Chương 6
“That was the important part?”
“They’re expensive.”
Matteo looked at her.
A faint color had entered her cheeks.
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe him.”
She nodded once and went into the bedroom.
She left the door open six inches.
Matteo turned off every light except the lamp beside the sofa. He removed his jacket and shoes, found a folded blanket in the closet, and lay down without undressing further.
Sleep did not come.
At four fifteen, he heard Sofia crying.
The sound was restrained, smothered against a pillow, the way people cried when they had learned tears could attract attention. Matteo stayed on the sofa. Every instinct told him to do something, but every useful action required crossing a threshold she had not invited him to cross.
He stared at the ceiling instead.
At five thirty, his phone vibrated.
Rizzo’s message contained only three words.
House is empty.
Matteo read them twice.
A second message followed.
Fresh food. Zip ties in basement. Blood on sink. No Nico.
He sat up.
The bedroom was silent.
He did not tell Sofia until morning.
At seven, she emerged wearing the hotel robe and carrying the diamond necklace in her palm.
Without the necklace, a faint bruise showed beneath her collarbone.
She placed the diamonds on the table.
“I don’t want this.”
“Then don’t wear it.”
“My father will ask.”
“Your father can ask me.”
“You say that as if questions don’t have consequences.”
“They do.”
“For other people.”
Matteo folded the blanket. “Sometimes.”
She studied him, perhaps deciding whether he had understood the criticism.
A knock came from the outer door. One of the female guards announced breakfast.
Sofia tensed.
“It’s food,” Matteo said.
“I heard her.”
He opened the door, accepted a cart, and rolled it inside himself. Coffee, eggs, toast, fruit, and pastries had been arranged under silver covers.
Sofia remained standing until he moved away.
“You should eat,” he said.
She picked up a piece of toast.
Matteo poured coffee. “There was no one at the Queens house.”
Her hand stopped.
“Someone had been held there recently. Rizzo found blood.”
The toast broke between her fingers.
“He’s alive,” Matteo said.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
She placed the broken pieces on her plate.
“He promised.”
“Marco?”
“He said Nico would be released.”
“Men like Marco confuse promises with tools.”
Sofia stared at the crumbs.
Matteo regretted the sentence. Not because it was untrue, but because truth delivered without care could become another form of violence.
“We’ll keep looking,” he said.
She wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Your men won’t find him.”
“They’ve found people before.”
“My father knows how you search.”
“And you know how your father hides.”
She looked up.
“We need both.”
The word we settled between them awkwardly.
Before Sofia could answer, Matteo’s phone rang.
Enzo Moretti did not wait for a greeting.
“Why am I eating eggs beside an empty chair?”
“Because I’m not there.”
“You embarrassed Marco in front of everyone.”
“Good.”
“Do you think this is a game?”
Matteo glanced at Sofia. She had taken the coffee pot but had not poured.
“No.”
“Then bring your wife downstairs.”
“She’s unwell.”
“Every bride is unwell the morning after. It is practically the purpose of breakfast.”
Sofia set down the pot.
Matteo walked toward the windows. “Watch yourself.”
Enzo lowered his voice. “The DeLucas are asking whether the marriage was completed.”
“Tell them it is none of their business.”
“It became our business when you agreed to this alliance.”
“I agreed to marry her. I didn’t agree to provide an audience.”
“This is not about an audience. It is about certainty.”
Matteo saw his own reflection in the glass: open collar, wrinkled shirt, face gray with exhaustion.
“What did Marco tell you about Sofia?” he asked.
A pause.
“That she was obedient.”
The word made Matteo’s fingers curl around the phone.
“Anything else?”
“That she had been reluctant at first. Young women often imagine they deserve romance.”
“Did he tell you she tried to escape?”
Enzo did not answer quickly enough.
Matteo turned from the window.
“You knew.”
“I knew she was distressed.”
“You knew he locked her up.”
“I knew Marco had difficulty controlling his household.”
“She has cracked ribs.”
Sofia’s face changed. Hall had not told her the likely diagnosis.
Enzo sighed. “Lower your voice.”
Matteo nearly laughed.
“You knew he beat her.”
“I knew discipline had occurred.”
“Discipline.”
“You are allowing emotion to distort the issue.”
The room narrowed around Matteo.
Across from him, Sofia stood perfectly still. The coffee pot remained between her hands.
“Did you see her before the wedding?” Matteo asked.
“I saw Marco.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I was assured she was physically capable of fulfilling the agreement.”
For several seconds, Matteo heard nothing but the blood moving through his ears.
“You inspected the merchandise.”
“Do not be crude.”
“You approved this.”
“I protected the family.”
“You placed an injured woman in my room and expected me to—”
He stopped.
Sofia looked away.
Enzo’s voice hardened. “Expected you to behave as a husband. Yes.”
Matteo ended the call before he said something that could not be withdrawn.
The coffee pot struck the table.
Sofia had missed the wooden trivet. Dark coffee spread across the white cloth.
She stepped back as if the spill might anger him.
Matteo grabbed a napkin and pressed it against the liquid.
“The hotel can survive,” he said.
She stared at him.
He added another napkin. Coffee soaked through both.
“It’s a remarkably resilient institution.”
A sound escaped her. This one was unmistakably a laugh, though it vanished behind her hand.
Matteo looked up.
For one second, she appeared younger than she had at the wedding. Then the phone rang again, and the moment closed.
May you like
By nine thirty, the penthouse had become a command post.
Rizzo arrived with property records, photographs from the Queens house, and a laptop. Two guards took positions outside. Dr. Hall arranged an imaging appointment under another name. A hotel manager called to ask when the bridal breakfast could be cleared away. Marco’s lawyer left three messages. Enzo left eleven.
