We left the lake house before midnight.
Not because I knew someone was coming.
Because survival was often about leaving ten minutes before certainty.
Elena rode beside me in the rear seat while three security vehicles moved through the snow-darkened roads.
She hadn't complained once.
That concerned me more than her sarcasm had.
"What are you thinking?"
She looked through the window.
"That yesterday I was worried about being fired."
I almost smiled.
"Perspective."
"Apparently."
She rubbed her hands together.
"Where now?"
"Downtown."
"Your penthouse?"
I looked at her.
"How do you know I have one?"
"You're Matteo DeLuca. Of course you have a penthouse."
Fair.
The property occupied the top floors of a private building overlooking the Chicago River.
Unlike the estate, few people knew I used it.
We entered through an underground garage.
Luca met us upstairs.
His expression told me the situation had worsened.
"What?"
"We traced some of Callahan's calls."
"To whom?"
"Burners mostly."
"Mostly?"
He glanced at Elena.
"Vincenzo's driver."
My uncle's driver had served him for fourteen years.
"When?"
"Six calls in two weeks."
"Bring him in."
"Already looking."
Elena stepped toward us.
"Can I ask something?"
Luca looked at me.
I nodded.
"If Peter was part of this, why kill him?"
"Loose end," Luca said.
"Or scapegoat."
Both men looked at her.
Elena continued.
"If someone wanted Matteo to believe Peter poisoned me, disappearing would make him suspicious. Finding Peter dead makes him look guilty and unable to defend himself."
I crossed my arms.
"Go on."
"What if Peter didn't erase the footage?"
"His credentials were used."
"Which means whoever did it wanted you to find his name."
Luca frowned.
"She's got a point."
Elena looked uncomfortable with the compliment.
"Peter came into the kitchen," she said. "But I remember something now."
"What?"
"He spoke to me."
My pulse quickened.
"What did he say?"
"He asked if I was feeling okay."
"When?"
"Before I drank much tea."
"Meaning?"
"He might have noticed something."
Elena's eyes widened.
"Maybe he knew."
"Or suspected."
Peter hadn't fled because he was guilty.
He might have fled because he realized the person who drugged Elena would come after him next.
Someone had silenced him before he could reach me.
I turned to Luca.
"Reconstruct every minute of Peter's final twelve hours."
"Done."
"And bring Vincenzo here tomorrow."
Luca hesitated.
"You sure?"
"Did I sound uncertain?"
"No."
He left.
Elena watched me.
"Your uncle won't like being summoned."
"I don't care."
"That's not what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"If he's involved, he'll know you're suspicious."
"He already knows."
"How?"
"The attack on our car failed."
She considered that.
"What if he isn't behind it?"
"Then he'll help me find who is."
"And if he is?"
I looked at her.
"Then six years ends tomorrow."
She didn't ask me what that meant.
The next morning, Vincenzo arrived at ten.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired, elegantly dressed, and built from the old DeLuca tradition where politeness and violence occupied the same chair comfortably.
He entered the penthouse smiling.
"Matteo."
"Uncle."
Then he saw Elena.
His smile didn't disappear.
But it paused.
That was enough.
"Ms. Marlowe," he said.
Elena stood near the windows.
"Mr. DeLuca."
My uncle looked at me.
"I didn't realize this was a social call."
"It isn't."
We sat.
Elena remained.
Vincenzo noticed.
"Private family matters usually remain private."
"She is the family matter."
His expression hardened slightly.
"What happened?"
"Someone drugged her."
"Terrible."
"Someone also killed Peter Callahan."
This time, genuine surprise crossed his face.
"Peter is dead?"
"Shot."
He leaned back.
"I hadn't heard."
"Your driver called him six times."
Vincenzo's gaze sharpened.
"Is that an accusation?"
"It's a statement."
"My driver handles dozens of matters."
"Then he'll explain."
"He disappeared this morning."
That landed.
My uncle became very still.
I had known Vincenzo my entire life.
Whatever else he was, his reactions were difficult to fake.
He had not known his driver was gone.
"Tell me what this is about," he said.
I slid the note across the table.
He read it.
His face changed.
Not guilt.
Fear.
"You need to get her out of Chicago."
"Already tried."
"What do you know?"
His voice was lower.
"Enough."
"Matteo."
"Who was with you in my study three nights ago?"
Vincenzo looked at Elena.
Understanding appeared.
"You heard us."
"Answer."
He stood.
"Send her out."
"No."
"This isn't for her."
"Someone made it about her."
My uncle turned toward Elena.
"Whoever hears what I'm about to say becomes a target."
She swallowed.
"I already am."
Vincenzo looked at me.
Then slowly sat again.
"The man with me was Salvatore Rizzi."
The name meant something.
Salvatore ran logistics for several DeLuca-owned companies.
More importantly, six years earlier he had been one of Gabriel's closest friends.
"Why were you meeting him secretly?"
"Because he contacted me."
"About?"
"Gabriel."
The room went silent.
Vincenzo exhaled.
"Two weeks ago Salvatore told me your brother kept a second ledger."
My heart hammered once.
"Where?"
"He didn't know."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"What did Rizzi know?"
