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After a few more minutes of chatting, we ended the call. I set my phone down on the bedside table and stared at it momentarily.
A small sigh escaped my lips as I found myself once again lost in my thoughts. I couldn't shake off the curiosity about the call that had pulled Matteo away last night.
It must have been something significant to warrant his abrupt departure.
I picked up my phone again, my fingers hovering over the screen. Should I send him a message to ask if everything is okay?
With a resigned sigh, I stood up. Patience, I reminded myself. Patience was key, as Keisha had wisely pointed out.
Matteo would reach out when he was ready, and until then, all I could do was wait and try not to let my mind run wild with unnecessary speculations.
I decided to give myself a break from work. I dressed in comfortable clothes and left the hotel, heading home instead of going to the office. The fresh air and the familiar streets helped to ease my mind as I walked.
Work could wait for a day. I doubted Matteo would complain about it. It was strange how quickly he had become a significant presence in my life, even if it was just for a short time.
I couldn't deny the connection that had formed between us, and as confusing as it was, I knew I wanted it.
As I entered my apartment, I glanced at my phone, wondering if there would be a message from him.
But there was none. Patience, Sophia.
Patience.
Chapter 22
Matteo
Sitting in the plush surroundings of my study, I held a glass of wine and stared at nothing. On the inside, I was in a whirlwind of anger and disbelief.
On the surface, I maintained a composed demeanor, hiding the storm within me.
Francisco Cortigini – my uncle, my blood – the man I once admired and looked up to, had orchestrated my father's death.
It was a betrayal that left me seething. I tried to keep a calm facade, even as a tempest of emotions churned beneath.
The desire to act, to confront my uncle, surged through me. The man who played a part in taking away someone I held dear. The mere thought made me want to spit in disgust or even strangle him.
I tightened my grip on the wine glass, feeling the coolness of the glass against my skin. It was as if my knuckles were trying to channel all the frustration and anger that was boiling inside me.
I couldn't wrap my head around how he could kill his brother. His own family.
Why did he do it? No excuse was justifiable, no matter how much I tried to think of the reason behind his actions. Was it because he wanted to be the head of the family, so he killed my father?
Bullshit?
Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself not to let this anger get the best of me. Smashing the wine glass against the wall might feel satisfying for a second, but it wouldn't solve anything.
And I didn't want to deal with the aftermath of broken glass and spilled wine right now.
So, exhaling slowly, I tried to focus on letting go of the tension in my hands. I knew I needed a clear head to deal with this situation.
I took another deliberate sip of the wine as the bitterness of my thoughts seemed to fade, replaced by a need for careful consideration and strategic planning. I understood the importance of playing this situation smartly.
Glancing at the pile of documents on my table, I couldn't help but feel anticipation and frustration.
These papers contained the information Antonio had meticulously compiled, revealing the intricate web of deceit my uncle had spun behind my back. Each sheet held a puzzle piece waiting to be fit into the bigger picture.
Picking up the topmost document, I began to read. The words on the pages spelled out my uncle's detestable activities, highlighting that he had restarted a heroin business.
