Chapter 2 - THE SECOND WEDDING GIFT
The man outside the mansion did not approach the front door immediately.
He stood beside the black sedan, holding the white-ribboned box in both hands.
Rain had begun falling over the estate, turning the driveway into a glossy black mirror. Two of Dominic's security men emerged from the gatehouse and approached the stranger.
Vanessa watched from the entrance hall.
For the first time since Dominic had known her, she looked genuinely terrified.
“Dominic,” she whispered. “Please. Don't let him inside.”
Dominic kept his eyes on the window.
“Who is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
“I'm not afraid of him.”
Her voice cracked.
“I'm afraid of what he's carrying.”
Dominic turned toward her.
The silence between them became unbearable.
“You have five seconds to start telling me the truth.”
Vanessa opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Rachel stood several feet away, her hands folded in front of her apron. She had cleaned the Moretti mansion for nearly three years. She knew when to remain invisible, when to speak, and when silence was more dangerous than words.
This was one of those moments.
The front door opened.
One of Dominic's guards entered first.
“Boss, the courier insists the package must be delivered personally to Mrs. Sterling.”
“Search him.”
“We already did. No weapons. No identification. He says his name is Daniel.”
Dominic extended his hand.
“Bring him in.”
The stranger entered without removing his coat.
He appeared to be in his late fifties, with silver hair, tired eyes, and a narrow scar running beneath his left ear.
His gaze passed over Dominic before settling on Vanessa.
“Good evening, Mrs. Moretti.”
Vanessa made a strangled sound.
“I'm not married.”
The man glanced at the broken cake.
“Not anymore, perhaps.”
Dominic moved between them.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
The courier lowered his eyes.
“My apologies, Mr. Moretti. I was instructed to deliver this box to your fiancée, but only after the first cake was destroyed.”
“Who gave you those instructions?”
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“She said you would recognize her handwriting.”
He placed the box on a nearby console table.
Dominic did not touch it.
“Open it.”
The courier looked at Vanessa.
“That's not how I was instructed to deliver it.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“You're standing in my house, carrying a package connected to my missing brother. You will answer my questions.”
The stranger slowly removed a folded sheet of paper from his coat.
He placed it beside the box.
Dominic recognized the handwriting immediately.
Gabriel's.
The letters were slightly slanted, with the capital G unusually large. Dominic had seen that handwriting on birthday cards, business contracts, and notes Gabriel used to leave on his office door.
His younger brother had been gone for four years.
Yet here was his handwriting, dated only six days earlier.
Dominic picked up the letter.
If Vanessa destroys the first cake, give her the second.
If Dominic is present, let him open the box.
If she asks whether I'm alive, tell her the answer depends on what she does next.
Dominic read the final sentence twice.
Then he looked up.
“Where did you get this?”
“The woman gave it to me.”
“Is Gabriel alive?”
The courier's expression changed.
“I don't know, sir.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I'm not. I delivered messages for him, but I never met him face-to-face.”
Dominic's hand tightened around the paper.
For four years, he had paid investigators, searched abandoned properties, questioned corrupt officials, and followed every rumor that might lead to Gabriel. He had never stopped searching, even when everyone else insisted the younger Moretti was dead.
Now a stranger was standing in his foyer with a letter that might have been written by his brother.
“Open the box,” Dominic ordered.
The courier nodded.
Inside lay a white satin wedding veil, carefully folded around a small silver photograph frame.
Vanessa staggered backward.
“No.”
Dominic lifted the veil.
A dark stain marked its lower edge.
He unfolded the fabric and found a narrow strip of paper pinned beneath the comb.
Room 214. Midnight. June 14, 2022.
Below the date was a second sentence.
Ask your bride why she left without her husband.
Dominic turned toward Vanessa.
“Who married you?”
She shook her head violently.
“I never married Gabriel.”
“Then explain the veil.”
“It belonged to someone else.”
“Someone else who stayed in Room 214 on the exact date my brother disappeared?”
“I don't know!”
The courier cleared his throat.
“There's something else.”
Dominic looked at him.
“The woman said the veil was recovered from the hotel laundry after a fire. She also said Mrs. Sterling would recognize the stain.”
Vanessa pressed both hands against her mouth.
Dominic looked at the fabric again.
The stain was brownish red.
Not fresh blood.
Old blood.
His mind returned to the burned car beside the highway, to the police report claiming there had been too much damage to determine who had been inside, and to the anonymous tip that had sent him searching three states away.
He had been looking for a body.
What if the person he needed to find had been alive all along?
Dominic faced the courier.
“Where is this woman?”
“She told me not to say.”
Dominic took one step forward.
The man's eyes flicked toward the guards.
“I have a daughter, sir. She told me that if I gave you her location, my daughter would disappear.”
Dominic stopped.
It was the first answer that sounded like fear rather than rehearsed evasion.
“Who threatened your daughter?”
“I don't know.”
Vanessa suddenly grabbed Dominic's sleeve.
“Please, just stop. You don't understand what Gabriel was involved in.”
Dominic looked down at her hand.
“Then help me understand.”
She released him.
“I can't.”
“Can't or won't?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“If you find him, he'll tell you what I did.”
Dominic's face hardened.
“What did you do?”
Vanessa looked toward the broken cake.
For a moment, she seemed to be searching for a lie she could still believe herself.
Then the courier spoke.
“He also asked me to tell you something, Mr. Moretti.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
The stranger reached into his coat and produced a small envelope bearing Dominic's name.
“Your brother wanted you to know that the person who ordered the car burned wasn't Vanessa.”
Dominic's heart lurched.
“Who was it?”
The courier placed the envelope in his hand.
“Your father.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Dominic stared at the envelope, suddenly aware of the guards standing behind him, the rain beating against the windows, and Vanessa silently backing toward the staircase.
His father, Anthony Moretti, had been dead for three years.
Dominic opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Gabriel standing outside the Blackwood Hotel, his face bruised, one hand resting on the shoulder of a young woman.
The woman's face had been scratched away.
On the back, Gabriel had written five words.
Dom, don't trust the family.
Dominic lifted his eyes.
Vanessa had reached the staircase.
“Stop,” he ordered.
She froze.
“Where are you going?”
She slowly turned around.
Then she whispered the words that shattered the last piece of Dominic's certainty.
“Your father didn't die of a heart attack, Dominic.”
She looked at the photograph in his hand.
“He died because Gabriel came home.”
And before Dominic could ask another question, every light in the mansion went out.
A gunshot echoed from the east wing.
When the emergency lights flickered on, the courier was gone.
So was the second wedding gift.
May you like
And on the marble floor, beside the shattered cake, lay a fresh note written in Gabriel's unmistakable handwriting.
If you want to know who killed our father, come to Room 214 alone.
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