt colder when they returned.
Marion locked the door behind them. Ben secured the camera feeds. Evie placed a medical kit on the table and forced Nico into a chair despite his objections.
Lucia stood near the fireplace, holding the two halves of her mother’s locket.
The paper was gone.
Matteo had taken the deposit box number.
The first piece of the ledger was now exposed.
Worse, Matteo had the head start.
Nico sat with blood drying near his hairline while Evie cleaned the wound none too gently.
“You move, I make it uglier,” she said.
Nico glared.
Evie glared back.
Lucia might have enjoyed it under different circumstances.
Raffaele stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back.
Old soldiers knew when to disappear into corners. Lucia wondered how many wars he had survived by becoming furniture until it was time to become a knife.
Clara sat wrapped in a blanket on the far side of the room.
No one trusted her enough to let her leave.
No one trusted her enough to let her sit close.
She looked smaller now.
Without the cashmere, the bracelet, the borrowed place beside Nico’s fire, Clara seemed less like a rival and more like a woman who had made too many bargains with men who collected interest in blood.
Lucia faced Nico.
“How long has Matteo worked for you?”
Nico did not answer immediately.
Raffaele did.
“Since he was seventeen.”
Nico’s jaw tightened.
“My father brought him in.”
Lucia laughed without humor.
“Of course he did.”
Everything began with fathers.
Nico’s father.
Her father.
Clara’s father.
Men who died and left their children to clean up debts disguised as legacy.
Ben entered with his laptop.
“I pulled Matteo’s access history. He’s been copying route documents, legal filings, and account maps for at least eleven months.”
Nico’s expression stayed controlled, but Lucia saw the muscle jump in his cheek.
“He had access to everything,” Ben said. “Security rotations. Private travel. Medical appointments.”
Lucia’s hand went to her stomach.
Nico noticed.
His eyes darkened dangerously.
“He knew Lucia’s doctor?”
Ben nodded.
“He viewed the schedule twice.”
Nico stood.
Evie snapped, “Sit down.”
This time, Nico did not listen.
Raffaele moved from the window.
“Nico.”
The use of his first name stopped him.
Not because Raffaele outranked him.
Because Raffaele had known him since he was a boy.
Nico turned slowly.
Raffaele said, “Rage later. Think now.”
The room went silent.
No one spoke to Nico that way.
Lucia watched her husband’s face.
For one moment, he looked like the boy he must have been before power hardened around him.
Then the boss returned.
“Where would Matteo go?”
Clara lifted her head.
“To Sofia.”
Everyone looked at her.
Nico’s voice was ice.
“If Sofia is his daughter, why would he run toward her?”
“Because she isn’t just his daughter,” Clara whispered. “She’s his insurance.”
Lucia crossed the room.
“Explain.”
Clara swallowed.
“Matteo found out about the ledger before I did. He knew my father had hidden part of it. He seduced me to get close to whatever Voss records remained.”
Nico’s face tightened.
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Yes, Nico. I know. I have terrible taste in men.”
Lucia did not smile.
“When was Sofia born?”
“Six years ago.”
Nico looked away.
Lucia saw guilt there.
Not paternity.
Guilt.
Clara continued.
“Matteo used us. When I got pregnant, he disappeared for months. Then he came back with money, promises, protection. He said if I helped him recover the ledger, we could leave. Clean passports. New names. Sofia would be safe.”
Evie folded her arms.
“And you believed him?”
Clara’s eyes flashed.
“I was twenty-four with a baby and dead father’s creditors at my door. Belief was cheaper than rent.”
Lucia absorbed that.
Not forgiveness.
Understanding.
Those were different.
“Why come back to Nico?” Lucia asked.
Clara looked at him.
“Because Matteo got impatient. He wanted access to Nico’s revived Voss accounts. I needed someone powerful enough to scare him.”
Nico’s voice was low.
“You told me Greco’s men were after you.”
“They were.”
Elena had stayed behind at St. Agnes, but her shadow seemed to pass through the room.
Clara looked down.
“Everyone was after me.”
Lucia touched the broken locket.
