Chapter 3 - THE BETRAYAL OF MATTEO RIZZO
The penthouse apartment on the top floor of the Vitelli Tower overlooked the Chicago skyline like a concrete throne.
Rain beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows,
washing away the city grime in streaks of gray.
Sophia had fallen asleep in the guest suite upstairs,
exhausted from the sudden upheaval of her quiet institutional life.
Two female security guards stood outside her door with orders to shoot anyone who breathed too loudly.
I sat at my mahogany desk in the study,
a glass of neat bourbon in front of me.
The manila folder from St.
Margaret’s lay open under the desk lamp.
The signature on the intake receipt was forged,
but the routing numbers belonged to an offshore account registered in the Cayman Islands under the name Meridian Holdings.
Meridian was the exact vehicle Matteo Rizzo used to handle my private portfolio.
The heavy oak door to the study unlocked with a soft click.
Matteo stepped inside.
He looked immaculate as always,
wearing a charcoal-gray tailored suit,
silver cufflinks catching the light,
and his salt-and-pepper hair combed back with military precision.
Marco,
he said,
closing the door behind him.
Nico said it was urgent.
He didn’t sound panicked.
He sounded like a man who had prepared for this conversation every day for six years.
Sit down,
Matteo,
I said quietly.
He didn't move.
He looked at the bourbon glass,
then at my face.
You went to St.
Margaret’s today,
didn't you,
Matteo asked.
I did.
And you found her.
I found her,
Matteo.
Sophia ran straight to me,
I said,
every word dripping with ice.
She called me Daddy.
She lived in that damp,
freezing charity home for six years while I searched the globe like a blind dog.
And you knew.
Matteo let out a long,
slow breath.
I did know.
Why,
I asked,
standing up slowly from the desk.
Why did you hide my wife and daughter from me.
Because Alina begged me to,
Matteo said without flinching.
Alina begged you,
I scoffed,
taking a step toward him.
Alina was terrified of you,
Marco!
Matteo shouted back,
his composure finally cracking.
She left the note because your enemies were circling closer every single day!
The Russian syndicate,
the federal indictments,
the car bombings on Michigan Avenue!
You thought you were keeping them safe by putting them in a mansion with armed guards,
but you were keeping them in the crosshairs!
She wanted a normal life for Sophia!
She wanted her to grow up without knowing the smell of cordite and blood!
And you helped her disappear,
I said,
my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Yes,
I did,
Matteo said,
meeting my eyes with fierce loyalty.
I set up the trust.
I funded St.
Margaret’s anonymously.
I checked on them every single week.
I protected them from you because you were too blind to realize that your very existence was a death sentence for your family.
Where is Alina,
I asked,
ignoring his speech entirely.
Matteo went completely still.
What do you mean,
where is she,
Matteo asked,
his voice suddenly hollow.
She dropped Sophia off six years ago,
I said,
narrowing my eyes.
Sister Beatrice said a man dropped her off.
A man with explicit instructions.
That man wasn't Alina,
Matteo.
Matteo’s face turned the color of ash.
No,
he whispered.
Alina was supposed to drop her off herself.
She never came back for her,
did she,
Matteo whispered,
horror dawning in his eyes.
May you like
Alina never made it to St.
Margaret’s.
