Chapter 3 - VITTORIO ROMANO
Vittorio arrived before sunrise.
No invitation.
No warning.
He walked through the front doors like the house still belonged to his dead brother.
Sixty-three.
Silver hair.
Immaculate gray suit.
The kind of face that smiled while calculating where to bury you.
Emma stood at the top of the staircase holding Matteo.
Luca waited below.
“Uncle.”
“Luca.”
Vittorio opened his arms.
Luca did not move.
That was the first sign.
The second was Marco closing the front door behind Vittorio.
Vittorio noticed.
His smile remained.
“I heard Rosa woke up.”
“She did.”
“Good.”
“She mentioned you.”
The smile changed by half a degree.
“Did she?”
“She said keep you away from Matteo.”
Emma watched Vittorio.
No shock.
No outrage.
Only calculation.
“That poor woman hit her head.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“You knew about the crash?”
“Everyone knows.”
“No.”
Luca stepped closer.
“You knew she hit her head.”
Vittorio paused.
Too long.
Emma felt the room change.
Then Vittorio smiled.
“I assumed.”
“Did you?”
“Luca.”
His voice softened.
“You have not slept properly since Sofia died.”
“You are grieving.”
“You are frightened.”
“Do not let fear turn family into enemies.”
Emma almost laughed.
The man was good.
Calm.
Concerned.
Reasonable.
Exactly how manipulation should sound.
Then Vittorio looked at Emma.
“And who is this?”
“Emma Carter.”
“Matteo’s nurse?”
“No.”
Emma answered before Luca.
“I’m the waitress who told your nephew he was making his baby cry harder.”
Vittorio blinked.
Marco looked down.
Luca almost smiled.
Almost.
“How charming.”
Vittorio’s gaze rested on Matteo.
“May I?”
He reached out.
Emma stepped backward.
His hand stopped.
The warmth disappeared from his eyes.
“That child is my family.”
“He’s also sleeping.”
Vittorio looked toward Luca.
“You allow strangers to keep me from my nephew?”
Luca answered quietly.
“For now.”
That was the first open declaration of distrust.
Vittorio’s face hardened.
Then he said,
“I came because the family council is meeting tonight.”
“No.”
“Luca—”
“My wife was murdered.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We do.”
Silence.
Luca told him about the brake line.
Not Rosa.
Not the formula.
Emma understood.
He was testing him.
Vittorio’s reaction was convincing.
Anger.
Shock.
A demand to see the evidence.
Then one sentence:
“Who else knows?”
Luca’s eyes sharpened.
Not who did it.
Not how.
Who knows.
Vittorio realized his mistake instantly.
Too late.
Luca smiled without warmth.
“Enough people.”
Vittorio left twenty minutes later.
Marco watched his car disappear through the gates.
“Think he did it?”
Luca answered,
“I think he knows something.”
Emma looked at Matteo.
“What was Sofia protecting?”
Luca turned.
“What?”
“People don’t cut the brakes of a pregnant woman for family drama.”
“She knew something.”
Luca’s face closed.
“That’s my business.”
Emma handed Matteo toward him.
“Then so is your son.”
He stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“You agreed to one night.”
“It’s morning.”
“You cannot walk away now.”
“I absolutely can.”
“Emma.”
“No.”
She looked around at guards.
Cameras.
Locked doors.
Dead wife’s letter.
“I helped a crying baby.”
“I did not volunteer for a succession war.”
Luca’s voice lowered.
“Someone may know you’re here.”
“That is another reason to leave.”
“They could follow you.”
Emma stopped.
That was the first argument that worked.
She hated him for it.
Luca softened slightly.
“Stay until I know you can leave safely.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“You said one night yesterday.”
“Circumstances changed.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Emma looked at Matteo.
He opened his eyes.
Dark.
Calm.
Then wrapped his hand around her finger.
Traitor.
She stayed.
That afternoon, Luca’s lawyer arrived.
Gianni Russo.
Forty-two.
Childhood friend.
Consigliere.
The only man who hugged Luca without permission.
Emma liked him immediately.
That would become important later.
Gianni reviewed Sofia’s private trust documents.
His face changed.
“She amended this three days before the crash.”
“What changed?” Luca asked.
Gianni looked toward Matteo.
“Sofia transferred her entire interest in Bianchi Holdings into a protected trust for him.”
Emma frowned.
“How much?”
Gianni hesitated.
Luca answered.
“About nine hundred million dollars.”
Emma nearly dropped the bottle she was holding.
“Your five-week-old owns what?”
“Technically a trust owns it.”
“That makes me feel much better.”
Gianni continued.
“There’s more.”
Sofia had inherited thirty-eight percent of Bianchi Holdings, a legitimate logistics, property, and banking group founded by her grandfather.
Under the trust, Luca controlled voting rights as Matteo’s surviving parent.
But if Luca died, disappeared, or was declared legally incapacitated—
control passed to a trust protector.
Emma already knew the name before Gianni said it.
“Vittorio Romano.”
Luca went completely still.
There was motive.
Almost a billion dollars.
A child too young to understand it.
And a father whose death would hand temporary control to his uncle.
Then Gianni turned the final page.
His expression drained.
“No.”
“What?”
“This isn’t the original.”
Luca stepped forward.
“What are you talking about?”
“The protector clause was amended again.”
“When?”
“Two days before Sofia died.”
“By who?”
Gianni looked at Luca.
“The electronic signature says Sofia.”
“But the beneficiary isn’t Vittorio anymore.”
Emma held Matteo closer.
“Then who is it?”
Gianni whispered,
“Luca.”
“Your wife named someone else.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“Who?”
Gianni turned the document around.
One name.
EMMA CARTER.
Emma stared at it.
“That is impossible.”
May you like
Four years before Sofia died—
a grieving mother in a hospital chapel had unknowingly been chosen for something that could now get her killed.
