Chapter 11 - The Man Above Saint
Carlo refused to explain.
Even after federal agents arrived.
Even after Margaret survived the gunshot because the bullet passed through her upper chest without striking her heart.
Even after recordings captured his confession to Anthony’s murder and Elena’s death.
Carlo said one thing repeatedly.
“You still don’t understand the family.”
Matteo sat beside June in the hospital while doctors removed the bullet from his shoulder.
She should have left.
She did not.
Neither mentioned the kiss.
That made it worse.
At six in the morning, Daniel arrived with federal investigator Rebecca Sloan.
Sloan had spent twelve years investigating organized financial crime.
Matteo trusted her exactly as much as he trusted government officials generally.
Very little.
She placed Carlo’s phone on the table.
“Messages were exchanged through encrypted accounts.”
“Trace them,” Matteo said.
“We are.”
June asked, “Why call someone Father?”
Sloan looked at Matteo.
“Could be religious.”
St. Augustine.
Saint.
Father.
June thought.
“Or literal.”
Matteo’s father was dead.
Carlo and Matteo shared no living father.
Caterina’s husband, Giovanni DeLuca, had died twenty-three years earlier.
Unless—
June sat upright.
“When did Giovanni die?”
Matteo frowned.
“2003.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
“Body?”
Matteo looked irritated.
“What?”
“Was there a body?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him?”
He paused.
“I was twelve.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Sloan became interested.
Daniel looked disturbed.
“June.”
“Maybe Father isn’t Giovanni. But every death connected to this family became convenient.”
Matteo looked toward the investigator.
“Exhume him.”
Sloan blinked.
“That requires—”
“Do whatever paperwork you need.”
June almost smiled.
Courthouse life had infected him.
By afternoon, another clue surfaced.
The encrypted account Carlo called Father had existed for twenty-six years.
Older than some internet services it later migrated through.
Payments tied to it began before Carlo took over.
That meant someone above Carlo had directed Saint from the beginning.
Caterina denied knowing.
“I created the fund,” she said. “I did not create whoever took control of it.”
“Who knew?” June asked.
“My husband. Anthony. Daniel’s father. Two accountants.”
“All dead?”
“Yes.”
Convenient again.
Mrs. Kaplan arrived with another discovery.
The first divorce petition sent to June contained a handwritten printer code.
She traced it.
The printer belonged to St. Gabriel’s Retirement Residence.
June frowned.
“A nursing home?”
“Private residence,” Mrs. Kaplan corrected.
“Run by a charitable foundation.”
Matteo stared.
“What foundation?”
Mrs. Kaplan slid over a brochure.
St. Anthony Foundation.
The original charity.
They drove there before sunset.
Matteo’s arm was in a sling.
June repeatedly told him he should rest.
He repeatedly ignored her.
St. Gabriel’s housed retired priests, wealthy donors, and elderly residents requiring discreet private care.
The director resisted giving records.
Rebecca Sloan produced a federal order.
One resident had lived there under a private-payment arrangement for twenty-three years.
Name: John D’Angelo.
No public visitors.
Bills paid through St. Anthony Foundation.
June looked at Matteo.
“D’Angelo.”
His mother’s maiden name.
Matteo went still.
They entered room 214.
An old man sat beside the window.
Thin.
White-haired.
Oxygen tube.
But his eyes—
Matteo stopped.
June saw recognition before anyone spoke.
The old man smiled.
“Matteo.”
Matteo whispered, “Grandfather?”
Giovanni DeLuca was alive.
The death had been staged.
The funeral had contained another body.
For twenty-three years, Giovanni had directed the surviving network through intermediaries.
Carlo.
Attorneys.
Accountants.
Officials.
“Why?” Matteo asked.
Giovanni looked amused.
“Because visible kings get arrested.”
June felt disgust.
“You let your family bury you.”
“I let my enemies stop looking.”
“You let your son die.”
Giovanni’s smile disappeared.
“Anthony became weak.”
Matteo stepped forward.
June caught his arm.
Not this again.
Giovanni noticed.
“So she is the clerk.”
June said, “And you’re Father.”
“Yes.”
No denial.
No fear.
At ninety years old, Giovanni believed himself untouchable.
Perhaps he had been for too long.
He told them everything with arrogance.
Anthony had tried to dismantle the network.
Elena found records.
Carlo handled both problems.
Giovanni allowed it.
“Family survives through discipline,” he said.
Matteo stared at him.
“You killed your own son.”
“He betrayed what we built.”
Matteo’s voice became cold.
“No. You betrayed him.”
For the first time, Giovanni looked angry.
“You are alive because of what I built.”
“I spent my life carrying a reputation created by men like you.”
“And benefiting from it.”
That hit.
Matteo did not deny it.
June admired him for that.
Giovanni looked toward her.
“You will leave eventually.”
June said nothing.
“You think he is different because he protects you.”
Still nothing.
“All DeLuca men choose power.”
Matteo answered.
“Not anymore.”
Giovanni laughed.
“You need the companies.”
“No.”
“You need the trust.”
“No.”
Giovanni’s smile faded.
Matteo removed his family ring.
Set it on the table.
“I choose her.”
June forgot to breathe.
Matteo continued.
“I choose Lena. I choose Elena’s truth. I choose every employee your network used. Keep the empire.”
Giovanni stared.
Perhaps nobody had ever refused him.
Rebecca Sloan stepped forward.
“Giovanni DeLuca, you are under arrest.”
The old man actually laughed.
“You have nothing.”
Sloan held up Margaret’s recording device.
“Your son talked.”
Giovanni’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Then June’s phone rang.
Her mother.
She answered immediately.
“Ma?”
Rose was crying.
“June.”
June stood.
“What happened?”
“The house.”
“What?”
“Someone broke in.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Anthony?”
“He’s missing.”
June’s stomach dropped.
Her brother.
“Ma, where is Anthony?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Rose said something that made June look at Giovanni.
“They left a note.”
June whispered, “What does it say?”
May you like
Rose read it.
THE OLD MAN WAS NEVER WORKING ALONE.
