Chapter 8 - THE BETRAYAL INSIDE ADRIAN'S OWN HOUSE
The traitor was not Teresa.
Not Arthur.
Not one of Adrian’s guards.
It was his younger brother, Matteo.
I had always liked Matteo.
He was quieter than Adrian.
Less intimidating.
He taught history at a private college instead of working directly inside the Moretti organization.
At family dinners, he joked that he was the disappointment because he preferred books to casinos.
Apparently, books weren’t the whole story.
Financial records showed Matteo had been receiving payments from Victor Lane.
For eighteen months.
The same length of time Lorenzo had been hidden.
Adrian stared at the evidence.
“Why?”
Matteo agreed to speak with investigators.
His answer was painfully simple.
Resentment.
Adrian inherited control.
Money.
Respect.
Matteo inherited the expectation that he stay out of the way.
Victor exploited that.
Then Sophia did.
Matteo helped conceal Lorenzo.
Provided access codes.
Shared schedules.
And told Sophia exactly how to manipulate Adrian.
Including me.
I felt sick.
“He told her about the pie.”
Matteo lowered his eyes.
“What?”
I asked.
He looked at me.
“Adrian always gave Sophia whatever she wanted when they were kids.”
My stomach tightened.
“So she kept recreating that pattern.”
“Yes.”
Dresses.
Food.
Slippers.
Trips.
Each time forcing Adrian to choose.
Each time proving to me that I came second.
“Why?”
Matteo swallowed.
“Because Sophia said if you became angry enough, you’d divorce him.”
I stared.
“And you helped?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I thought it would weaken Adrian.”
“You used my marriage as a weapon.”
“Yes.”
At least nobody was pretending anymore.
Then Adrian asked:
“Did you know they planned to kill me?”
Matteo looked toward the floor.
Silence.
Adrian’s face changed.
“Matteo.”
“I knew Victor wanted you gone.”
Teresa began crying.
Adrian stood.
For one second, I saw the old Mafia boss return.
Cold.
Dangerous.
Ready to make someone pay.
Then he looked at me.
Maybe he remembered what I told him.
Call the police. Don’t start a war.
Adrian sat back down.
He turned toward Detective Bennett.
“Do your job.”
She nodded.
Matteo was taken into custody.
I watched Adrian stare at the closed door.
“You okay?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
He looked at me.
“No.”
Honest.
I appreciated that more than I wanted to.
Then Lorenzo Moretti asked to see us.
Both of us.
We visited him at a secure hospital.
He looked twenty years older than I remembered.
When he saw me, he began crying.
“Claire.”
I stood beside the bed.
“You knew about my trust.”
“Yes.”
“You pushed Adrian toward me.”
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you ever care what I wanted?”
He looked ashamed.
“No.”
The answer hurt.
Then he continued.
“But your grandfather did.”
He reached for a sealed envelope.
Thomas Bennett’s handwriting.
My name.
Claire.
I opened it.
The letter had been written before I was born.
The final paragraph said:
If a Moretti ever tries to treat my granddaughter like an asset, she must take back everything I helped them build.
I stared at Adrian.
He went pale.
May you like
Then Lorenzo whispered:
“Claire, your grandfather never intended you to inherit thirty-one percent of the company. He intended you to inherit control.”
