Private Rome

Chapter 44

Fatebenefratelli hospital was located on Isola Tiberina, a small island in the center of the Tiber near the Marcello Theater. Approached from the treelined southern bank of the river, across the cobbled Cestio bridge, the hospital looked like one of the classical terracotta apartment blocks found in the upmarket older parts of Rome. The windows of the three-story building were surmounted by white stone frames, beveled slightly, giving the building additional character.

Gianna had driven us to the hospital in her dark green Audi Q7, weaving skillfully through the city traffic so we covered the three-mile journey in under fifteen minutes. She spent most of the drive on the phone, speaking to Mia Esposito to ensure we had access to Matteo when we arrived at the hospital.

He was in a private room on the third floor and there were two uniformed Carabinieri posted outside. Gianna presented her identification and they allowed us into Matteo’s room. There was a window overlooking the river. Matteo had a dressing around his neck and was dozing beneath a sky-blue sheet. He was surrounded by monitors and an IV feed. This shadow was a far cry from the confident, competent man I’d hired to run the Rome office, and I was struggling to understand how he’d unraveled so quickly and comprehensively.

He stirred when we approached the bed and his eyes flickered open. They were bloodshot and sunken, his skin gray. He seemed traumatized by whatever had happened to him.

“I...” he rasped.

More words followed, but his voice was too weak and strained for us to make sense of them.

I moved closer and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re going to be okay.”

He strained against whatever damage had been done to his vocal cords. I looked at Faduma and Gianna, both wearing pained expressions as they felt Matteo’s struggle and suffering from across the room.

“Jack,” he said at length, his voice as raw and rough as a deep-scored graze. “I didn’t do this.”

He gestured to his neck.

“Was sleeping. Someone strangled me. Staged hanging.”

He fell back exhausted from the effort of communicating, and I looked at Faduma and Gianna.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

They shook their heads.

“He says someone tried to kill him. Made it look like he tried to kill himself.” I turned to Matteo, somewhat relieved to have his explanation but not entirely sure I could trust it. “I’m glad they underestimated you. Do you know who it was?”

He shook his head slowly and covered his face with his hand.

“Mask?” I suggested, and he nodded.

“Do the police know this wasn’t your doing?”

He shook his head again, wincing with pain.

“I know this is difficult, but it’s important,” I told him. “Why did you tell Luna not to investigate the prosecutor’s death? Filippo Lombardi, the car wreck. Why did you listen to Brambilla when he told you to back off?”

Matteo shrugged.

“Did you know Luna is Elia Antonelli’s daughter?”

His eyes darted to Gianna and Faduma before he nodded.

“Do you think Antonelli and Father Brambilla were connected?” I asked.

He hesitated then nodded again. “Ignacio... Father Brambilla... told me Antonelli had asked him to warn me off.”

I looked at Faduma who very obviously understood the significance of this immediately. Antonelli was implicated in this whole affair. I felt very foolish for having taken the man at face value.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the connection to Antonelli?”

Matteo’s eyes welled up and he forced out a word.

“Shame.”

I patted his shoulder. “You rest, Matteo. Get better. I will take care of this.”

I turned to Gianna and said, “We don’t have an operational team yet. Do you have any security agencies you can recommend? I want to put a couple of close-protection specialists on this ward to boost the police guard.”

It was standard operating procedure whenever a Private employee’s life was in danger. Until I had evidence to the contrary, I had to take Matteo at his word.

She nodded. “I’ll phone a company we use.”

“I’m worried they’ll make another attempt on his life,” I said. “It seems Elia Antonelli is busy tying up loose ends.”