Chapter 2 - The Name That Should Have Been Dead
“No.”
Amelia’s answer came instantly.
Enzo put the phone down.
“Amelia—”
“My father’s company closed eight years ago.”
“That’s what the records say.”
“My father died. The company collapsed. Everything was sold.”
“Apparently not everything.”
Amelia reached for the door handle.
Enzo didn’t stop her.
The SUV was moving.
She released it.
“My father wasn’t involved in organized crime.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“You were thinking it.”
“No.”
Enzo leaned back.
“I’m thinking someone wants me to.”
That silenced her.
Tommaso turned from the front seat.
“The payments were routed through three companies. The final account traces back to Duarte Maritime.”
“Impossible,” Amelia said.
“When did your father die?” Enzo asked.
“November eighth. Eight years ago.”
“How?”
Amelia looked through the window.
“Officially? A robbery.”
“And unofficially?”
She hesitated.
“My father found financial records he wasn’t supposed to see.”
Enzo’s gaze sharpened.
“How do you know?”
“Because I heard the men who killed him talking.”
Tommaso turned fully around.
“You witnessed it?”
“I was seventeen.”
The SUV went silent.
“They came to our apartment,” Amelia continued. “My father told me to hide in the pantry.”
Her voice remained controlled.
“I heard one of them say my father should have taken the money.”
“Did you see them?” Enzo asked.
“One.”
“Name?”
“I never knew it.”
“Describe him.”
Amelia closed her eyes briefly.
“About fifty then. Expensive suit. Gray at the temples. He wore a gold ring with a black stone.”
Tommaso and Enzo exchanged a look.
Amelia noticed.
“What?”
Neither answered.
“Enzo.”
It was the first time she had used his first name.
“Who is he?”
Enzo finally said, “There’s someone who wore a ring like that.”
“Who?”
“My father’s former adviser.”
Amelia stared at him.
“Name.”
“Vittorio Salvi.”
“Where is he?”
“He disappeared seven years ago.”
“After my father died?”
“Eleven months after.”
Amelia laughed once, bitterly.
“So this isn’t random.”
“I don’t believe it is.”
The SUV entered an underground garage beneath a private Manhattan residence.
When Amelia stepped out, she found herself surrounded by polished stone, private elevators, and silent security.
“I’m not staying here indefinitely.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
Upstairs, Tommaso placed a laptop on a dining table.
“We found something else.”
A scanned corporate document appeared.
Amelia approached.
Duarte Maritime Holdings.
Her father’s signature was at the bottom.
She leaned closer.
“That isn’t his signature.”
Tommaso frowned.
“You’re certain?”
“I watched my father sign invoices every morning for years.”
She pointed.
“He made the D differently.”
Enzo leaned over the screen beside her.
“Forgery.”
“Yes.”
“So someone kept your father’s company alive on paper after his death.”
“And now they’re using it to finance people inside your organization.”
Enzo nodded.
Amelia looked at him.
“Who benefits if you die?”
“That list is longer than I’d like.”
“Who benefits if you die and my father gets blamed?”
Enzo stopped.
Amelia pulled out a chair.
“You asked me to help.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop thinking like a man people are trying to kill.”
“What should I think like?”
“A hotel maid.”
Tommaso looked confused.
Enzo almost smiled.
“Explain.”
“People behave differently around someone they don’t notice.”
She tapped the laptop.
“Your traitor isn’t afraid of your investigators. They expect investigators.”
She looked directly at Enzo.
“They won’t expect me.”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Amelia crossed her arms.
“You agreed to ask.”
“I did. And my answer to you deliberately putting yourself near the person who ordered my death is no.”
“That’s not asking.”
Enzo stared at her.
She stared back.
Tommaso slowly closed the laptop.
May you like
“I think,” he said, “I’ll make coffee.”
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