The marble was cold under his bare feet.
He did not stop.
The master bedroom door was locked from the outside. He saw the red pin of the bolt. He saw the empty sitting room where the vial had been placed on the table. He saw the dark corridor leading east, toward the guest rooms reserved for family and people trusted enough to be treated like family.
He was five.
No one suspected him of anything.
That was power the adults had not noticed.
In the east wing, one door stood open a hand’s width.
Warm yellow light spilled across the marble.
A man’s voice spoke inside, low and careful.
Mateo stepped behind a bronze statue of a Roman soldier holding a lamp. His small back pressed against the cold base.
He could not make out words that first night.
Only rhythm.
A secret voice.
A phone call after everyone had almost died.
The next night, he returned earlier.
This time, he crept closer.
He pressed himself against the wall near the open door and listened.
The voice inside was familiar.
Uncle Victor.
The man who carried him on his shoulders. The man who brought mint candies. The man who had given him the gray elephant.
Matteo’s face folded in confusion.
Then he heard the words.
“He is alive. The plan failed.”
Silence.
“Yes, I planted the evidence in her room. Marco found the vial and the money exactly where I put them.”
Matteo stopped breathing.
“The house believes it,” Victor said. “Elena is locked upstairs.”
Another pause.
“No, I cannot do it again. Dr. Rinaldi will not leave his side. Tomorrow night, I will unlock the eastern cellar door at two. Your men can enter through the drainage tunnel under the garden.”
A longer pause.
“Yes. The empire will be yours. I want only one thing.”
Victor’s voice changed.
Lower.
Hungry.
“The chair.”
Matteo did not understand everything.
He understood enough.
Uncle Victor had hurt Papa.
Uncle Victor had blamed Mama.
