Chapter 6 - The Betrayal Inside the HouseThe investigation consumed Villa Moretti.
Security doubled.
Employees were questioned again.
Phones were checked voluntarily.
Claire moved into rooms near Vittorio’s suite because the east wing had suffered smoke damage.
Neither mentioned the irony.
Their bedrooms were now separated by one wall.
At 1:14 on the second night, Claire knocked on his door.
Vittorio opened it wearing sweatpants and no shirt.
Claire forgot why she had come.
A scar ran diagonally across his abdomen.
Another marked his left shoulder.
His tattoos extended farther than she had realized.
“You’re staring.”
Claire looked up.
“You opened the door half naked.”
“It is my bedroom.”
“Fair.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I heard something outside.”
Vittorio immediately became alert.
Security checked.
Nothing.
When Claire turned to leave, thunder sounded.
She flinched.
Vittorio noticed.
“You’re not afraid of storms.”
“I wasn’t.”
Before the fire.
He understood.
“Stay.”
Claire looked at him.
“Here?”
“I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
She almost joked.
Instead, she nodded.
They talked until three.
About ordinary things.
Her childhood in Virginia.
His first job at a shipping office.
Her disastrous high school prom.
His hatred of olives despite owning thousands of olive trees.
Eventually Claire fell asleep.
When she woke, sunlight filled the room.
Vittorio was beside her.
Not touching.
Still asleep.
Claire studied his face.
Without the guarded expression, he looked younger.
Human.
She brushed one strand of silver hair from his forehead.
His eyes opened.
Neither moved.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
“That line didn’t go well last time.”
He smiled.
Then kissed her.
Slowly.
No panic.
No threat.
Just choice.
The contract was becoming meaningless.
That afternoon, the investigation finally broke.
Security discovered encrypted payments made to one of the villa electricians.
The electrician admitted disabling cameras before the threatening photograph appeared.
He had also altered the bedroom lock.
“But he says he didn’t start the fire,” Vittorio explained.
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Who paid him?”
Vittorio placed a document on the desk.
Claire read the corporate name.
Bellandi Capital.
She looked up.
“Never heard of it.”
“It is a holding company.”
“Owned by?”
Vittorio hesitated.
“Your father.”
Claire stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
The evidence grew worse.
Bellandi Capital had been registered through a Luxembourg intermediary connected to Thomas Bennett.
Bank transfers matched dates when her father was supposedly broke.
Vittorio’s investigators discovered something else.
Thomas had never lost eight hundred thousand euros in a hotel investment.
He had moved much of it.
Hidden it.
Claire called him.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Her hands shook.
“He knew,” she whispered.
Vittorio stood nearby.
“Do not assume anything yet.”
“He brought me here.”
“Yes.”
“He knew about your marriage requirement.”
Vittorio said nothing.
Claire turned.
“How?”
“I told him.”
“When?”
“Two months before you arrived.”
The room tilted.
“You knew my father for months?”
“I knew him professionally.”
“You told me he borrowed from you.”
“He did.”
“You made it sound like he came to you for an investment.”
“He came through a broker.”
“Stop.”
Claire held up her hand.
Every answer created another lie.
“Did my father suggest me?”
Silence.
That was enough.
Claire stepped backward.
“He did.”
Vittorio’s expression darkened.
“Yes.”
“And you agreed.”
“Yes.”
Claire felt sick.
“You chose me before I ever entered this house.”
“I agreed to meet you.”
“You planned the wedding.”
“I planned nothing until you signed.”
“But you knew.”
“Yes.”
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the office.
Vittorio did not move.
Claire stared at her own hand.
“I deserved that,” he said.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Do not stand there acting noble.”
“I’m not.”
“You and my father negotiated my life.”
“I refused his first proposal.”
“What proposal?”
Vittorio’s face changed.
Claire knew instantly she did not want the answer.
“Tell me.”
“He offered your marriage in exchange for the debt before I ever suggested the trust arrangement.”
Claire’s breath left her body.
“My father offered me?”
“Yes.”
“And you still let him bring me.”
“I told him any decision had to be yours.”
“You should have thrown him out!”
“Yes.”
The quiet agreement hurt more than defense.
Claire turned away.
“My father tried to sell me.”
Vittorio stepped toward her.
She backed up.
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped immediately.
Claire wiped tears angrily.
“And now money connected to him paid someone to threaten me.”
“We do not yet know that Thomas authorized it.”
“Who else?”
Vittorio had no answer.
Claire packed that night.
When Vittorio found her, the suitcase was open.
“Where will you go?”
“A hotel.”
“Security—”
“I’ll take security.”
“Claire.”
She faced him.
“I need to think somewhere that isn’t your house.”
He nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“No,” he said. “But I’m trying.”
That almost broke her.
She closed the suitcase.
Before leaving, Claire removed her wedding ring.
She placed it on the dresser.
Vittorio stared at it.
“The contract is still legally active,” she said. “But right now I can’t wear that.”
He looked devastated.
Claire picked up her bag.
As she walked toward the door, Vittorio said her name.
She stopped.
“I lied by omission,” he said. “And I will regret that for the rest of my life. But there is one thing I have never lied about.”
Claire did not turn.
“What?”
“You became real to me long before I had the courage to tell you.”
Tears blurred her vision.
She left anyway.
May you like
Three hours later, police found Thomas Bennett unconscious in an abandoned warehouse outside Florence.
And beside him lay a handwritten confession claiming he had ordered Claire’s murder.
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