"How many?"
"Enough."
The answer seemed to age the old man another ten years.
He looked toward Elena.
"Your father was a good man."
She wiped her cheek.
"Don't."
Alessandro lowered his head.
"I should have believed him."
"Yes."
"I should have protected your mother."
"Yes."
"I should have found you."
Elena stared at him.
"But you didn't."
There was no anger in her voice now.
Only exhaustion.
And somehow, that hurt more.
Matteo stepped between them.
"Father, we need to get out of here."
Alessandro did not respond.
"Father."
The old man finally looked at him.
"Take Vincent downstairs."
"Where?"
"Somewhere he can speak without an audience."
Vincent laughed.
"You think you can undo twenty years with one recording?"
Alessandro turned.
"No."
He looked at the man who had destroyed his family.
"But I can stop you from destroying another twenty."
The guards escorted Vincent away.
Elena remained beside the table.
She wanted to leave.
She had imagined this moment for years.
In some versions, she confronted Alessandro in his office.
In others, she delivered the recording to a journalist.
Sometimes she imagined him falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness.
But now that she stood before him, none of those imagined endings seemed important.
She only wanted to go home.
Matteo approached her.
"Miss Rossi."
She turned.
"Don't call me that like we're friends."
He accepted the rebuke.
"All right."
She looked toward the exit.
"Can I leave?"
Matteo glanced at his father.
Alessandro nodded.
"Yes."
Matteo walked her to the entrance.
Outside, rain had begun falling against the pavement.
The city looked almost peaceful.
Cars moved through the street, headlights reflecting in the wet asphalt. A couple stood beneath a black umbrella, laughing as they hurried toward a taxi.
Elena pulled her coat around herself.
"Do you know what I want?" she asked.
Matteo stopped beside her.
"What?"
"I want to stop being the daughter of a dead man."
He looked at her.
"I want to be Elena. Just Elena. Not Daniel Rossi's daughter. Not the girl who spent twenty years waiting for an explanation."
Matteo said nothing.
She continued.
"Your family took everything from us. My mother never recovered. She spent the rest of her life checking the locks before going to bed. She changed apartments whenever she thought somebody had recognized her. She died believing my father had been murdered by the man he trusted most."
Matteo lowered his eyes.
"I am sorry."
"You're not responsible for what happened."
"No. But I am responsible for what happens next."
Elena looked at him.
"Then make sure your father tells the truth."
She walked away.
Matteo watched until she disappeared around the corner.
When he returned to the table, Alessandro was still standing beside his chair.
The old man looked toward the empty doorway.
"She has her mother's eyes."
Matteo pulled out a chair.
"Who was Sofia?"
Alessandro sat slowly.
"Someone I loved."
Matteo looked at him.
The words were unexpected.
He had never heard his father speak about love.
Not once.
"Did you know her?"
Alessandro stared at the rain-covered windows.
"Before your mother."
Matteo remained silent.
"Your mother was a good woman," Alessandro continued. "She gave me you. She gave me a home when I had nothing except enemies. But Sofia..." He paused. "Sofia knew me before I became the man everyone feared."
"What happened?"
"I was young. Your grandfather was still alive. Sofia's family owned a small bakery in Brooklyn. I used to visit every morning because she worked there."
A faint, painful smile appeared.
"She hated me."
"Why?"
"Because I was arrogant. Because I wore expensive clothes and thought the world owed me something. She once threw a cup of coffee at me."
Matteo almost smiled.
"That sounds like someone you would have disliked."
"I loved her."
Alessandro looked at the recorder.
"But I chose the family."
"And Daniel?"
"He loved her too. He was a better man than I was."
Matteo studied his father.
"Did you know Daniel was protecting her?"
"No."
"Did you know she had Elena?"
Alessandro shook his head.
"I believed they had both disappeared."
Matteo leaned forward.
"Father, there is something else."
Alessandro looked at him.
"Vincent didn't become powerful by himself. Somebody helped him."
The old man understood immediately.
The Moretti organization was not a small operation.
Vincent had controlled the family's security network, financial intermediaries, and several overseas companies.
He could not have concealed a murder for twenty years without assistance.
And the recording had revealed something more disturbing.
Someone inside the family had authorized the payment.
Alessandro slowly turned toward his son.
"Find out who."
Matteo nodded.
But before he could stand, his phone vibrated.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
It contained one photograph.
A woman standing outside a small apartment building.
Elena.
Beneath the image were seven words.
SHE SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST BURIED.
Matteo showed his father.
Alessandro stared at the photograph.
Then he looked toward the entrance.
"Call the driver."
"Why?"
"Because somebody has just made the worst mistake of his life."
***
Elena did not know she was being followed.
She reached her apartment shortly after eleven.
It was a small place on the third floor of an aging building in Queens. The kitchen was barely large enough for two people, and the heating system made a clicking noise every few minutes.