Chapter 15
Alessandro sat at his mahogany desk, bathed in the early morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
He slid the contents of the courier envelope onto the blotter.
Inside was a small brass key labeled with a locker number at Zurich Central Station, a bundle of European bearer bonds, and a thick, handwritten journal bound in weathered black leather.
Alessandro recognized Julian’s slanted, energetic handwriting on the cover.
On the first page, written in faded ink from three years ago, was a simple dedication:
*For Alessandro—in case I don't make it to the other side.*
Alessandro turned the pages, reading his brother's final thoughts. Julian detailed the escape plan, the love he had found with Emily, the terror of discovering Matteo was laundering cartel money through the family trust, and his desperate desire to give his unborn daughter a life free of mafia bloodshed.
It was everything Alessandro had needed to hear for three long, agonizing years. It was closure. It was peace.
Alessandro closed the journal, taking a deep, cleansing breath. The darkness that had gripped his heart was gone. He looked out the window. Down in the garden, Emily and Zoe were walking along the stone path, Zoe chasing a butterfly while Emily laughed, the morning breeze catching her chestnut hair.
They were safe. The Romano bloodline had survived. The empire was secure.
Then, Alessandro noticed something else inside the envelope.
Stuck to the very bottom of the packaging was a modern, glossy postcard.
Alessandro reached in and pulled it out.
His brow furrowed.
The postcard was a photograph of the Swiss Alps—specifically, the resort town of Zermatt. It wasn't three years old. The edges were crisp, pristine, and uncreased.
Alessandro flipped the postcard over.
The Swiss postal cancellation stamp across the top was dated: **October 14th—just two weeks ago.**
Alessandro’s breath stopped in his throat.
The handwriting on the back was unmistakable. It was written in the exact same slanted, energetic script as the journal in front of him.
Julian’s handwriting.
Alessandro leaned closer, his eyes scanning the three short sentences scrawled across the card:
*Matteo didn't try to kill me, brother. He helped me fake the crash so I could hunt the real traitor.*
*Watch Emily.*
*She isn't who she says she is.*
Alessandro froze. The silence in the study became absolute, heavier than the grave.
Slowly, through the double glass of the high study window, Alessandro looked back down at the sunlit garden.
Down on the stone path, Emily knelt beside little Zoe.
Emily reached into her coat pocket, pulled out an encrypted satellite phone Alessandro had never seen before, checked a message with cold, razor-sharp efficiency, and slid it back into her pocket without a trace of the fragile, trembling mother she had been just hours ago.
May you like
She looked directly up at the second-floor study window.
And through the glass, fifty yards away, Emily looked straight into Alessandro’s eyes... and didn't look away.
