Chapter 8 - The Explosion BelowThe blast had come from the service garage.
Not large enough to bring down the building.
Large enough to send a message.
Smoke curled up the elevator shafts. Sprinklers activated on the lower levels. Security alarms screamed through the walls. Residents of Pristine Heights flooded private corridors in silk robes, screaming into phones, demanding answers money could not immediately buy.
Inside the DeLuca penthouse, chaos moved with discipline.
Rocco’s men sealed doors. Staff were moved into the interior hallway. Matteo carried Leo himself for the first time since Camryn had arrived, but the boy screamed until Camryn placed her hand on his back.
Only then did he breathe.
That hurt Matteo.
Camryn saw it.
But he did not let go.
Instead, he said, “Stay beside us.”
Not behind.
Beside.
They moved into Matteo’s private office, a windowless room behind a hidden panel near the library. It was built like a panic room but furnished like a courtroom: dark wood, leather chairs, screens covering one wall.
Security footage appeared across the monitors.
The garage.
The service entrance.
The loading dock.
The seconds before the blast.
Rocco rewound the footage.
A delivery cart rolled across the garage pushed by a man in a maintenance uniform.
His face was covered by a cap.
He left the cart near a support column.
Then he walked away.
Thirty seconds later, white light filled the screen.
Leo buried his face in Matteo’s shoulder.
“No boom,” Camryn whispered. “That boom is gone. We are here.”
Matteo’s hand rested over Leo’s back.
Not possessive.
Protective.
Rocco zoomed in on the man before the blast.
“Unknown,” he said. “Uniform stolen.”
Matteo looked at another screen. “Where is Vincent?”
Rocco checked.
Then his face hardened.
“Gone.”
Serafina, seated stiffly in the corner, spoke sharply. “You cannot believe Vincent caused an explosion in a building where I was present.”
Matteo did not turn. “He knew you would be protected.”
“He is your uncle.”
“He was Isabella’s too.”
The words silenced her.
Camryn noticed Serafina’s hands.
They trembled.
For all her cruelty, she had not expected this.
Or perhaps she had spent years refusing to.
A phone rang on Matteo’s desk.
Private line.
Everyone froze.
Matteo answered on speaker.
Vincent’s voice filled the room.
Calm. Warm. Almost sad.
“Matteo.”
Serafina whispered, “Vincent?”
Matteo’s eyes became black. “Where are you?”
“Safe. Which is more than I can say for you if you continue letting a cleaning girl dig through graves.”
Camryn felt every eye turn toward her.
Leo lifted his head.
Vincent continued, “You always were sentimental. Your father warned me. He said you had too much heart for the chair.”
Matteo’s hand curled into a fist.
Camryn placed her hand gently over Leo’s ear.
Vincent laughed. “Do not worry. I won’t use ugly words in front of the child. Though I suspect he has heard worse.”
Matteo’s voice was controlled. “You killed Isabella.”
Silence.
Then Vincent sighed.
“Isabella killed herself the moment she decided she could save you.”
Serafina made a broken sound.
Matteo closed his eyes briefly.
Camryn watched him fight the old monster inside him.
Vincent wanted rage.
He wanted threats.
He wanted Matteo reckless.
Matteo opened his eyes.
“You failed,” he said.
Vincent paused. “Excuse me?”
“My wife left evidence. My son remembers. Your doctor talked. And now you ran.”
A soft laugh. “You think that is failure?”
Another screen lit up.
A live news broadcast.
Breaking news: Explosion reported beneath luxury Tribeca tower linked to alleged DeLuca crime family.
Camryn’s stomach dropped.
Vincent had not just attacked the building.
He had summoned the press.
Matteo understood at once.
The story would become public before evidence could be controlled. Leo’s recovery would be swallowed by headlines. Camryn would become the poor maid seducing a mafia boss. Matteo would become a violent criminal under pressure. Anything he said would be framed as paranoia.
Vincent spoke softly.
“You see, nephew, you may own fear. But I own reputation.”
The call ended.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Matteo picked up a glass paperweight and hurled it at the wall.
It shattered.
Leo screamed.
Matteo froze.
The shame on his face was immediate.
Camryn moved to Leo, but Matteo held up a hand—not to stop her, but to stop himself.
He lowered slowly to one knee in front of his son.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The room went still.
Matteo DeLuca apologized in front of his mother, his guards, and his staff.
Leo sniffed.
Matteo’s voice cracked slightly. “Papa made a loud scary sound. That was wrong.”
Camryn felt her throat tighten.
Leo stared at him.
Then he reached out and touched Matteo’s cheek.
“Papa sad,” he whispered.
Matteo closed his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “Papa sad.”
Leo leaned forward.
Not all the way.
Not into his arms.
But close enough to rest his forehead against Matteo’s.
It was not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was a bridge.
And everyone in the room saw Camryn Jenkins had not only reached the child.
She had begun changing the father.
That was when Camryn’s phone buzzed.
Mount Sinai.
She answered with shaking hands.
A nurse’s voice came through.
“Miss Jenkins? Your mother’s room is empty.”
Camryn stood.
“What?”
“She was discharged thirty minutes ago.”
“My mother can barely walk.”
The nurse hesitated.
Then said, “A family member signed her out.”
Camryn’s blood turned cold.
“I don’t have family in New York.”
Across the room, Matteo looked at her.
May you like
The nurse’s next words nearly broke her.
“The man said his name was Vincent.”
