Part 4 — Mateo saw an unfamiliar mark on my neck, and I calmly told him the truth — and his hand trembled from time to time for the first time

The compass needle did not stop turning.

Mateo saw it immediately.

“Open it,” he told me.

“I cannot open it.”

“You open it.”

“I already tried.”

Dominic locked the door. The clock showed ten nineteen in the morning. The smell of spilled coffee stood in the room, while dark stains were spreading on the papers.

The phone rang again.

Mateo answered.

“We are going to Harborside,” the man’s voice said. “You have twenty minutes.”

“What did you do to Vittorio?”

“He is still alive.”

“If anything happens to him, I will find all your people.”

“That is exactly why you must come alone.”

The call ended.

Mateo put the phone on the desk and looked at Dominic.

“Prepare the car.”

“No.”

“That is an order.”

“No, Mateo. It is a trap.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you going?”

“Because Vittorio is there.”

“And Elena?”

Mateo looked toward me.

“She will stay with me.”

“No,” I told him.

Both men looked at me.

“I am coming with you, but I will no longer hide behind you.”

A brief, painful smile appeared on Mateo’s face.

“You still cannot trust me.”

“Trust takes time.”

“I have no time left.”

“And I lost a whole eighteen months.”

These words fell more heavily in the room than any threat.

Dominic took a small recorder from the desk drawer.

“This will be on during the entire journey.”

“Who are you planning to record?” Mateo asked him.

“Everyone.”

At the old port of Harborside, rain was already falling like walls. It was past eleven. We found the warehouse’s iron door half open. Inside, one lamp was flickering.

Vittorio was sitting on a chair, his hands tied behind his back. Two armed men stood beside him.

“Duka,” he smiled. “At last the family has gathered.”

Mateo stepped forward.

“Let him go.”

“First give me the item.”

“Which item?”

Vittorio looked toward me.

“The compass.”

The blood drained from my face.

Mateo turned his eyes to me.

“You knew he wanted this?”

“No.”

Vittorio chuckled.

“Elena’s father hid that little object so I could not find it under your nose. But he forgot that every lock has a key.”

“And you forgot that every crime has a witness,” Dominic said.

Vittorio raised his hand.

“Bringing it is enough.”

I took out the compass.

“First tell me why you killed my father.”

Only the sound of rain could be heard in the warehouse.

Vittorio shrugged.

“Because he knew too much.”

Mateo’s face hardened.

“You told me it was an accident.”

“You were a child then, one who could not endure the truth.”

“I was twenty-nine.”

“And still you lived in the world I had built with my own hands.”

Mateo took one step forward.

“You used the members of my family.”

“You used everyone too. The difference is that I never hid it.”

Vittorio held out his hand.

“The compass.”

I moved forward, but Dominic stopped me with his eyes. The recorder in his hand was glowing almost imperceptibly.

I handed the compass to Vittorio.

He opened the lid. Inside he saw a small memory card.

“What is this?”

“What you failed to find,” I told him.

Vittorio took out the card, but Mateo gripped him by the wrist. At that same moment Dominic took two steps back and opened the door.

Sirens of police cars sounded from outside.

Vittorio’s smile disappeared.

“You called the police?”

“No,” Dominic said. “Elena sent her father’s recording to the investigating prosecutor a week ago.”

I looked at Mateo.

“You only learned the truth today. The others already knew it.”

Vittorio reached for his weapon, but the officers entering through the door threw him onto the floor. Everything ended in a few seconds.

Mateo did not run.

He raised both hands and calmly said:

“I will give testimony.”

Then he turned toward me.

“Elena, I do not know whether you can ever forgive me.”

“Forgiveness is not what I am asking you for now.”

“Then what are you asking me for?”

“Do not save those who deliberately destroy themselves anymore.”

Three weeks later Mateo changed his own lawyer. The first refused to defend him when he heard the recordings. The second stood beside him in court only because Mateo himself handed over all the financial accounts to the investigators.

Vittorio’s trial continued for months. His father’s murder, money laundering, intimidation — each case had its own document. The recording I had kept became the main evidence.

One day the investigator sat me in a room and told me:

“You know that after all this you can freely leave the city.”

“I know.”

“Will you stay?”

I looked at the street through the window. For the first time I did not think that every car was following me.

“No.”

Two months later I began a small archival job in a coastal city. In the morning I sorted old documents, at midday I read records, and in the evening I listened to the sound of the sea. My apartment was small, but the door had two locks and I held the key to both.

I attached to the kitchen refrigerator a drawing from my father that I had drawn in childhood. A rough line, a small house, and the sun above.

The first snow came in December.

That day I received a letter from Mateo.

“Elena, I am not asking you to return. I only want you to know that I understood what you said. For the first time I am living without controlling anyone.”

I looked at the letter for a long time.

Then I replied:

“I am glad that you are trying. But my life is already where I chose.”

He did not write to me again.

Several weeks later he came to the city. He waited for me at the archive door, his hands placed in the pockets of his coat. He no longer resembled a man to whom the whole city belonged. He looked more like a person who had finally understood how much can be lost in one day.

“Only five minutes,” he told me.

“No.”

“Please.”

“I should have heard that word from you earlier.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

I opened the door.

“Be well, Mateo.”

“You too, Elena.”

And he left.

In the evening I placed my father’s compass on the table. I gave it a new lid, but I did not erase the old scratch. The small needle no longer turned. It calmly pointed north.

Beyond the window, snow was descending silently.

For the first time I knew where I was going.

And I no longer needed the compass needle.