"That Gabriel had discovered the people moving money weren't planning a simple takeover."
"What were they planning?"
"A partnership with another organization."
"Which?"
"The Carbone family."
The Carbones had spent six years publicly neutral toward us.
Privately, we shared territory with a fragile peace.
"Who inside our family?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I spent six years trying to find out."
"You spent six years telling me Gabriel was paranoid."
"Because your father ordered me to."
That stopped me.
"My father died four years ago."
"Yes."
"Why would he protect whoever murdered his son?"
"He wasn't protecting the killer."
Vincenzo's voice hardened.
"He was protecting you."
I stood.
"Careful."
"He knew if you discovered the truth without proof, you'd burn Chicago looking for revenge."
"He knew?"
"He suspected."
"Who?"
Vincenzo looked at me.
"Your cousin Adrian."
I felt something inside me go cold.
Adrian DeLuca.
My father's godson.
The man I had grown up calling brother.
A man sitting on my financial council.
"Evidence."
"None that would survive scrutiny."
"Then why say his name?"
"Because Peter Callahan came to me five days ago."
My eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"He said Adrian had asked questions about a housekeeper."
Elena.
"What kind of questions?"
"Where she lived. Whether she had family. Whether she had mentioned overhearing something."
Elena went pale.
"Why didn't Peter tell me?"
"Because he didn't know who to trust."
That was the system I had created.
Fear protected me.
It also isolated me from information.
"What happened six years ago?" Elena asked.
Vincenzo looked at her.
"Gabriel discovered Adrian was selling access to the DeLuca transportation network."
"To the Carbones?"
"Yes."
"For what?"
"Power."
Vincenzo's mouth tightened.
"Adrian believed Matteo was too conservative. Too interested in legitimate business. He wanted expansion."
"What did Gabriel do?"
"He copied records."
I finished for him.
"And Adrian killed him."
"That was the theory."
"Sofia died with him."
Vincenzo lowered his eyes.
"Yes."
My hands curled into fists.
For six years I had suspected half the family.
Never Adrian.
Because Adrian had been standing beside me at both funerals.
He had carried Sofia's coffin.
He had held my shoulder when I nearly collapsed beside her grave.
I felt sick.
Elena stepped closer.
"Why is he after me now?"
Vincenzo answered.
"Because Salvatore believes Gabriel hid the ledger somewhere inside Matteo's estate."
"And I heard you discussing it."
"Yes."
"But why poison me instead of just..."
She stopped.
Instead of killing me.
Vincenzo understood.
"Because murder inside the estate creates questions."
"Drugging me doesn't?"
"If you died from illness or an accidental overdose, perhaps fewer."
I looked toward the windows.
"Where is Adrian now?"
Luca, standing near the door, checked his phone.
"His office says he hasn't arrived."
"Home?"
"No answer."
Of course.
Adrian knew.
"Lock down every property."
Luca moved.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Matteo."
The voice was familiar.
Adrian.
"Hello, cousin."
I looked at Vincenzo.
He understood immediately.
"Where are you?"
Adrian laughed quietly.
"That's not the question you should ask."
"What question?"
"Where is Salvatore?"
Vincenzo stood.
Adrian continued.
"Or perhaps where is the ledger?"
"You're done."
"Am I?"
"You killed Gabriel."
Silence.
Then:
"Gabriel chose his side."
My vision darkened.
"And Sofia?"
A pause.
"Was unfortunate."
Elena flinched.
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles whitened.
"You planted the bomb."
"I gave an order."
Six years of grief compressed into a single second.
I could hear Sofia telling me she wanted our child somewhere safe.
I could see myself refusing.
I could see fire.
"You should have stayed buried in your grief, Matteo," Adrian said. "It made you predictable."
"Where are you?"
"You're still asking the wrong question."
Then I heard something in the background.
A muffled voice.
Salvatore.
Adrian had him.
"What do you want?"
"The ledger."
"I don't have it."
"But Elena can find it."
Everyone looked at her.
Adrian continued.
"Gabriel had a habit. Whenever he hid something important, he left clues where ordinary people would notice them and powerful men wouldn't."
Elena's expression changed.
"What does that mean?"
I asked.
Adrian laughed.
"Ask your housekeeper what she found behind Sofia's portrait."
The line disconnected.
Elena stared at me.
"What portrait?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Because there was only one portrait of Sofia remaining in the estate.
I had ordered every other photograph removed.
One painting remained locked inside her old sitting room.
A room nobody had entered for six years.
Elena whispered, "Matteo?"
"I never told the staff what's inside that room."
Her face went pale.
"I've been inside."
Everything stopped.
"When?"
"Last week."
"How?"
"The door was open."
Impossible.
"I found a small brass key behind the portrait."
My heart began pounding.
"What did you do with it?"
"I thought it belonged to a cabinet."
"Where is it?"
She swallowed.
"In my apron pocket."
The apron she had been wearing the night someone drugged her.
The apron still inside the estate.
Adrian hadn't been trying to kill Elena.
He had been trying to make her unconscious long enough to search her clothes.
But she collapsed in my room before they could reach her.
And somehow, without knowing it, Elena had been carrying the key to Gabriel's final secret.