Chapter 7 - Uncle Matteo
Giulietta crossed the kitchen in six seconds.
Every staff exit stood open.
A chef pressed a towel against a cut on his forehead. A dishwasher crouched beneath a prep table. One Marconi guard lay unconscious near the loading door.
“Who touched him?” Giulietta asked.
“No one,” Enzo said. “He was hit from behind.”
Giulietta crouched beside the guard.
His earpiece was missing.
His gun was still holstered.
Professional.
Quiet.
Not Hale style.
Preston liked noise too much.
A security monitor flickered back to life above the pantry door.
Enzo rewound the feed.
Luca appeared on screen at 9:14.
Alive. Unhurt. Walking willingly beside two men wearing Marconi lapel pins.
Giulietta leaned closer.
She knew both faces.
Sal Marino.
Tommy D’Angelo.
Matteo’s old crew.
She turned.
Matteo had followed them into the kitchen with two guards at his back.
His mouth opened.
Giulietta hit him.
One clean punch across the jaw.
The room froze.
Matteo touched his lip.
“You finished?”
“Not close.”
She pointed at the monitor.
“Your men.”
“They stopped working for me four years ago.”
“They still wear your pins.”
“Anybody can wear a pin.”
Giulietta stepped closer.
“Anybody can reactivate my father’s account. Anybody can fund Keller through your corporation. Anybody can know the sedative dose. You have terrible luck.”
Matteo’s nostrils flared.
“If I took Luca, why would I stand here and let you watch the tape?”
“To make me think exactly that.”
A phone rang from the stainless-steel prep table.
Luca’s phone.
Giulietta had forgotten one of the guards placed it there after finding it near the ballroom.
The screen showed VIDEO CALL - UNKNOWN.
She answered.
Luca filled the screen.
His wrists were tied behind a metal chair. Blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow. Gray concrete wall behind him. One hanging bulb.
“Luca.”
His eyes snapped toward the phone.
“G—”
A gloved hand struck him across the mouth.
Giulietta’s grip tightened so hard her knuckles whitened.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Finish the wedding.”
She looked at Matteo.
His face had changed.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for Luca.
Real or performed, she could not tell.
“Who are you?” Giulietta asked.
“You know the deal.”
“There is no deal.”
The pistol entered the frame and rested beside Luca’s temple.
His breathing went shallow.
Giulietta’s own did not change.
“Sixty minutes,” the voice said. “Marry Preston Hale. Sign the license. Complete the ceremony.”
“And if I don’t?”
The muzzle pressed into Luca’s skin.
“Your brother dies first.”
The call ended.
Giulietta stood perfectly still.
Behind her, Preston laughed from the doorway.
She turned slowly.
He had escaped his escort long enough to reach the kitchen entrance, wrists still bound.
“You wanted leverage?” he said. “Now you have it.”
Warren, arriving behind him, stared at the dead phone screen.
“What leverage?”
Preston looked at his father.
May you like
And for one careless second, he looked surprised Warren did not know.
