Chapter 7 - THE VOTE AGAINST A KING
For the first time, I believed Matteo without wanting to.
The engraving was too convenient.
Too clean.
Someone had placed his initials on Isabella’s medal to make sure I found them.
Three years late.
Inside a locker Isabella had created before she died.
That meant the medal had been added afterward.
Carlo was not merely hiding his betrayal.
He was choosing who I would blame.
“Who knew Matteo’s full baptismal name?” Marco asked.
Half the old family, unfortunately.
Matteo’s jaw hardened.
“This is bait.”
“Yes,” I said.
“For me?”
“For both of us.”
If I turned on Matteo, the Duca family split.
If Matteo defended himself, he looked guilty.
Carlo understood hierarchy.
He understood grief.
Worst of all, he understood me.
Back at the estate, Dr. Hart was smiling.
Actually smiling.
“Lucas’s cardiac rhythm is almost normal.”
I stopped walking.
“How normal?”
“Normal enough that I’m removing continuous monitoring this afternoon if he remains stable.”
For months, every medical conversation had taken something from me.
This one gave something back.
I entered his bedroom.
The machine was still there.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
But now Lucas was sitting cross-legged eating toast.
Toast.
I nearly laughed.
Emma sat beside him reading from a dinosaur book.
He looked up.
“Dad, I’m hungry.”
I had watched powerful men beg for mercy without feeling what those four words did to me.
“What do you want?”
“Pancakes.”
“Done.”
“With blueberries.”
“Done.”
Emma raised a hand.
“I like chocolate chips.”
Clara immediately said, “Emma.”
“What?”
Lucas giggled.
The sound filled a room that had forgotten children were supposed to laugh.
I went downstairs and told the kitchen to make enough pancakes for the entire third floor.
Then Marco found me.
“Carlo called the south capos.”
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Where?”
“Marconi Social Club.”
“He’s forcing the vote early.”
Of course he was.
Lucas was improving.
His window was closing.
“How many?”
“At least seven capos are going.”
“Supporters?”
“Not necessarily. Some want to hear him.”
I changed into a dark suit.
When I reached the stairs, Lucas was standing at the top.
Standing.
Weakly.
Holding the railing.
Clara was behind him, terrified he would fall.
I climbed to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you Captain.”
He held out the bear.
“Again?”
“You need him more.”
I took Captain.
Lucas whispered, “Are you scared?”
I could have told him no.
I had lied that way to adults my whole life.
“Yes.”
His little face softened.
“Me too sometimes.”
Then he hugged me.
No speech.
No lesson.
Just six-year-old arms around my neck.
I carried that into Marconi Social Club.
Twenty-eight men were waiting.
Capos.
Crew leaders.
Union intermediaries.
Old soldiers who had served my father.
Carlo stood at the head of the room.
Gray suit.
Perfect hair.
Shiny black shoes.
Emma had described him accurately.
He smiled when he saw Captain beneath my arm.
“Interesting accessory.”
“My son loaned him to me.”
A few men looked away.
Carlo smiled wider.
“That is exactly the problem.”
There it was.
He wanted them to see softness.
So I let him.
I put Captain on the table.
“Go ahead.”
Carlo addressed the room.
“Duca operations have been frozen for months. Bellandi has expanded north. Union contracts are slipping. Lorenzo misses meetings because he is home playing nurse.”
Nobody moved.
Carlo continued.
“We respect grief. We respect family. But a family this large cannot be governed from a sickroom.”
I watched faces.
Some agreed.
That hurt.
Not because they were disloyal.
Because parts of what he said were true.
I had disappeared.
Lucas became my entire world.
And I had left other men to fill the empty space.
Carlo spread his hands.
“I am asking for temporary operational authority until Lorenzo’s situation stabilizes.”
Vincent Orsini spoke.
“His son is improving.”
Carlo’s expression flickered.
Only once.
“How would you know?”
“I asked.”
Another capo said, “We all heard the boy was terminal.”
Carlo looked at me.
“Yes. Tragic.”
I took the amber bottle from my pocket.
Set it beside Captain.
“My son was poisoned.”
