Chapter 32
T he minutes crawl by with excruciating slowness. I check the time on my laptop—ten-thirty. Half an hour past when Leo said he'd call.
My stomach twists into knots. I twist my mother's ring faster, the metal warm against my skin from the constant friction. The chamomile tea sits half-finished beside me, no longer steaming.
"Perhaps he's reconsidered," Damiano says, breaking the heavy silence. His voice is measured but I catch the edge of irritation. "Your brother may have decided family loyalty outweighs?—"
"No," I interrupt, shaking my head firmly. "Leo wouldn't?—"
The burner phone vibrates against the desk, the screen lighting up with an incoming FaceTime call. My heart leaps into my throat as I snatch it up, fingers trembling as I accept the call.
Leo's face fills the screen, his features rigid but composed.
"Leo," I breathe out, unable to hide the emotion in my voice.
"Sorry for the delay," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Father left late. Some issue with Raymond's security team." His eyes dart around, checking his surroundings. "I'm in his office now."
I glance up at Alessio, who has moved closer to watch over my shoulder. Damiano and Enzo approach as well, forming a half-circle behind me.
"You're alone?" I ask Leo, scanning what I can see of the background—the familiar dark wood paneling of my father's private sanctuary.
Leo nods. "I've asked Santiago to keep everyone out. If Father returns he'll text me immediately." He smooths his palm over his perfectly-styled hair, a rare tell of anxiety from my usually composed brother. "We need to move quickly. The safe is behind the Caravaggio."
My breath catches. The Caravaggio—a priceless painting of Saint Jerome that my father acquired via means I never dared question.
I lean forward, studying the safe through the camera as Leo shifts his phone to give us a better view.
"It's a Mosler Double Guard Pro," Leo says. "Father upgraded last year. Said it was the most secure model on the market."
My pulse tumbles. I start searching for details of the model.
"Biometric plus digital code plus network monitoring," I read aloud, my mind already tearing through possibilities. "And it has WiFi capability."
Alessio's hand settles on my shoulder, a silent question. I glance up at him.
"Can you crack it?" he asks, his dark eyes vivid.
"Maybe," I say, my fingers already flying across the keyboard. "The manufacturer keeps emergency override codes in their database. If I can access their network..."
Leo's voice cuts through my concentration. "Mel, even if you hack in, we still need Father's fingerprint."
I shake my head, not looking up from my screen. "Not necessarily. These systems have backdoors—emergency access protocols in case the primary authentication fails."
My fingers leap across the keys, bypassing firewalls and security protocols with practiced ease. This is what I trained for in London, what I secretly studied while my father thought I was wasting time on frivolous computer games.
"The Mosler company maintains a secure database of all their safes," I explain as I work. "Each unit has a unique identifier and emergency override sequence."
"There," I whisper as I breach the final firewall. "I'm in their service database."
Leo watches with wide eyes as I scroll through encrypted data, searching for the specific model and serial number visible on the edge of the safe's frame.
"What are you doing exactly?" Damiano asks from behind me.
"Manufacturers build backdoors into these systems," I explain, not breaking my rhythm. "This will take a few minutes. The encryption is heavy, but there's always a backdoor."
While I work, Alessio leans closer to the phone, his voice adopting a professional tone as he addresses my brother.
"Leonardo, we've sent a man dressed like a delivery guy on a bike who will wait outside to collect what we need from the safe," Alessio says. "Once Melania cracks it, you can hand over the contents."
Leo's expression hardens immediately. "Correction— if we find anything," he says sharply. "I'm not promising there's evidence in there. For all I know it could be empty or filled with legitimate business records."
I glance up briefly from my work, catching the tension between them. Leo's protective instincts are showing—he's helping me but still keeping his guard up with the Ferettis.
"Of course," Alessio concedes smoothly, though I feel his body stiffen beside me.
I return my focus to the hack, tuning out their conversation as I navigate deeper into the system. The Mosler's security is impressive, layer upon layer of authentication protocols. I twist my mother's ring faster, a habit when I'm fully absorbed in a difficult task.
"I've located the override protocols," I announce after several minutes of intense concentration. "Each safe has a unique emergency access code in case the primary authentication fails."
On screen, Leo watches with undisguised amazement. "Father always said you were wasting time with computers," he murmurs.
"Father was wrong about a lot of things," I reply without looking up.
Ten minutes more pass in tense silence as I work through the final security layers. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool air in Damiano's office. This is delicate work—one wrong move could trigger a security alert or lock the system completely.
"Almost there," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. "Just need to bypass the final authentication protocol..."
A string of code appears on my screen—the emergency override sequence for the specific model and serial number of my father's safe.
