Chapter 3 - WIDOW PROTOCOL
Norah did not move.
Salvatore Rossi smiled without warmth.
At sixty-one, Matteo’s uncle possessed a gentler face than his nephew. Silver hair. Expensive suits. Soft voice.
People underestimated him because he rarely needed to shout.
Arthur did not.
“Mr. Rossi,” Arthur said. “Your visit wasn’t scheduled.”
Salvatore’s eyes stayed on Norah.
“Family shouldn’t require appointments.”
“Matteo isn’t here.”
“I’m aware.”
Something about the answer chilled Norah.
Salvatore stepped into the room.
His men remained outside.
“Your husband’s private accounts suffered a rather significant disturbance this morning.”
Norah felt Arthur notice the wording.
“How significant?” she asked.
Salvatore looked at her.
“Twelve million, eight hundred thousand.”
Matteo’s banker might know that number.
Matteo would know.
Norah would know.
Salvatore should not.
Arthur’s voice hardened.
“How did you get that amount?”
Salvatore finally looked at him.
“I’ve spent forty years keeping this family alive. You think I don’t know where the fire exits are?”
Norah understood suddenly.
“You have access.”
“To Matteo’s contingency structure? Naturally.”
“Does Matteo know?”
Salvatore smiled again.
Before he could answer, tires sounded outside.
Arthur turned toward the monitor.
Three black vehicles swept around the circular drive.
Matteo was home.
He entered the study less than two minutes later.
His face told Norah the flight back had not improved his temper.
Harper was not with him.
Matteo stopped when he saw the open drawer.
Then the suitcase.
Then Salvatore.
Finally Norah.
“What did you do?”
Not hello.
Not are you all right.
Norah almost smiled at the predictability.
“I took money.”
“Twelve point eight million dollars.”
“Yes.”
“You stole from me.”
“I financed an exit.”
“This is your home.”
“No. This is your home. I’ve simply been living inside it.”
Matteo stepped closer.
Salvatore lifted one hand.
“This is exactly why I came.”
Matteo looked at him.
“Why are you here?”
“I received an account warning.”
“Why?”
Salvatore’s expression barely changed.
But Norah saw it.
So did Matteo.
For the first time since entering, Matteo’s anger shifted direction.
“I asked you a question.”
Salvatore adjusted his cuff.
“Your father believed in redundancy.”
“My father has been dead fifteen years.”
“His systems remain useful.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
Norah opened her palm.
The silver watch lay there.
Every trace of anger vanished from Matteo’s face.
“What are you doing with that?”
“My question exactly.”
Salvatore looked toward the watch.
A tiny muscle moved beside his mouth.
Norah saw that too.
“My father carried this every day,” she said. “I was told it was buried with him.”
Matteo said nothing.
“Why was it in your desk?”
Salvatore interrupted.
“Norah, your father operated in dangerous circles. Objects travel.”
She turned on him.
“There’s a picture under it.”
Matteo went still.
She held it up.
“You. Salvatore. My father.”
Matteo’s eyes closed for half a second.
“Tell me,” Norah said.
Salvatore sighed.
“This is hardly the appropriate time.”
“It’s the only time you’re getting.”
Matteo opened his eyes.
“Your father came to me three nights before he died.”
Norah’s throat tightened.
“He knew you?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“About eighteen months.”
The room seemed suddenly too small.
“Why?”
“Because he believed money was disappearing from two organizations at the same time.”
Salvatore laughed once.
“Thomas believed many things.”
Matteo ignored him.
“He had records. Partial ones. Transfers routed through construction firms, shipping companies, charities. He believed somebody was stealing from my father’s old accounts and from the Bellandi family.”
“And?”
“He thought the theft was being used to finance violence between both sides.”
Norah stared at Salvatore.
Matteo continued.
“Your father wanted the war to continue because it kept everyone looking in the wrong direction.”
“Who?”
Matteo did not answer quickly enough.
Norah knew.
“Salvatore.”
Salvatore’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
Matteo stepped between them.
“No. You be careful.”
For one strange second, nephew and uncle simply looked at each other.
Decades passed between them without a word.
Then Salvatore said, “Thomas Quinn was a frightened accountant who tried to purchase safety by feeding suspicion to everyone around him.”
Norah held up the photograph.
“He wrote, ‘Trust neither brother.’”
Salvatore’s eyes sharpened.
Matteo took the photograph from her.
He stared at the words.
“I never saw this.”
“You had the watch.”
“I never opened the photograph compartment.”
Norah gave him a disbelieving look.
“It was stuck when he gave it to me.”
“And you kept it eight years without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Matteo looked at her.
For once, he did not reach for the easiest excuse.
“Because your father made me promise you would never be pulled into this.”
Norah laughed bitterly.
“You married me.”
“I know.”
“You brought armed guards into my life. You put cameras around my house. You made me sleep beside a gun in your nightstand.”
“I know.”
“And somehow telling me the truth was the dangerous part?”
Matteo had no answer.
Norah picked up her suitcase.
“I’m leaving.”
Matteo blocked the door instinctively.
Her eyes lifted.
“Move.”
His face tightened.
“You transferred nearly thirteen million dollars.”
“And?”
“You think I can just let you walk out?”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The part where the palace becomes a cage.”
Matteo stared at her.
Something changed.
Slowly, he stepped aside.
Salvatore snapped, “Matteo.”
“She wants to leave.”
“She has family money.”
“It’s mine.”
“That distinction stopped mattering the day you became head of this organization.”
Matteo looked at Arthur.
“Take her wherever she wants to go.”
Salvatore’s expression turned cold.
“You are making a mistake.”
Matteo answered without looking at him.
“I’ve made several.”
Norah walked toward the door.
Arthur followed.
They had reached the foyer when one of Arthur’s security officers hurried inside holding a printed dispatch sheet.
“Boss.”
Matteo took it.
His face changed as he read.
Arthur swore under his breath.
“What?” Norah asked.
Matteo looked at Salvatore.
His uncle was already moving toward the front door.
“Lock the gates,” Matteo ordered.
Security obeyed.
Salvatore stopped.
Matteo held up the paper.
It was an internal family alert.
Norah saw her own name.
Her photograph.
The amount she had transferred.
RECOVER FUNDS. CONTAIN ASSET.
Below that, one final instruction.
IF RESISTANCE: WIDOW PROTOCOL.
Norah looked at Matteo.
“What does widow protocol mean?”
Matteo’s face had gone frighteningly calm.
He pulled his gun from beneath his jacket.
May you like
“It means my uncle just ordered you dead.”
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