Chapter 8 - The Night Everything BurnedVittorio wanted Claire hidden immediately.
This time she did not argue.
Not because she accepted being controlled.
Because Bianca had moved from threats to attempted murder, and Claire had no desire to prove independence by getting herself killed.
They went to a secluded Moretti property near Lake Como.
Only four security officers knew the location.
Inspector Ferraro coordinated from Florence.
Thomas remained under police protection.
For forty-eight hours, nothing happened.
Claire and Vittorio existed inside a strange bubble.
They cooked dinner together.
Or tried.
Vittorio nearly burned pasta.
“You own restaurants,” Claire said.
“I own companies that own restaurants.”
“That makes this worse.”
He pointed at the pot.
“You distracted me.”
“I was sitting six feet away.”
“Exactly.”
Later they sat beside the lake.
Claire wore his sweater.
Vittorio poured wine.
“What happens after the year?” she asked.
His hand stopped.
“The agreement ends.”
“I know.”
“Your father’s debt remains discharged.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“What happens to us?”
Vittorio set down his glass.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“You.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“Convenient.”
“I have already made too many decisions for you.”
That answer mattered.
Claire leaned back.
“I want to go home eventually.”
His expression shifted.
“To America?”
“For a while.”
Vittorio nodded, but disappointment was obvious.
“I need to see my friends. My students. My old life.”
“I understand.”
“And then maybe…”
He waited.
“Maybe we figure out how to have both.”
Hope entered his face so quickly Claire nearly smiled.
“Both?”
“Italy and America.”
“Yes.”
“My career and your companies.”
“Yes.”
“Actual marriage instead of contractual nonsense.”
Vittorio moved closer.
“Yes.”
Claire touched his face.
“And if we do this for real, I’m not becoming some decorative billionaire’s wife.”
“I would never survive trying to make you decorative.”
She laughed.
Then his phone rang.
Ferraro.
Vittorio answered.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
Claire sat upright.
He listened.
Then stood.
“Lock the property down.”
The line disconnected.
“What happened?”
“Bianca was seen near Milan.”
“That’s hours away.”
“Yes.”
Claire relaxed slightly.
Then the lights went out.
The entire villa fell dark.
Vittorio grabbed her.
“Stay behind me.”
A gunshot cracked outside.
Glass shattered.
Security shouted.
Claire’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“How did she find us?”
Vittorio pulled her toward the hallway.
Another shot.
Then another.
The backup generator failed.
Someone had sabotaged the property.
They reached a reinforced room downstairs.
Before the door closed, a security guard appeared.
“Signore, vehicle ready at lower entrance.”
Vittorio nodded.
They moved.
Rain had begun outside.
The guard led them toward an SUV.
Claire climbed in.
Vittorio followed.
The vehicle accelerated through the gate.
For ten minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Claire noticed something.
They were heading north.
Away from police checkpoints.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
The driver did not respond.
Vittorio looked toward him.
“Matteo.”
Silence.
Vittorio reached for his phone.
The driver raised a pistol.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Claire froze.
Matteo had worked for Vittorio for nine years.
The betrayal showed on Vittorio’s face.
“Who paid you?”
“Enough.”
“Bianca?”
Matteo said nothing.
The SUV turned onto a narrow mountain road.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at an abandoned textile mill.
Bianca waited inside.
She wore black trousers and a cream coat as if attending a business meeting.
“Vittorio.”
His voice was ice.
“You burned my house.”
“Technically, someone else burned your house.”
“You tried to kill my wife.”
Bianca smiled.
“I tried to correct a financial inconvenience.”
Claire stared at her.
“You’re insane.”
“No, Claire. I am practical.”
Bianca walked closer.
“My family spent twenty years waiting for the Moretti trust to fracture. Vittorio refused to marry. No heirs. No consolidation. Eventually the trustees would have been vulnerable.”
“And I ruined the plan.”
“You did.”
Bianca’s gaze moved to Vittorio.
“Although you surprised me more.”
“How?”
“You actually love her.”
Vittorio said nothing.
Bianca smiled wider.
“I watched Adriana destroy you. I assumed no woman would ever get close again.”
Claire looked sharply at her.
“You knew Adriana?”
Bianca’s expression changed.
Vittorio noticed.
“What are you not saying?”
For the first time, Bianca hesitated.
Then she shrugged.
“The dead remain useful only when their secrets remain buried.”
Vittorio stepped forward.
Matteo aimed the gun.
“Stop.”
Bianca looked at Vittorio.
“Your brother’s accident was not an accident.”
The room became silent.
Vittorio’s face emptied.
“What?”
“Marco discovered my father was laundering money through one of your shipping subsidiaries. He planned to expose him.”
“And Adriana?”
“She was helping Marco collect evidence.”
Vittorio stopped breathing.
Claire understood before he did.
“They weren’t having an affair.”
Bianca smiled.
“Oh, they were. Human beings are complicated.”
Cruel.
Precise.
“But they did not run away because of love. They were meeting a prosecutor.”
Vittorio looked physically ill.
“My father arranged the crash,” Bianca continued. “Brake line.”
“You knew?”
“I discovered it years later.”
“And said nothing.”
“What would truth accomplish? The dead would remain dead.”
Vittorio lunged.
Matteo struck him with the pistol.
Claire screamed.
Vittorio fell.
Bianca looked bored.
“This is why emotional men are exhausting.”
Claire stared at Vittorio on the floor.
Blood appeared near his temple.
Something inside her turned cold.
Not fear.
Calculation.
She looked at Bianca.
“You still have a problem.”
Bianca turned.
“What?”
“If Vittorio dies, the trust doesn’t become yours.”
“No.”
“And killing me doesn’t reverse the marriage.”
Bianca’s smile faded slightly.
Claire continued.
“You need him alive.”
“For a few hours.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Claire understood.
“Signatures.”
Vittorio looked at her.
Bianca’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re smarter than Thomas.”
“Low bar.”
Matteo almost smiled.
Claire noticed.
A distraction.
Tiny.
Enough.
She kicked the gun from his hand.
Vittorio tackled him.
The weapon skidded across concrete.
Bianca ran.
Claire grabbed the pistol.
She had never held one.
Her hands shook.
“Stop!”
Bianca reached a side door.
Police sirens erupted outside.
Ferraro.
Matteo had apparently not realized one of Vittorio’s security devices remained active.
Bianca stopped.
For one second, she looked toward Claire with pure hatred.
Then she smiled.
“You think this ends with me?”
Claire kept the gun pointed down, away from anyone.
“It ends enough.”
Police flooded the building.
May you like
Bianca Rossetti was arrested before sunrise.
And Vittorio finally learned that the tragedy haunting him for eleven years contained a truth even worse—and somehow more freeing—than the lie he had believed.
