Chapter 10 - The Dying Wish of Camilla Falcone
By noon that day, Camilla Falcone had been laid to rest in a private,
consecrated chapel on the grounds of the St. Moritz estate, her unburned wedding
ring shining on her finger beneath a blanket of white alpine roses.
The grief had been transformed into an engine of cold, calculated destruction.
Our private Gulfstream jet cut through the winter clouds, descending toward
Rome’s Ciampino Military Airport under an emergency diplomatic landing clearance
secured through Matteo’s high-ranking allies in the Italian Ministry of Defense.
On the flight from Switzerland, Matteo had finalized the offensive strategy with
Stefano and his senior capos via an encrypted conference link.
“Senator Castiglione is hosting the annual Winter Gala of the Republican
Coalition tonight at the Palazzo Colonna,” Stefano reported from Rome, his voice
crackling over the jet’s speaker system. “Three hundred politicians, federal
judges, foreign ambassadors, and the leadership of the Roman families will be in
attendance. Bianca is scheduled to give the keynote speech on maritime trade
security at nine o’clock.”
Matteo leaned back in his leather seat, swirling two fingers of vintage scotch
in a crystal tumbler.
“They believe Camilla died in the clinic fire two nights ago,” Matteo observed
coldly. “Vittorio received confirmation from the Swiss police that Room 304 was
incinerated.”
“Yes, boss,” Stefano confirmed. “They think the evidence was destroyed with her.
The Senator believes his ascension to the Senate presidency is unchallenged.”
Matteo turned his gaze toward me.
I was seated across the table, dressed in an exquisite, bespoke midnight-black
silk evening gown tailored by an Italian designer who had met our flight in
Milan. My hair was styled in an elegant chignon, secured with antique
tortoiseshell pins, and resting proudly against my chest was Donna Camilla’s red
coral rose.
In my small black evening clutch, nestled beside a gold compact mirror, was the
weeping angel platinum locket containing the uncompressed digital evidence of
Vittorio Castiglione’s crimes.
“Gina,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register that
made my heart race.
I looked up from my briefing notes. “Yes, Matteo?”
“Tonight, you will walk into the lion’s den,” he said, his dark eyes locking
onto mine with an intensity that felt like a vow. “You will stand before the men
who held your brother’s life hostage, and you will hand them their death
warrants.”
“I’m not afraid, Matteo,” I said, and to my own surprise, the words were
completely true.
The frightened, penniless maid who had scrubbed the chapel flagstones in Sicily
was gone, burned away in the gunfire of Lake Zurich. Standing in her place was a
woman who had received the blessing of Donna Camilla, a woman who carried the
truth in her hands.
Matteo reached across the table, his broad, warm hand gently covering mine. His
thumb caressed the side of my wrist, sending a pleasant, reassuring shiver
through my veins.
“You are the bravest woman I have ever known, Gina,” Matteo murmured softly.
“Tonight, I settle the debt for Camilla. But tomorrow... tomorrow I build a
future for us.”
The jet’s landing gear touched down on the Roman tarmac with a sharp, decisive
May you like
screech.
The reckoning had arrived in the Eternal City.