“And last night? Sitting in my chair?”
Clara’s face crumpled.
“I hated you.”
The honesty was sharp.
“You had the name. The house. The baby. The respectability. Nico looked at you like you were something clean he wanted to deserve.”
Lucia’s laugh was soft and wounded.
“He brought you into my home and told me to accept you.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.” Lucia stepped closer. “Because for you, that night was revenge. For me, it was the end of the life I thought I had.”
Clara lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
Lucia did not answer.
Sorry was too small a boat for an ocean that large.
Ben cleared his throat.
“I found something else. Matteo’s last known device pinged near Atlantic Commonwealth Bank.”
Evie looked at the clock.
“Bank opens in forty minutes.”
Nico grabbed his coat.
Lucia moved toward the door too.
“No,” Nico said immediately.
Lucia stopped.
The room braced.
Nico seemed to realize his mistake at the same time everyone else did.
He exhaled.
“Please,” he said, forcing the word through pride. “Don’t come. Matteo is dangerous.”
Lucia looked at him.
“So was my husband. I came to breakfast anyway.”
His eyes tightened.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserved worse.”
“Yes.”
The simple admission startled her.
Nico stepped closer but kept distance between them.
“I can’t undo last night.”
“No.”
“I can’t undo Clara.”
“No.”
“I can’t undo the marriage beginning in my father’s plans.”
Lucia’s throat tightened.
“Also no.”
“But I can stop Matteo before he reaches our child through you.”
Our child.
The words landed differently now.
Lucia wanted to reject them.
The baby moved.
Her daughter did not care about pride, betrayal, ledgers, or power. She needed a mother who survived and a world that did not consume her before birth.
Lucia straightened.
“Then stop telling me where I’m allowed to stand.”
Nico’s mouth closed.
Good.
Lucia looked at Ben.
“Can we reach the bank before Matteo opens the box?”
“Maybe,” Ben said. “But if he has the number, he still needs authorization. Deposit boxes require ID.”
Evie frowned.
“Unless someone at the bank is compromised.”
Ben looked grim.
“This bank appears in the old ledger excerpts. So yes. Very possible.”
Raffaele stepped forward.
“I know the old waterfront branch.”
Nico looked at him.
“You’re not coming.”
Raffaele smiled faintly.
“Young men always think old men ask permission.”
Lucia almost smiled.
Nico did not.
But he did not argue.
They left in two cars.
Marion insisted on driving Lucia, Evie, and Clara. Nico, Raffaele, and two men followed in a black SUV. For once, Nico did not demand Lucia ride with him.
That small restraint unsettled her more than control would have.
As the cars moved through Boston’s wet morning streets, Lucia looked at Clara beside her.
“Is Sofia really safe?”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
Lucia believed her.
At 8:52, they reached Atlantic Commonwealth Bank’s old waterfront branch.
The building stood between a shuttered seafood warehouse and a luxury condo construction site. Granite columns. Brass doors. Security cameras.
Too quiet.
Ben’s voice came through Evie’s phone.
“I’m blind inside. Their camera system is offline.”
Nico’s SUV stopped behind them.
Lucia stepped out before anyone could open her door.
The bank doors were unlocked.
That was wrong.
Banks did not open early for ordinary customers.
Nico reached Lucia’s side.
For once, he did not touch her.
“Stay behind me.”
Lucia gave him a look.
He corrected himself.
“Please.”
That was new.
They entered together.
The lobby was empty.
No tellers.
No customers.
No guards.
Only a faint alarm beeped somewhere in the back.
On the marble floor near the safe deposit corridor lay a man in a security uniform, unconscious but breathing.
Evie checked him.
“Alive.”
Nico moved toward the vault.
Then a voice came from behind the open steel door.
“Boss. Signora. You made good time.”
Matteo stepped into view.
He held a small metal box in one hand.
In the other, a gun.
Beside him stood a bank manager with trembling hands.
And in front of Matteo, held by the shoulder, was a little girl with dark blonde curls.
Sofia.
Clara made a sound like her soul had torn.
May you like
Matteo smiled.
“Careful now. We’re all family here.”
