Part 10
The Rinaldi group’s board requested an emergency meeting.
Paolo called Matteo to his office in Milan.
The room occupied the top floor of the family headquarters and looked over the city through glass walls. Matteo had first visited at age nine, when the building was shorter and Paolo’s desk seemed wider than any dining table. The desk had since been replaced, but Matteo still felt briefly like a child when he entered.
Paolo did not ask him to sit.
“You initiated an internal investigation without board authority.”
“I ordered preservation of company property relevant to a police inquiry.”
“You handed control of the narrative to people who want to destroy us.”
“You deleted the footage.”
Paolo’s face remained still. “You have no proof.”
“Tomas’s account was used.”
“Then perhaps Tomas panicked.”
“Why would he?”
“Because Mara threatened him.”
“She asked for the recording to be preserved.”
“She told him she would involve police.”
“That is not a threat when evidence may have been destroyed.”
Paolo walked to the window. “You think confessing your every failure makes you honest. It makes you useful to our enemies.”
“Mara is not our enemy.”
“She has filed a criminal complaint against you.”
“I hit her.”
“You keep saying that as if repetition is morality.”
Matteo looked at his father’s reflection in the glass. “What happened in the hall?”
“I told you.”
“No. You gave me a version designed to make Elena sound unstable and Mara sound predatory.”
“Elena was unstable.”
“She was afraid of you.”
Paolo turned. “I have protected you from consequences your entire life.”
“I know.”
“You would not have this company, that villa, your reputation, or your freedom to indulge every moral crisis if I had not protected you.”
“I know.”
The calm answer unsettled Paolo more than denial.
Matteo continued. “That is why I believed I could strike someone and still call myself a good man. You always separated our actions from their cost.”
Paolo’s lips thinned. “Do not blame me for your hand.”
“I don’t.”
“Then stop using me to explain it.”
“I am explaining why I recognized your method.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Traffic moved far below them.
Paolo returned to the desk and opened a folder.
“The board will vote tomorrow on temporary executive authority. If you continue cooperating beyond what counsel recommends, I will remove you from operational control.”
“You may not have the votes.”
“I do.”
“What about the trust?”
“What about it?”
“Elena will not sign.”
“That decision is no longer yours.”
“It was never mine.”
Paolo closed the folder.
Matteo saw something pass across his father’s face then—not rage, but weariness. It made him look older and, unexpectedly, more human.
“I built structures because people fail,” Paolo said. “Your mother failed. My brothers failed. Partners failed. Every time I trusted sentiment, someone turned weakness into a weapon. You call it control because you were protected by it.”
Matteo did not argue with the past. He had learned that Paolo used grief like property, producing it when challenged and locking it away when anyone else needed access.
“Elena is not my mother,” he said.
“No. Your mother would have signed.”
Matteo left the office before anger could choose for him again.
The mirrored security service became the center of the investigation. The provider confirmed that the Villa Serafina account had been scheduled for migration but had not yet been disabled on the date of the incident. Data had been transmitted from the entrance hall camera until 5:08 p.m.
The company would release nothing without formal authorization.
Paolo’s attorneys challenged the scope of the request, arguing that the footage contained private images of guests and family members. Police narrowed the period. The provider requested additional documentation. Days passed.
Mara’s ankle improved enough for her to walk without crutches indoors. Her cheek returned to its normal color, though a faint tenderness remained along the jaw when she slept on her left side.
She received flowers from people she had not heard from in years. She received anonymous messages accusing her of trying to extort the Rinaldis. One envelope contained no note, only a printed photograph of Villa Serafina with her face crossed out in black ink.
Sofia told her to save everything.
Nico installed a camera outside her apartment and slept on the sofa despite her objections.
“You snore,” Mara told him.
“You limp.”
“Mine is temporary.”
“So is my concern.”
He stayed five nights.
On the sixth, Carla called from a public telephone near the Como train station.
Mara almost did not answer the unfamiliar number.
“I lost my job,” Carla said.
“What happened?”
“They said I violated confidentiality.”
“Did you speak to anyone?”
“Only the police. They asked where Signor Paolo was.”
Mara closed her office door.
“Did you tell them?”
“I said I saw him leave the hall.”
“That was the truth.”
“My brother’s shifts were cut yesterday.”
Mara felt anger rise too quickly and forced herself to speak carefully. “Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your mother?”
“Packing.”
Mara sat down. “I can help with temporary housing.”
“I don’t want charity.”
“It isn’t charity.”
“What is it?”
Mara did not have a clean answer.
Carla breathed into the phone. Behind her, a train announcement echoed through the station.
“I saw Tomas at the villa that night,” she said.
“What time?”
“After midnight. I was bringing towels from the laundry building. His car was behind the service gate.”
“Did you tell police?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he saw me.”
Mara pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“Carla, listen. Do not tell me more by phone. Call the officer who interviewed you. Ask for protection from retaliation and tell them about Tomas. Sofia can help you arrange counsel, but you should not coordinate your statement through me.”
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“I sound frightened.”
Carla gave a small, breathless laugh.
Then she began crying without noise.
Mara waited until she could speak again.
May you like
“I thought rich people were calmer,” Carla said.
“They only have quieter rooms.”
