Chapter 4 - The Locked Garden
The garden sat behind my father’s original estate.
Most people thought it had been abandoned after his death. High brick walls surrounded it, covered in ivy and cracked stone. The iron gate had been chained for years. No gardener entered. No staff member had reason to go near it.
I had not set foot inside since I was sixteen.
That was where my father taught us lessons.
Not lessons about flowers.
Lessons about fear.
Now, standing before the rusted gate with Elena beside me and Luna asleep in Matteo’s car, I understood why Adriano had been afraid.
Gabriel had hidden something there.
And my father had known.
“Elena,” I said, “you do not have to come in.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her voice was steady, but her hands shook.
“Gabriel told me he found something before he died. He said if anything happened to him, I should wait until I knew who I could trust.”
“You did not trust me.”
“No.”
The honesty hurt.
“You were right not to.”
Matteo cut through the old chain. The gate groaned open.
Inside, the garden was overgrown with dead roses, wild grass, and trees that had not been trimmed in years. At the center stood a stone fountain covered in moss.
Elena walked toward it.
“Gabriel said it was near the angel,” she whispered.
A broken marble angel lay beside the fountain, its face cracked in half. We searched beneath loose stones, roots, and damp soil until one of Matteo’s men called out.
“Here.”
He held up a small metal box.
My heartbeat slowed.
The box was sealed with wax, wrapped in plastic, and buried beneath a flat stone. Inside was an old digital recorder, a memory card, and a handwritten note in Gabriel’s unmistakable handwriting.
If Luca finds this, it means I failed to protect what matters. Do not trust Adriano. Do not trust anyone who says Father’s debts are finished.
My hands went cold.
Matteo inserted the memory card into a portable reader.
The recording began with static.
Then my father’s voice filled the silent garden.
I had not heard it in eight years.
“Gabriel,” my father said, “you are loyal. That is why I am giving you one chance to be useful.”
Gabriel’s voice followed. “Mr. Santoro, I do not understand.”
“You do not need to understand. You need to move the files.”
“What files?”
“The ones Adriano has been copying.”
A pause.
Then my father again.
“He thinks he is taking money. He is taking leverage. There are names in those records—judges, city inspectors, port officials. Men who will burn us all if they are exposed.”
My stomach turned.
Gabriel said, “Then we should destroy them.”
“No,” my father replied. “We keep them. We use them.”
The recording continued for nearly an hour.
It revealed everything.
My father had built a secret blackmail archive hidden through foundations, shell companies, and employee relief funds. Adriano had discovered it and begun stealing from the accounts to build his own network.
Gabriel had overheard enough to understand that families of dead employees were being used as cover. He had copied the records and hidden the recording, intending to bring it to me.
But he never got the chance.
The final portion of the recording was dated two days before Gabriel died.
His voice was urgent.
“Luca, if you hear this, Adriano knows I copied the files. I do not know who ordered the hit at the restaurant. I was told it was an attack on you, but I am not sure anymore. If they wanted me dead, they could have put me in front of you.”
The recording ended.
Rain began to fall lightly through the dead branches.
Elena stood frozen.
“My husband died because he knew,” she whispered.
I could not deny it.
For years, I had carried guilt because Gabriel had stepped in front of bullets meant for me.
Now I had to face a worse truth.
Maybe the bullets had never been meant for me at all.
Matteo’s phone rang.
He listened for five seconds, then looked at me.
“Adriano is gone,” he said.
“Gone where?”
“His penthouse is empty. His private accounts were cleared. Two of his security men are missing.”
Elena clutched the note from Gabriel.
“What does he want?”
I looked at the garden walls.
“He wants the archive.”
Matteo frowned. “The files are not here.”
“No,” I said. “Gabriel hid the recording here. But he must have hidden the archive somewhere else.”
At that moment, Elena’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She looked at me.
“Don’t answer,” Matteo said.
But the phone kept ringing.
Then a message appeared.
A photograph.
Luna’s stuffed rabbit lay on the back seat of a black car.
Beneath it were six words.
Bring Luca to the vineyard alone.
Elena made a sound I will never forget.
Not a scream.
Something smaller.
Something broken.
And I knew that Adriano had not run.
May you like
He had taken Luna.
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