Chapter 8 - The Night Matteo Almost Became His Father
Salvatore survived.
Barely.
The explosion collapsed part of the dining wing, but the steel shutters I activated contained enough force to leave a survivable pocket.
Grant’s tactical team pulled him out.
Broken ribs.
Burns.
Concussion.
Alive.
Matteo sat beside his father’s hospital bed and said nothing for almost an hour.
I watched from the hallway.
My mother stood beside me.
“You care about him.”
I didn't answer.
“Erin.”
“He's complicated.”
“That's not a denial.”
“You abandoned me for sixteen years. You don't get to start doing mother-daughter romantic analysis on day one.”
She winced.
Fair.
I immediately felt guilty.
Then reminded myself guilt was not the same as being wrong.
My mother nodded.
“I deserved that.”
I hated when people accepted accountability. It made anger harder to maintain.
Grant arrived with news.
Vincent had disappeared.
So had Celeste.
Their phones went dark within minutes of the attack.
Several Rinaldi executives vanished.
Money moved offshore.
Lantern nodes began changing authentication.
Vincent was consolidating power.
Matteo wanted to respond.
Not legally.
Not strategically.
Violently.
I knew because I overheard him.
“Bring me the captains who stayed loyal.”
Grant hesitated.
“For what?”
“You know for what.”
“Matteo—”
“Now.”
I entered.
“No.”
He turned slowly.
“This doesn't concern you.”
“Your father nearly died because Vincent wanted you emotional.”
“I am emotional.”
“Congratulations. Don't make it everybody else's fatal problem.”
Grant looked like he wanted popcorn.
Matteo dismissed him.
Grant left far too happily.
Matteo faced me.
“You don't understand how this world works.”
“No. I understand exactly how it works.”
“You fix wires.”
“And you think that makes me stupid?”
“I didn't say—”
“My mother disappeared because your world made secrecy more valuable than family. Your father faked his death because he thought manipulation was parenting. Vincent is murdering people because he thinks fear creates order.”
I stepped closer.
“So forgive me if I'm not impressed by your plan to gather armed men and prove you're different by doing exactly what they taught you.”
His jaw tightened.
“You think I should call the police?”
“I think you should decide what you actually want.”
“I want Vincent.”
“No.”
He stared.
“You want revenge.”
Silence.
“They're not the same.”
Matteo looked away.
I lowered my voice.
“You told me you were trying to leave the old business.”
“I was.”
“Then this is the moment that decides whether that was real.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You make morality sound like electrical code.”
“Electrical code exists because people died learning what not to do.”
That made him look at me.
“So does morality.”
He said nothing.
Then his shoulders dropped slightly.
“Stay.”
The word surprised me.
“What?”
“Tonight.”
He didn't say because I'm afraid.
He didn't have to.
I stayed.
Nothing romantic happened.
That mattered.
We sat in the hospital cafeteria drinking terrible coffee.
He told me about his childhood.
How Salvatore taught him chess at five.
How men stood outside restaurants when his father entered.
How Matteo learned that love and obedience were often treated as synonyms.
“I hated him sometimes.”
“You're allowed.”
“I worshipped him too.”
“Also allowed.”
“He lied about dying.”
“Less allowed.”
That earned a tired smile.
Then he asked about my mother.
I told him I had not decided whether I could forgive her.
“You hugged her.”
“That isn't forgiveness.”
“No.”
“It's biology and trauma.”
He nodded like that made perfect sense.
Maybe it did to him.
Near dawn, Grant entered.
“We found Celeste.”
“Where?”
“Police station.”
I blinked.
“She surrendered?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She's terrified.”
Celeste had not worked with Vincent willingly.
At least that was her claim.
Years earlier, he had recorded her father accepting bribes.
Then used the evidence to force her cooperation.
She provided building access.
Event schedules.
Guest lists.
But she insisted she did not know about the gala blackout.
“Why tell me to leave?” I asked when we interviewed her.
“Because Vincent called me twenty minutes before.”
“What did he say?”
“He said if the electrician started asking questions, remove her.”
“So you knew.”
“I knew there was something in the walls.”
“You humiliated me publicly to protect yourself.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
I believed her shame.
Not necessarily her entire story.
Then Celeste gave us the first real location.
Vincent operated a Lantern node beneath an abandoned theater downtown.
A beautiful old building scheduled for demolition.
We prepared a raid with federal agents.
Matteo stayed out of operational command.
That was his choice.
His first real break from the old world.
The theater was empty.
Mostly.
Servers remained.
Paper files.
Photographs.
And a wall covered with profiles.
Matteo.
Salvatore.
Grant.
My mother.
Me.
Lines connected us.
Dates.
Events.
Predicted reactions.
I felt sick.
We were not simply being watched.
We were being modeled.
Vincent had designed events to provoke choices.
My gala discovery.
Matteo's response.
My mother's reveal.
Salvatore's dinner.
The attack.
Every event tested who would protect whom.
“Why?” I whispered.
My mother found the answer.
A document titled:
LANTERN SUCCESSOR MODEL.
Two names.
MATTEO RINALDI.
ERIN BLAKE.
I laughed once.
“No.”
Grant looked at me.
“What?”
“He isn't choosing between us.”
Matteo understood.
“He wants us together.”
My mother went pale.
“Lantern needs two people.”
“Why?”
She read further.
“One controls organizational access.”
She looked at Matteo.
“The other understands the physical architecture.”
Me.
Vincent had not been trying to kill us.
He had been forcing us into becoming the perfect custodians of Lantern.
Matteo stared at the document.
Then tore it in half.
“Not happening.”
A speaker crackled overhead.
Vincent's voice filled the theater.
“I knew you'd say that.”
Lights dimmed.
A countdown appeared across the stage projection system.
05:00.
04:59.
04:58.
My stomach dropped.
Grant shouted:
“Bomb?”
My mother looked at the server racks.
“No.”
Worse.
Data release.
Vincent spoke again.
“In five minutes, every protected identity in Lantern goes public.”
Matteo looked at me.
“Can you stop it?”
I stared at a network built over decades.
Four minutes fifty seconds.
“Probably.”
Matteo almost laughed.
“Still probably?”
“Definitely gets electricians killed.”
May you like
I opened my tool case.
And started tracing the current.
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