Chapter 6 - The Hideout in Cefalù
An hour later, we were sitting in the kitchen of a secluded coastal cottage nestled in the rocky cliffs near Cefalù, thirty miles east of my former life.
The cottage belonged to Bram’s sister. It was warm, smelled of dried oregano and sea salt, and had no digital connections to the outside world.
Sophia sat at the kitchen table, devouring a large bowl of hot pasta and milk while Bram spread a series of financial charts and property maps across the wooden table in front of me.
"Your gardener, Tomas, is safe," Bram announced first, setting a steaming mug of black coffee beside my elbow. "My men pulled him out of the estate twenty minutes after you escaped through the tunnel. He’s currently at a safe house in Messina."
I let out a massive sigh of relief, leaning back against the wooden chair. "Thank God."
"Now for the bad news," Bram continued, setting his thick finger on a corporate organizational chart. "Elena and Matteo spent the last forty-eight hours executing the final phase of their takeover. They’ve convened an emergency shareholder meeting in Milan for Friday morning."
"To ratify the merger?" I asked.
"To ratify the liquidation," Bram corrected darkly. "They’re selling sixty percent of your port management contracts to a offshore syndicate registered in Panama—a front company owned entirely by Matteo Rossi."
"And Elena?"
"Elena gets thirty-five million dollars in cash and full ownership of your villa in Tuscany," Bram said, his eyes hard as flint. "They’re declaring you legally dead in absentia, using a forged suicide note they claim to have found in your study."
I stared at the paper, feeling a cold, burning anger replace the shock that had consumed me all day.
"They think I’m dead," I said quietly.
"They know you’re alive because two of their hitmen didn't check in from the flour mill," Bram noted. "Right now, Matteo is panicking. He’s hired every private security firm in Sicily to lock down the Milan summit."
I looked over at Sophia, who had finished her bowl of pasta and was now drawing tiny figures on a paper napkin with a pencil Bram had given her.
"Sophia," I called out gently.
She looked up. "Yes, Mr. Julian?"
"When you looked at that car this morning," I asked, "how did you know the license plate was wrong? You’re seven years old. Most kids don't memorize license plates."
Sophia set her pencil down, her voice calm and factual.
"Papa plays a game with me every morning while he trims the hedges," she explained softly. "He tells me to remember three numbers on every car that enters the gate, and if I get them right at dinner, he gives me an ice cream."
I looked at Bram. The giant man let out a low whistle.
May you like
"The small details," I murmured, a slow, lethal smile finally appearing on my face. "Matteo spent three years planning a grand corporate heist, but he forgot that the world is made of tiny details."
I turned back to Bram. "Call our contacts at the Maritime Registry in Genoa. It’s time to crash a shareholder meeting."
