Chapter 10
The Moretti theater had not hosted a performance in thirty years.
Once, singers and politicians had sat beneath gilded balconies while Vincent’s grandfather entertained men who controlled half the city.
Later it became private meeting ground.
Then storage.
Then memory.
At midnight, only one light burned above the stage.
Dominic entered first.
Vincent waited in darkness behind the rear aisle.
Emma stayed with Leo at a separate safe location known only to Vincent and one woman outside the family.
Peter remained near the theater entrance.
His face had changed after Vincent promised nothing but effort.
Sometimes hope made men more afraid than certainty.
Dominic stepped onto the stage.
“Matteo.”
One clap sounded from the balcony.
Then another.
An old man appeared.
Matteo Moretti.
Seventy-four.
White hair.
Dark suit.
Left hand missing two fingers.
Alive.
Vincent watched from shadow.
Nineteen years of false death stood above him.
Matteo smiled at Dominic.
“You came.”
“You said second lesson.”
“Yes.”
“No child.”
Matteo’s smile faded.
“Where is Leo?”
Dominic swallowed.
“Vincent moved him.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Matteo studied him.
“You failed.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“No.”
That word.
Small.
Important.
Matteo tilted his head.
Dominic continued.
“I’m done.”
The old man almost laughed.
“You were never brave enough to be done.”
“I was nineteen when you found me.”
“And ambitious.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted family.”
“Yes.”
“I gave it.”
Dominic looked toward the empty seats.
“You gave me resentment and called it family.”
Matteo’s expression changed.
Vincent felt something.
Nico’s words.
Men like Matteo needed ownership more than love.
Dominic rejecting him mattered.
“Where is Vincent?” Matteo asked.
Dominic smiled faintly.
“Close.”
Vincent stepped into the aisle.
Matteo looked down.
No surprise.
“Second son.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Wrong family story.”
Matteo descended the stairs slowly.
“You became softer.”
“Everyone says that.”
“You let a maid stand beside your heir.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Emma has protected my son better than my blood.”
Matteo almost smiled.
“Exactly the disease Isabella spread.”
“My mother saved Nico from you.”
“She stole my son.”
“You broke him.”
“I prepared him.”
“For what?”
“This.”
Matteo gestured toward the theater.
“A world where weakness becomes invitation.”
Vincent walked closer.
“You trained an eight-year-old by making him choose who suffered.”
“Choice reveals character.”
“No.”
Vincent stopped several feet away.
“Choice without freedom reveals the man creating the trap.”
Matteo’s face tightened.
Good.
Vincent continued.
“You blamed my mother.”
“Yes.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“Me.”
Matteo smiled.
“You inherited the chair.”
“Not your son.”
That landed.
Matteo’s eyes hardened.
“Nico abandoned blood.”
“He escaped you.”
Silence.
Vincent saw the wound.
Nico was the center.
Not Leo.
Leo was revenge for losing Nico.
Matteo wanted Vincent to experience a son turned through fear.
“You don’t want Leo.”
Matteo smiled.
“I want you to watch what fathers create.”
“You want me to become you.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“I want you to understand me.”
Vincent almost laughed.
“That’s worse.”
A sound came from backstage.
Peter moved.
Vincent looked.
Two men dragged someone into the light.
Andrew Shaw.
Peter’s son.
Alive.
Hands bound.
Peter froze.
“Dad.”
Matteo looked toward Peter.
“One debt.”
Peter’s face broke.
Matteo then nodded toward another curtain.
A second figure appeared.
Gabriel Romano.
Sofia’s brother.
Alive.
Vincent stared.
Gabriel looked older.
Scar across his forehead.
But alive.
“Brother-in-law.”
Vincent’s voice became ice.
Gabriel looked ashamed.
“Vincent.”
Matteo smiled.
“Now we have enough family.”
Peter stared at Andrew.
Vincent at Gabriel.
Dominic at Matteo.
No Leo.
Matteo had changed the lesson.
The child was not here.
The fathers were.
Matteo looked toward Peter.
“Choose.”
Peter’s face went white.
Vincent understood.
May you like
Matteo had never stopped teaching the same lesson.
Only changed the age of the student.
