Chapter 4 - The Blood in Marco’s Kitchen
Marco’s apartment was on the top floor of an old building in Astoria.
By the time I arrived that afternoon, police tape had been replaced with my own men. The official police would not be called unless I decided they needed to be.
The front door had been forced open.
Inside, the place looked untouched at first.
Marco had always been neat. Military neat. His books were aligned. His suits were pressed. His whiskey glasses sat perfectly straight on the bar.
But the kitchen told another story.
A shattered glass lay near the sink.
Blood stained the edge of the counter.
And on the floor was Marco’s notebook.
The same notebook he carried everywhere.
I picked it up carefully.
Most pages contained ordinary things: names, meeting times, delivery schedules, security details.
Then I found a page near the back.
Three words were written across it in Marco’s sharp handwriting.
SHE IS ALIVE.
Below it was a name.
Elena Moretti.
My sister.
I had not seen Elena since she was sixteen years old.
One night, she disappeared from our family home. My father said she had run away. He said she could not handle the family business. He said she was weak.
For fifteen years, I believed him.
But Marco had written her name.
And now Marco was missing.
My security chief, Tony, entered the kitchen.
“Boss, we found something.”
He handed me an old photograph.
It showed Marco standing outside a café beside a woman with dark hair and sharp eyes.
At first, I did not recognize her.
Then I saw the small scar over her eyebrow.
Elena.
Older.
Alive.
My hands began to shake.
“Where was this taken?”
“Queens. Two weeks ago.”
I looked at the photo again.
Marco had not been meeting Maria because he wanted to betray me.
He had been meeting someone connected to my past.
Maybe he had been trying to protect Maria.
Maybe he had been trying to protect Sophia.
Or maybe he had been hiding Elena from me for years.
My phone rang.
It was an unknown number.
I answered.
For three seconds, there was nothing but static.
Then I heard Marco’s voice.
“Luca.”
My chest tightened.
“Where are you?”
“Listen carefully,” he said. “Do not trust Tony.”
I looked across the room.
Tony stood near the doorway.
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“Because Tony works for your father’s old people. They found Elena. They know about Maria. They know Sophia is—”
The line cut off.
I stared at the phone.
Tony stepped forward. “Everything okay?”
I looked at him.
For years, Tony had served my family. He was efficient, loyal, and ruthless when required.
But Marco had told me not to trust him.
And Marco had never lied to me before.
I put the phone in my pocket.
“Fine,” I said.
Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Then I noticed it.
A tiny spot of blood on his cuff.
Fresh.
Marco’s blood type had been confirmed by the sample in the kitchen.
Tony’s cuff carried the same dark red stain.
I gave no sign that I had noticed.
Instead, I handed him the photograph.
“Find this woman.”
Tony looked at Elena’s face.
For a fraction of a second, his expression changed.
Recognition.
Then he covered it.
“Who is she?”
“My sister,” I said.
Tony nodded slowly.
“I’ll find her.”
I watched him leave the room.
Then I made one silent decision.
For the first time in ten years, I was no longer searching for Marco as a possible traitor.
May you like
I was searching for him as the only man who might still be trying to save my family.
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