Chapter 10 — When the Wolf Looked Up

“Isabella believed being a Salvatore made her untouchable,” Vittorio said.

Dante’s face changed.

I kept looking at Vittorio.

“She was your friend.”

“She was an accountant’s accomplice.”

“And that was enough?”

“She opened accounts she had no authority to open. She copied transactions. She threatened to take them outside the family.”

Lucia drew a breath.

I spoke before she could.

“So you made her sick.”

Vittorio leaned toward me.

“Your husband’s mother was offered several opportunities to correct her mistake.”

Dante took one step up toward the stage.

The man in the aisle raised his weapon again.

I looked at Dante.

“Stay there.”

His eyes met mine.

Something in my expression held him.

He stopped.

Vittorio glanced between us.

“How quickly she’s learned to manage you.”

I pulled at the rope behind my chair.

The knot had shifted when the guard checked it. My right wrist could move slightly, though the skin beneath it felt raw.

“Did Matteo get opportunities too?” I asked.

“Your father thought he could bargain.”

“For us.”

“For money.”

Lucia’s voice was sharp.

“That’s a lie.”

Vittorio turned toward her.

“You weren’t in the room.”

“No. But I found the payment you made afterward.”

His mouth tightened.

“The one through Bellandi Freight,” she continued. “You disguised it as a consulting fee. The man who received it had never consulted on anything except how to make a shooting look like a robbery.”

The room went quiet.

Dante looked at the folder on the floor.

Lucia had named something we hadn’t decoded.

The final connection.

Vittorio raised his pistol toward her.

“Where is the reference?”

“With the people examining the rest.”

“Which people?”

She didn’t answer.

He turned the gun back toward me.

I forced my wrist deeper into the loose section of rope.

“Don’t,” Dante said.

Vittorio ignored him.

“You brought it here, Lucia. Tell me where.”

“I brought myself here.”

“That isn’t enough.”

“It never was.”

A faint sound reached us from beyond the auditorium.

A door handle turning.

One of the men looked toward the aisle.

Vittorio didn’t notice.

He was watching Lucia.

“You had twenty years to disappear,” he said. “You should have stayed dead.”

“And you should have stopped believing that killing someone erased everything they knew.”

His gaze sharpened.

Then he looked at me.

I had made a mistake.

Not a movement.

A breath of relief.

His head tilted.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

He stepped backward and followed the direction of my eyes.

Dante moved.

Vittorio looked up.

He saw the bird.

For a second, he simply stared.

Then he swore.

Lucia spoke quickly.

“It’s already been transmitted.”

Vittorio swung the pistol toward my head.

Dante lunged up the remaining step.

He struck Vittorio’s wrist as the shot went off.

The sound split the room.

Something tore through the back of my chair.

I threw my weight sideways.

The chair toppled.

My shoulder hit the stage, followed by my cheek.

Dante and Vittorio crashed into the table.

Pages scattered.

Someone shouted from the aisle.

Another shot struck the stage edge.

I dragged my bound feet beneath me, trying to roll away from the gunfire.

Lucia dropped beside me.

“Hold still.”

Her hands worked at the knot around my ankles.

The man who had taken her pistol turned toward us.

A voice thundered through the auditorium.

“Police! Drop the weapon!”

He raised it instead.

A shot sounded.

The man fell behind a piece of scenery.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Sofia. Look at me.”

Lucia had freed my ankles.

She rolled the chair enough to reach the rope behind it.

My right hand slipped through.

I pulled the other free, tearing skin from my wrist.

Then I heard Dante grunt.

I looked up.

Vittorio had a knife.

It was buried against Dante’s side.

Dante caught his wrist, but his injured shoulder failed him.

Vittorio wrenched away.

The blade came free.

Dante staggered.

I tried to stand.

Lucia pushed me behind her.

She reached across the floor, caught the pistol the fallen man had dropped, and raised it.

Vittorio lifted the knife again.

“Drop it!” she shouted.

He turned toward her.

For an instant, I thought he might stop.

Then he drove toward Dante.

Lucia fired.

Vittorio’s body twisted.

The knife hit the floor.

He fell beside the table, one hand clamped over his upper chest.

Dante remained standing for another second.

He looked at me.

Then his knees gave way.

I crawled to him.

Blood spread across his sweater.

I pressed both hands over it.

“No. No, stay with me.”

He caught my wrist lightly.

“You’re free.”

“Yes.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Not like you.”

His fingers slipped.

I pressed harder.

People moved around us. Commands echoed through the theater. Someone pulled Vittorio’s hands behind him.

I couldn’t stop looking at Dante.

A man crouched beside me with a medical bag.

“I need room.”

“He’s bleeding.”

“I know. Let me take over.”

I shifted one hand, then the other, only when his replaced mine.

Dante’s eyes followed me.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m right here.”

The man cut through his sweater.

I looked away for half a second.

Then back.

I had spent too much of my life letting someone tell me the terrible part had happened somewhere else.

I wouldn’t leave him to it.

Nico appeared at the stage steps.

He was breathing hard.

His gaze landed on Dante, then on me.

“Where were you?” I demanded.

“At the harbor. Then Ruth called.”

Dante made a faint sound.

Nico crouched beside him.

“Save the lecture. I know.”

Lucia stood several feet away with her hands visible.

An officer took the pistol from her.

She didn’t resist.

“Tell them about the camera,” I said.

“They know,” she answered.

I stared at her.

“The investigator I contacted arranged it through the theater’s caretaker,” she said. “I gave them everything before I came. Vittorio told me to meet him here.”

“You came anyway.”

“He had you.”

I looked down at Dante.

There would be time to be angry later.

There had to be.

The medic called for the stretcher.

Dante’s eyelids lowered.

I touched his face.

“Open your eyes.”

He obeyed, barely.

“You still haven’t answered,” he murmured.

“What?”

His mouth moved.

I leaned close.

“Whether you’ll stay.”

A sob broke out of me.

“You ask terrible questions at terrible times.”

His lips curved weakly.

“It’s a skill.”

“I’m staying.”

His eyes closed.

“Dante.”

The medic shifted.

“Keep talking to him.”

I bent closer.

“I’m staying because I choose you. Do you understand? Not because of the money. Not because you made a promise when you were eleven.”

There was no answer.

They lifted him onto the stretcher.

I walked beside it.

At the auditorium doors, I caught his hand again.

“I choose you,” I repeated.

But his fingers had stopped closing around mine.