Z

Antonio Moretti chose his own graveyard for the meeting.

Not the cemetery where Nicholas’s fake headstone stood.

A private family mausoleum north of the city.

Nicholas understood the message immediately.

“This is theater,” he said.

“So was your funeral.”

He glanced at me.

“I'm beginning to think I deserved that.”

“You did.”

Luca drove.

I sat in the back beside Nicholas with the flash drive inside my coat.

He had argued against bringing it.

He lost.

I was getting used to that.

“You stay behind me when we get there,” he said.

“No.”

“Sofia.”

“Emma is being held because of me.”

“She’s being held because of my family.”

“We could do this all day.”

“We probably will.”

Despite everything, his hand found mine between us.

Neither of us acknowledged it.

I didn't pull away.

The mausoleum stood behind iron gates.

Antonio waited alone beneath the stone archway.

The resemblance hit me immediately.

Nicholas had his father’s height.

His posture.

Even the same way of standing completely still when angry.

Antonio Moretti had silver at his temples now, but otherwise looked much younger than a dead man should.

Nicholas stepped from the car.

They stared at each other.

Eighteen years collapsed between them.

Antonio spoke first.

“You became taller.”

Nicholas laughed once.

It had no humor.

“You became alive.”

Antonio’s face shifted.

“Nico.”

“Don't call me that.”

“You're angry.”

“I buried you at fourteen.”

“I know.”

“My mother fell apart.”

“I know.”

“I spent eighteen years thinking I failed to protect you.”

Antonio’s eyes lowered.

“I know.”

Nicholas walked toward him.

I had seen my husband threaten men without raising his voice.

I had watched rooms go silent because he entered them.

But I had never seen him look this wounded.

“Then tell me where Emma is.”

Antonio looked at me.

“You must be Sofia.”

“You must be the family tradition.”

One eyebrow lifted.

“What tradition?”

“Men who fake their own deaths instead of having difficult conversations.”

Luca coughed behind me.

Nicholas actually closed his eyes.

Antonio almost smiled.

“I understand why he married you.”

“Do you understand why Victor murdered my father?”

The humor vanished.

“Yes.”

“Did you know?”

“Not until afterward.”

“Did you do anything?”

“I tried.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Victor was more dangerous than I understood.”

I pulled out the drive.

Antonio’s eyes followed it.

“You want this?”

“No.”

That surprised everyone.

“Victor wants it.”

“Victor has Emma?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are we talking to you?”

“Because Victor believes I am still helping him.”

Nicholas stared at his father.

“Are you?”

“No.”

“How long have you been back?”

“Six months.”

Nicholas went cold.

“You came back when I supposedly died.”

“I returned because you supposedly died.”

“You didn't contact Mother.”

“I did.”

Nicholas frowned.

“What?”

“Isabella knew I was alive before she called you.”

That piece clicked into place with an ugly sound.

Nicholas stepped backward.

“My mother lied.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she didn't know whether you were really her son.”

I stared at Antonio.

“What does that mean?”

“Victor created photographs. Recordings. Documents. He told Isabella someone was impersonating Nicholas to force her to expose me.”

Nicholas muttered something in Italian.

Antonio continued.

“Your disappearance fractured everyone’s trust. Victor designed it that way.”

“Where is Emma?”

“At the Moretti Foundation gala tonight.”

I blinked.

“The gala?”

Victor was hosting a public charity event in Nicholas’s memory at the Drake Hotel.

Hundreds of guests.

Press.

Politicians.

Cameras.

“Why take her there?” I asked.

“Because he believes no one will attack him in a ballroom full of witnesses.”

Nicholas’s face changed.

Antonio saw it.

“So do I.”

I looked between them.

“What are you planning?”

Nicholas said, “I'm attending my memorial.”

The Drake ballroom was packed by eight.

Victor had placed a six-foot portrait of Nicholas beside the stage.

I wanted to laugh and vomit simultaneously.

I entered alone.

At least everyone believed I was alone.

Nicholas was somewhere above the ballroom with Luca.

Antonio had vanished again after giving us security access.

Emma was supposedly being held in a private suite upstairs.

I wore black.

Not because I was mourning.

Because Victor expected a widow.

He approached before I reached the center of the room.

“Sofia.”

He kissed my cheek.

My skin crawled.

“You look beautiful.”

“You look alive.”

His expression barely changed.

“I hope that's a compliment.”

“I'm beginning to distrust living Morettis.”

His smile tightened.

“You've had a difficult year.”

“Six months.”

“Of course.”

I studied the man who had ordered my father's death.

He looked ordinary.

That was the horrifying part.

“Where is my sister?”

Victor’s eyes became empty.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Then you won't mind if I leave.”

His hand closed around my elbow.

Too hard.

“Do you have what I asked for?”

“There it is.”

“Careful.”

“Why? Are you going to kill me like my father?”

His fingers loosened.

Only slightly.

“Thomas Bennett became confused about where his loyalties belonged.”

“He was loyal to the truth.”

“Truth is a luxury.”

“So is freedom. Enjoy yours while it lasts.”

Victor stared at me.

Then he smiled.

“You sound like your husband.”

“Do I?”

“A little.”

“That's funny.”

“Why?”

I looked toward the stage.

The lights suddenly dimmed.

Victor frowned.

The memorial video behind the podium flickered.

Nicholas’s childhood photograph disappeared.

Then a live camera feed appeared.

A man walked through the ballroom entrance.

Someone screamed.

Victor went white.

Nicholas Moretti entered his own memorial gala.

Alive.

The entire room froze.

I don't think Chicago had ever been that quiet.

Nicholas wore a black suit.

No disguise.

No attempt to hide.

Camera flashes erupted.

People backed away as if death itself had walked into the ballroom.

Nicholas stopped twenty feet from Victor.

“Uncle.”

Victor stared at him.

“You…”

“Dead?”

Nicholas smiled without warmth.

“I hear that a lot.”

Reporters began shouting.

Phones rose everywhere.

Victor’s grip disappeared from my arm.

Nicholas looked at me first.

Not Victor.

Me.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

Only then did he face his uncle.

Victor recovered quickly.

“You're making a mistake.”

“No. I made the mistake when I trusted you.”

“This is not the place.”

“I disagree.”

Nicholas stepped closer.

“You built half your protection on secrecy. So I thought we'd try honesty.”

Victor laughed nervously.

“You have no idea what you're doing.”

“I know you ordered the warehouse attack.”

Murmurs swept the ballroom.

“I know you murdered Thomas Bennett.”

Victor’s face hardened.

“I know you attempted to murder my wife twice.”

Reporters surged closer.

Victor looked toward the exits.

Nicholas saw it.

“So here's what happens now. Sofia keeps her shares. The federal evidence goes public tonight. And you spend the rest of your life discovering how few friends you really bought.”

Victor smiled.

That frightened me more than anger would have.

“You still don't understand.”

He leaned closer to Nicholas.

“You think this was about your company?”

Nicholas didn't move.

Victor looked at me.

Then he said the one thing I wasn't prepared to hear.

“Ask your husband why he really married you.”

My heart stopped.

Nicholas’s face changed.

Not much.

Enough.

Victor saw me notice.

He smiled.

“Oh.”

He stepped backward.

“He still hasn't told you.”

I looked at Nicholas.

“What is he talking about?”

“Sofia.”

Victor laughed.

“Tell her, Nicholas.”

I stared at my husband.

“Tell me what?”

Nicholas closed his eyes for half a second.

And suddenly I knew.

There was still another secret.