Nobody breathed.
Carlo stared at the bottle.
Good.
For once, he had not anticipated everything.
I explained the compound.
Celia.
Warehouse Fourteen.
The missing charity shipments.
I did not mention Isabella yet.
Carlo listened.
Then laughed softly.
“You believe I poisoned a child because a frightened nurse used my name?”
Marco stepped forward.
“We recovered the bottles from your warehouse.”
“Which dozens of people access.”
“And she collected them there.”
“According to her.”
Carlo was good.
That was why he had lasted so long.
Then he turned to the room.
“Ask Lorenzo who approved the first medical shipments through Warehouse Fourteen.”
He looked at Matteo.
Every eye followed.
Matteo stood.
“I did.”
Murmurs.
Carlo smiled.
“Ask who suppressed the photograph of Anthony Bellandi beside Isabella’s car.”
Matteo said nothing.
“Ask who sent Rosa Marin away.”
Again silence.
Carlo spread his hands.
“You want a traitor? There he is.”
The room changed.
This was Carlo’s real weapon.
Not poison.
History.
Matteo’s secrecy.
My anger.
The family’s doubt.
I looked at Matteo.
He could have defended himself.
Instead he said, “Everything he said about my choices is true.”
Carlo blinked.
Matteo continued.
“I approved the warehouse route. I hid evidence. I moved Rosa. I believed secrecy would protect this family.”
His eyes found mine.
“I was wrong.”
No excuses.
That mattered.
Then Dominic entered the room.
Two guards behind him.
Carlo’s smile disappeared.
Dominic faced the capos.
“I opened the estate gate for Celia Warren.”
Whispers spread.
“She told me she carried private treatment for Lucas. Carlo told me to allow her through.”
Carlo snapped, “A disgraced security chief will say anything.”
Dominic nodded.
“Yes.”
That quiet agreement confused everyone.
“I disgraced myself.”
He looked at me.
“I was afraid of losing my position. So I chose secrecy instead of Lorenzo.”
Then he faced Carlo.
“But I did not choose you.”
Carlo’s confidence thinned.
Vincent asked the question that mattered.
“Carlo, did you supply the bottles?”
“No.”
The door opened again.
Dr. Hart walked in.
Not alone.
Celia stood beside her.
White-faced.
Terrified.
But standing.
She held one object.
Carlo’s gold cigarette case.
I had seen it a thousand times.
C.V. engraved on the front.
Celia placed it on the table.
“You gave me the first bottle inside this.”
Carlo stared.
She opened the case.
Beneath the velvet lining was a blue-rose sticker matching every bottle.
Not enough alone.
But combined with everything else?
The room had decided.
Carlo knew it.
His shoulders lowered.
He looked at me.
“All this because you found poison?”
“No.”
“All this because a child counted spoons?”
Emma.
Yes.
A child he had never considered important.
Carlo laughed once.
Then something sad entered his expression.
“You think this family will become cleaner because you caught me?”
“No.”
“I watched your father build half this territory with fear.”
“So did I.”
“And now your son gets sick and suddenly you discover morality?”
That hit closer than he intended.
I stepped nearer.
“No. My son got sick and I discovered attention.”
Silence.
“That is different.”
Carlo looked at the men around him.
“You want the truth?”
I waited.
“I kept Lucas weak.”
Nobody moved.
“But I did not order Isabella’s car destroyed.”
My blood went cold.
Carlo continued.
“She was a problem. I wanted her frightened.”
Matteo stared at him.
“What did you do?”
“I had Anthony block the alternate road.”
Thomas had told the truth.
“I sent someone to disable her car so she would stop investigating.”
“What someone?”
Carlo smiled.
Not triumphantly.
Bitterly.
“You still don’t understand.”
He looked directly at Matteo.
“The man I sent never reached her car.”
Matteo’s face changed.
Carlo turned back to me.
“When Isabella drove away that night, the bomb was already there.”
The room vanished around me.
“Who put it there?”
Carlo’s answer was quiet.
“That is the one thing your wife figured out before any of us.”
May you like
He pointed at Captain.
“Look behind the bear’s left eye.”
