Chapter 4 - Return to the Estate
The wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate loomed out of the fog like the jaws of a steel trap.
Matteo’s black sedan didn't slow down as it approached; the security sensors recognized the plates and swung the heavy barriers wide open. Behind him, a second vehicle carried Norah, the twins, and a trusted private nurse he had hired on the spot to look after the children until Grace could be discharged.
The mansion stood silent and imposing against the midnight sky, its gothic brick facade draped in ivy and shadows. For twelve years, Matteo had walked these halls believing his sister's death was a tragic, lonely accident—a dark chapter he had sealed away behind locked doors and bitter grief.
Now, sitting in the back of the car with the scratched silver key clutched in his fist, he realized he had been living in a house built on lies.
The car stopped under the grand portico. Tony killed the engine and hurried to open Matteo’s door, while a second guard unloaded the baby carriers.
"Secure the perimeter," Matteo ordered quietly as he stepped out onto the cobblestones. "No one enters or leaves the property. If Calvin Mercer attempts to move his vehicle, pin him."
"Understood, boss," Tony replied, his hand resting near his holster.
Matteo walked up the grand stone steps and pushed open the massive front doors. The foyer was dead silent. The grandfather clock ticked away the seconds with heavy, rhythmic finality.
Calvin Mercer was waiting in the hallway near the base of the grand staircase. He wore a crisp, tailored gray suit, his silver hair neatly combed, holding a silver pocket watch in his palm as if he were simply waiting for a late guest.
"Mr. Moretti," Calvin said smoothly, offering a polite, deferential bow. "I trust the girl and her infants are settled? I’ve already instructed the kitchen staff to prepare—"
"Where is she?" Matteo interrupted, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper as he crossed the foyer.
Calvin blinked, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. "Sir? Who?"
"Grace," Matteo said, stepping directly into Calvin’s personal space, towering over him by half a foot. "She told me about the north wing, Calvin. She told me about the ledger behind Lucia's portrait."
The color drained instantly from Calvin’s face, leaving his skin the gray of wet ash. The polite, subservient estate manager vanished, replaced by a cornered rat calculating his escape odds.
Calvin took a half-step back, his hand dipping casually toward his jacket pocket. "Ah. It seems the help was talking out of turn. Grace was always prone to hysterical fabrications, Mr. Moretti. Surely you don't believe—"
Before Calvin could finish his sentence, Matteo moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed Calvin by the silk lapels of his suit, hoisted him off his feet, and slammed him against the oak-paneled wall with a resounding crash that echoed off the vaulted ceilings.
"You embezzled my sister's estate," Matteo snarled, pressing his forearm against Calvin's throat. "You forged her signature, you pushed her out, and then you starved the maid who happened to find your trash."
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Calvin choked for air, his hands clawing uselessly at Matteo’s coat. "You... you can't... the board will want—"
"I am the board," Matteo whispered. He pulled the silver key from his pocket and dangled it in front of Calvin’s wide, terrified eyes. "Now, you are going to walk me up to the north wing, open the vault, and hand me every single page. Or I promise you won't live to see the sun rise."
