Chapter 4 - THE WHITE AMBULANCE
Carlo never lost the ambulance.
That saved Matteo.
Luca’s men switched vehicles at an abandoned clinic outside Caserta.
Carlo stayed far enough back to avoid detection.
Vittorio arrived with Alessio and six men.
Too many for subtlety.
Not enough for a war.
Good.
He did not want a war.
The clinic was half renovated.
Plastic covered windows.
Scaffolding.
No patients.
A perfect place to hold a child nobody should know existed there.
Vittorio’s phone buzzed.
Carlo:
Three men. Luca not visible. Boy upstairs.
Vittorio looked at Alessio.
“You take the rear.”
Alessio smiled.
“Bossy as ever.”
“You came back from the dead. Don’t make me bury you properly.”
Alessio laughed once.
Then disappeared around the building.
Vittorio entered through the front.
One guard surrendered after recognizing him.
Another ran.
The third fired once into the ceiling in panic.
Carlo tackled him from behind.
Vittorio saw Carlo’s face.
Angry.
Bleeding.
Alive.
Later.
“Matteo?”
“Upstairs.”
Vittorio climbed.
At the top hallway, he heard crying.
Small.
Breathless.
“Papa?”
Everything in him broke.
“Matteo!”
He kicked open the door.
His son sat tied to a chair with a strip of cloth around his wrists.
No serious injuries.
Just fear.
Vittorio crossed the room and dropped to his knees.
“Papa.”
“I’m here.”
Matteo threw both arms around his neck.
Vittorio held him.
For once, nothing else existed.
Then Alessio entered.
His face changed when he saw the child.
“Little lion.”
Matteo stared.
He had been two when Alessio “died.”
“Who are you?”
Alessio smiled painfully.
“Complicated answer.”
Vittorio almost laughed.
Then Carlo shouted from downstairs.
“Boss!”
They found a laptop in the clinic office.
Live video call waiting.
Luca.
Vittorio answered.
His brother-in-law appeared on-screen from somewhere dark.
“You found the boy.”
“Yes.”
Luca smiled.
“I underestimated Carlo.”
“You underestimated a seven-year-old.”
That bothered him.
Good.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere you won’t reach.”
“Then why call?”
Luca leaned closer.
“To explain.”
Vittorio almost laughed.
Everyone wanted to explain after failure.
“You think Isabella betrayed you because she stopped loving you.”
Vittorio’s face remained blank.
“She betrayed you because love makes people stupid.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
Luca smiled.
“I don’t love anyone.”
“Then you’re just stupid.”
Carlo coughed to hide a laugh.
Luca’s smile vanished.
He revealed the next stage.
The Palermo families were already mobilizing.
Greco’s son blamed Vittorio.
Two Morelli warehouses had been attacked.
Vittorio’s captains were calling for retaliation.
Chaos had started without his death.
Luca did not need the assassination anymore.
He only needed both sides angry enough.
“What do you want?” Vittorio asked.
“Nothing from you now.”
“Everyone wants something.”
Luca smiled.
“Fine.”
He wanted the Morelli and Greco families to destroy each other while his legitimate shipping companies absorbed abandoned contracts.
Money.
Always.
Behind ideology.
Behind revenge.
Money.
Then Vittorio noticed a sound behind Luca.
Church bells.
Three strikes.
Then a train horn.
Alessio looked up.
He heard it too.
Carlo mouthed:
Portici.
A warehouse district near the rail line and old church.
Luca thought the call untraceable.
He forgot cities have sounds.
Vittorio smiled.
Luca noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He ended the call.
Then turned to Carlo.
“You ran.”
“Yes.”
“You lied by omission.”
“Yes.”
“You saved my son.”
Carlo looked at Matteo.
“Yes.”
Vittorio nodded.
“We discuss the first two after today.”
“Fair.”
He called Palermo.
This time Greco’s son answered.
Vittorio sent Sophia’s recording.
Photos of the duplicate car.
The bomb.
Evidence of Ferri.
Then a photograph of Alessio alive.
That changed everything.
Because Luca had used Alessio’s “death” two years earlier to blame a rival Sicilian faction.
Old grudges had been built on fake evidence.
Greco’s son listened.
Then said:
“We stop for one hour.”
“One?”
“Give me Luca.”
Vittorio replied:
“Alive?”
Silence.
Then:
“Preferably.”
Vittorio almost smiled.
“Agreed.”
He looked at his brother.
“Portici.”
Alessio nodded.
Matteo grabbed Vittorio’s sleeve.
“Papa, are you leaving?”
Vittorio froze.
Old Vittorio would have said:
I have to.
Men are waiting.
Business.
Family honor.
All the usual lies powerful men tell children when choosing danger.
He looked at Carlo.
“Take Matteo to Renzo’s clinic.”
Carlo stared.
“You trust me?”
“With my son.”
That was the answer.
Carlo nodded.
Vittorio knelt.
“I have to stop something.”
Matteo’s eyes filled.
“Come back.”
Vittorio touched his forehead to his son’s.
“I will try.”
Not promise.
Try.
Then Matteo whispered:
“Mom said you always come back.”
Vittorio closed his eyes.
Even after everything, Isabella had told their son that.
He stood.
May you like
“Let’s go find her brother.”
---
