Chương 2 - THE MAN WHO SMILED TOO EARLY
By midnight, Chicago knew.
The headlines were brutal.
MAFIA HEIRESS ABANDONS WHEELCHAIR-BOUND GROOM.
VITALI WEDDING COLLAPSES AT ALTAR.
BRIDE: “I CANNOT SPEND MY LIFE BESIDE A MAN WHO CANNOT STAND.”
The letter leaked within an hour.
That bothered Lorenzo more than the headline.
Only four people had handled it.
Bianca.
Enzo.
Lorenzo.
And the upstairs maid who found it.
The maid had worked for his family twelve years.
Enzo trusted her.
Lorenzo trusted Enzo.
Which left Bianca.
Or someone who already knew what the letter said.
At 1:14 a.m., Ferreri’s political consultant posted a vague message:
Sometimes leadership requires the strength to stand alone.
Subtle.
Almost admirable in its stupidity.
Enzo placed his phone on Lorenzo’s desk.
“He wants a reaction.”
“He’ll get boredom.”
“Three days until the Port Authority consortium vote.”
Lorenzo nodded.
That was the real battlefield.
Three privately controlled cargo terminals were being reorganized.
Vitali Logistics wanted the controlling concession.
Ferreri Maritime wanted the same.
Five family-backed voting groups would decide.
Two supported Lorenzo.
Two Ferreri.
One remained undecided.
The Bellandi group.
Traditional.
Old.
Obsessed with appearances.
And Ferreri had just arranged for half the city to see Lorenzo abandoned by his bride because of his disability.
Weak leader.
Unstable household.
Public humiliation.
Suddenly Ferreri’s smile made sense.
Not all of it.
Enough.
The next morning Lorenzo met Sofia Maren.
She arrived at nine without condolences.
One reason he liked her.
Sofia was thirty-three.
Architect.
Dark hair cut to her shoulders.
Born in Boston, educated at MIT, possessed the irritating habit of looking at millionaires as if they were merely clients who had ignored her emails.
Two years earlier, after Lorenzo’s injury, Sofia redesigned the Vitali estate.
Ramps that did not look like ramps.
Lowered library shelving.
Accessible bathrooms that did not resemble hospitals.
An elevator Lorenzo initially refused.
She had told him:
“You can either use the elevator or spend the rest of your life proving something to a staircase.”
He hired her immediately.
Now she entered his study carrying blueprints.
Lorenzo frowned.
“We don’t have a project.”
“You do.”
She dropped photographs onto his desk.
“What?”
“The temporary wedding structure.”
He stared.
“You came here today to discuss flooring?”
“No.”
She pointed at a photograph of the rear service corridor.
“Someone asked my office for original estate access plans last month.”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
“Who?”
“Request came through Vitali legal.”
“I did not authorize that.”
“I assumed you did.”
“Which lawyer?”
“Paolo Rinaldi.”
Internal counsel.
Enzo’s face darkened.
Sofia continued:
“They requested old camera conduit maps.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Now they had two problems.
Bianca.
And someone inside Lorenzo’s organization reviewing security infrastructure weeks before the wedding.
Enzo asked:
“Related?”
Sofia shrugged.
“Maybe your abandoned bride hates wheelchairs and your lawyer suddenly developed a passion for wiring diagrams.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“You always this comforting?”
“Only for premium clients.”
For the first time since reading Bianca’s letter, Lorenzo smiled.
Briefly.
Then Enzo’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“We found Bianca.”
Lorenzo’s smile vanished.
“Where?”
“O’Hare.”
“Leaving?”
“No.”
Enzo looked at him.
“She already left.”
“Destination?”
“Montreal.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
Pause.
“With her brother Matteo.”
That mattered.
Matteo DeSanto had disappeared from Chicago four days earlier.
A charming disaster in expensive shoes.
Gambling.
Bad investments.
Rumors of debt.
Lorenzo had offered help twice.
Bianca refused.
Family pride.
Enzo continued:
“We found the debt.”
“How much?”
“Eight-point-four million.”
“To whom?”
Enzo placed a document down.
Ferreri Capital Recovery.
Lorenzo leaned back.
There it was.
Not proof Bianca was forced.
But Ferreri had leverage.
And Bianca had left in his car.
Sofia studied Lorenzo’s face.
“You going after her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Enzo looked at her.
She shrugged.
“She knows his phone number.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Sofia continued:
“If she wants help, she can ask.”
That irritated him.
Because it was true.
And because some part of him still wanted one fact to erase the letter.
Eight-point-four million dollars did not erase handwriting.
May you like
It only complicated it.
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