Chapter 12 A Notary’s Confession, Half-True #4
A second later, the consultation room door - separate from the main office - shuddered as if someone had hit it with their shoulder. The sound of it made Enzo’s skin go tight.
He couldn’t protect Valentina if they got split.
“Valentina,” he said, and the word came out rougher than he intended. “Stand behind me.”
Her expression turned brittle at the command, but she obeyed - because she wasn’t stupid and because the way he said her name carried weight. She moved with controlled speed, her body close enough that Enzo could feel her warmth through his jacket.
The door burst inward with a crack.
Enzo’s pistol swung to aim, but the figure that filled the doorway wasn’t the gloved man.
It was the notary.
Giovanni’s office had always smelled faintly of dust and old ink.
Now, with the door open and the air disturbed, that scent collided with something sharper - bitter and chemical, like disinfectant used too late.
The notary’s hair was slicked back, his shirt too crisp for a man who’d been hiding in a locked consultation room.
His tie hung slightly crooked, and his eyes were too bright.
He looked at Enzo and Valentina like he didn’t recognize the room, then like he recognized it too well.
“I told him I wouldn’t - ” the notary began, voice breaking on the lie he couldn’t hold.
Enzo didn’t lower his aim. “You’re not the man who was in here.”
The notary’s gaze flicked to the wounded attacker, then away, like he couldn’t bear to look at his own consequences. “He paid me to keep drawers sealed. He paid me to - ”
Valentina stepped forward before Enzo could stop her. The transfer authorization in her pocket crinkled softly as she moved. “To what?”
The notary’s lips parted. He swallowed hard. His hands shook - not from fear alone, but from something inside him that had a timer.
“Coercion,” he whispered.
Enzo’s stomach tightened. “You said you’d been coerced.”
The notary’s eyes snapped to Enzo, and for a second the brightness in them looked like clarity. “Yes. I was coerced. But I didn’t know the full shape of it.”
Valentina’s voice went dangerously calm. “Tell us the full shape.”
The notary’s shoulders slumped, and he looked older than he had five minutes ago. “They told me the sealed pact would be referenced in a political filing. They said it would be - contained. Controlled. They said it was just a legal exercise with a trapdoor clause. A matter of minutes.”
Enzo watched Valentina’s face. Watched the way her mouth tightened like she was holding back a question she’d been saving for the right moment. He could feel the confession building behind her ribs.
The wounded attacker laughed once, sharp and pained. “He’s stalling.”
Enzo didn’t take his eyes off the notary. “Who is ‘they’?”
The notary’s gaze slid toward the wall where the wounded attacker clung to a half-broken composure. “Donato Greco.”
Valentina’s breath caught. “You said the mastermind mentioned Greco.”
The notary shook his head, frantic. “No. Greco is what he used. Greco is what he put on the label so everyone would chase the wrong man. He wasn’t delivering to Greco like a courier.
He was setting a pathway. A political intermediary.
The kind of office that can move documents without raising alarms.”
Enzo felt something in his chest go cold. Greco wasn’t just a name. Greco was a mechanism - one the mastermind could hide behind.
Valentina leaned in, eyes locked on the notary like she could pull the truth straight out of him. “Where are the documents now?”
The notary’s eyes darted toward the consultation room’s locked compartment. His jaw worked like he was chewing pain. “Transferred.”
Enzo’s voice dropped. “To where?”
“Not to Greco’s office,” the notary said, and his voice turned thin. “To Donato Greco’s liaison. A shell desk. A - ” He blinked hard, like the word had to fight through something.
Valentina’s hand tightened around the edge of the drawer panel. “Say it.”
The notary’s mouth trembled. “The Greco intermediary is called - ”
A harsh gasp interrupted him.
Enzo saw it before he understood it: the notary’s chest seized, his body trying to brace for an impact that wasn’t physical. His eyes widened, pupils pinning on Valentina’s face as if he was trying to make the confession land before he couldn’t.
The air went wrong. Too still. Too sharp.
Then the notary collapsed - not gracefully. His knees buckled, and he hit the floor with a wet, blunt sound. His hands clawed once at the carpet, fingers sliding over fibers that looked suddenly too soft for what was happening.
Valentina froze for a fraction of a second, staring down at him like she couldn’t accept the mechanics of it.
Enzo didn’t hesitate. He dropped his pistol to one knee and grabbed the notary’s wrist. The skin was warm, but the pulse felt scattered, irregular, like something had already cut the rhythm out of him.
“What did they give you?” Enzo demanded, voice tight.
The notary’s lips moved, but his words tangled. A faint froth gathered at the corner of his mouth. The smell - bitter chemical - grew stronger with each breath.
Valentina’s eyes flashed with furious betrayal. “Poison.”