"I've got it," I announce, trying not to yell with excitement and anxiety. I read out a twelve-digit alphanumeric code to Leo. "Enter this exactly as I say it."
I watch the screen intently as Melania rattles off the twelve-digit code to her brother. My thumb traces my bottom lip unconsciously as I assess the situation, calculating every possible outcome.
"Leo, listen carefully," Melania says, in an urgent whisper. "Once you enter this code, you'll have exactly sixty seconds before the system alerts security."
Leonardo's face on the screen shows a flash of concern. "Sixty seconds? That's barely?—"
"It's a security feature," she cuts him off. "The override triggers a silent countdown. If the safe isn't properly closed again within that timeframe it sends an automatic alert to Father's security team."
I step closer to the screen, my body instinctively positioning itself behind Melania's chair. "Sixty seconds is plenty," I say, calm but authoritative. "Get in, grab whatever documents you find, get out."
Leonardo nods, jaw tight with determination. He props the phone against something on the desk, giving us a partial view of the safe as he moves toward it.
"Starting now," he mutters, his fingers punching in the code Melania provided.
The tension in the room is palpable as we watch Leonardo input the final digit. There's a soft electronic beep, then the unmistakable sound of heavy bolts retracting. The safe door swings open.
" Cazzo ," Leonardo whispers, his eyes widening as he peers inside.
"What is it?" Melania asks, leaning forward. "Leo, what do you see?"
"There's a portfolio in here. Thick with documents." He flips it open briefly. "Looks like... payment records? Names, dates, amounts..."
"That's it," Melania says urgently. "That's what we need. Take it all, Leo. Forty seconds left."
I stand rigid behind Melania, watching Leonardo's expression shift as he examines the safe's contents.
"Leo, what else is in there?" Melania presses, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk.
Leonardo's face hardens with disappointment. "Nothing like what you described, Mel. Just cash—a lot of it—and gold bars. No USB or anything else."
"Close it," Melania says, her voice cracking slightly. "Close it now, Leo."
Leonardo slams the safe door shut, spinning the dial. "Two seconds to spare," he breathes, relief washing over his features.
I lean forward to speak in that deadly quiet tone that makes even hardened men flinch. "Get that portfolio to our man waiting outside. Now."
"Don't open it," Melania cuts in desperately. "Please, Leo. I'll explain everything soon but I'm begging you—don't look inside."
Leonardo's eyes narrow but he nods. "Fine. I trust you, Mel. But I want out of here one way or another." He glances over his shoulder. "I can't stay much longer."
"I'll call you," Melania promises. "Just get that portfolio to the man."
"I will." Leonardo clutches the leather-bound folder. "Be safe, sorellina ."
The screen goes black as Leonardo ends the call. Melania slumps back in her chair, the weight of everything crashing down on her at once. Her fingers twist her mother's ring frantically.
Enzo's phone buzzes. He answers with a curt " Si ?" After a brief exchange in rapid Italian, he turns to us.
"Our man confirms Leonardo is heading out of the mansion with the portfolio."
Damiano's eyes meet mine across the room. "Everything starts now."
I feel Melania trembling beneath my hand. The stakes have just gotten exponentially higher and there's no going back. Leonardo has crossed a line he can never uncross and we've just dragged Melania's brother into a war he may not be prepared to fight.
"Breathe," I murmur to Melania, my thumb tracing small circles against her shoulder. "We've got this."
"What if it's nothing?" she whispers, her voice barely audible. "What if that portfolio is just... receipts for legitimate business dealings? Or tax documents?" Her eyes, those captivating eyes, lift to mine, swimming with doubt. "We might have just risked Leo's life for nothing."
I step closer, positioning myself between her and the others in a subtle gesture of protection. My hand finds the nape of her neck, thumb stroking the soft skin there.
"This was Plan A, piccola ," I say, my voice low and steady. "If the portfolio doesn't give us what we need, we move to Plan B."
Her shoulders remain tense under my touch, that brilliant mind of hers no doubt speeding through every worst-case scenario.
"Leo just committed treason against our father," she whispers. "If that portfolio is useless..."
"It won't be," I say with more certainty than I feel. In this business, nothing is guaranteed. But Melania doesn't need my doubts right now—she needs my strength. "Your father is many things but careless isn't one of them. Men like Antonio keep records."
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, leaning almost imperceptibly into my touch. The gesture stirs raging possession in my chest.
"I need you to relax until the portfolio arrives," I tell her. "Stressing about what might or might not be inside won't change its contents."
Damiano clears his throat, reminding us we're not alone. "Alessio's right. We wait." His eyes meet mine over Melania's head, a silent communication passing between us. If the portfolio is empty, we'll need to move to the other plan—the one that might require more blood than documents.