Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Smile
Nobody moved.
The man standing beyond the bedroom doorway wore the expression of someone who had accidentally walked into a private conversation.
But Luca knew better.
In his world, accidents were rare.
Especially inside his own house.
The man was Victor Hale, Luca's longtime chief of security.
He had served the Moretti family for nearly fifteen years.
He had protected Luca during shootings, business wars, police raids, and assassination attempts.
He had carried Luca's dying brother out of a warehouse fire.
He had stood beside Isabella's crib when she was born.
And after Elena Moretti died, Victor had been the man Luca trusted most.
Now Victor stood in the doorway with one hand resting casually against the frame.
His face was calm.
Almost too calm.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
Luca folded Elena's letter.
His eyes never left Victor.
“Leave.”
Victor's eyebrows rose.
“Of course.”
He turned.
“Victor.”
The man's shoulders stopped.
“Who told you to come upstairs?”
“I heard Isabella screaming.”
“You heard her from downstairs?”
A pause.
Victor slowly looked over his shoulder.
“I was nearby.”
Luca said nothing.
Victor smiled.
Then he walked away.
The moment his footsteps disappeared, Luca closed the bedroom door.
Clara remained on the floor with Isabella in her arms.
The little girl was trembling so badly that Clara could feel every breath against her chest.
Luca looked at his daughter.
He had seen men bleed without making a sound.
He had watched enemies beg for their lives.
But seeing his seven-year-old daughter terrified of him nearly destroyed whatever control he had left.
He lowered himself onto one knee.
“Isabella.”
She buried her face deeper against Clara.
Luca swallowed.
“I won't open the box again.”
Her eyes slowly appeared over Clara's shoulder.
“I promise.”
Isabella stared at him.
Then she looked toward the wooden box.
Clara noticed something.
The girl wasn't afraid of the box itself.
She was afraid of what was inside.
“Luca,” Clara whispered.
He looked at her.
“Maybe we shouldn't read the rest here.”
His expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because whoever your wife was afraid of may still be watching.”
Luca's eyes moved toward the ceiling.
Then the walls.
The house suddenly felt different.
Not like a home.
Like a trap.
He stood.
“Bring the box.”
Clara hesitated.
“Where?”
“My study.”
Luca walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
He turned to Isabella.
“You stay with Clara.”
For the first time, Isabella nodded.
It was tiny.
Almost imperceptible.
But Luca saw it.
His daughter had responded to him.
He looked away quickly before she could see his eyes.
Downstairs, Luca locked the study door.
His hands were steady now.
He placed the wooden box on his desk.
Clara stood opposite him.
“Who was Elena?”
Luca frowned.
“My wife.”
“No.”
Clara shook her head.
“I mean, who was she before she became your wife?”
Luca stared at her.
“She was a lawyer.”
“For your companies?”
“No.”
“For your criminal operations?”
His jaw tightened.
“She hated that part of my life.”
Clara looked at the letter.
“Then why would she know enough to write this?”
Luca didn't answer.
Because he had been asking himself the same question.
He unfolded the paper again.
The second paragraph was partially stained.
But the words were still readable.
Luca, there are things I should have told you before now. I discovered that someone inside the organization has been moving money through shell companies and using your name. I thought I could expose him myself. I was wrong.
Luca's face became rigid.
For years, he had believed Elena's death was connected to an old enemy.
A rival family.
A revenge attack.
A car bomb.
But Elena had known something.
Something inside his own organization.
He continued reading.
I don't know whom I can trust anymore. If something happens to me, don't trust the person who tells you my death was an accident.
Luca's hand tightened around the paper.
“Elena's death wasn't an accident,” he whispered.
Clara stared at him.
“You thought it was?”
“The police said her brakes failed.”
“And you believed them?”
“I believed the evidence.”
Clara looked toward the locked study door.
“Evidence can be manufactured.”
Luca looked at her.
For a moment, something changed between them.
He had hired Clara because she seemed harmless.
Now she was standing in his study, reading a dead woman's warning as if she had been waiting for it.
“You've done this before,” Luca said.
“Done what?”
“Looked for lies.”
Clara's expression changed.
“My father was a police detective.”
Luca waited.
“He died when I was nineteen.”
“How?”
“A man he arrested killed him after being released on a technicality.”
Luca studied her.
“I'm sorry.”
Clara shrugged.
“You don't survive grief by pretending it didn't happen.”
Before Luca could answer, a noise came from the hallway.
A soft metallic click.
Both turned.
Luca opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a pistol.
Clara stepped back.
The doorknob moved.
Then stopped.
A voice came from outside.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Victor.
Luca opened the door.
Victor stood there.
“Dinner is ready.”
Luca stared at him.
“Who prepared it?”
“The kitchen staff.”
“Did you enter Isabella's room today?”
Victor's face remained calm.
“No.”
“Did you touch anything upstairs?”
“No.”
Luca watched him carefully.
Victor smiled.
“You don't trust me anymore.”
“I trust very few people.”
Victor's eyes flicked toward Clara.
“That would be wise.”
Then he walked away.
Clara whispered, “He knows.”
Luca closed the door.
“Knows what?”
“That you're suspicious.”
Luca looked at the letter.
“Good.”
That night, Isabella refused to sleep alone.
Clara sat beside her bed.
The little girl clutched her stuffed rabbit.
“Do you want the door open?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Closed?”
Another nod.
Clara tucked the blanket around her.
“You're safe.”
Isabella stared at her.
Then whispered,
“Mommy said the bad man had keys.”
Clara froze.
“What keys?”
Isabella pointed toward the hallway.
“He could go anywhere.”
“Did you see him?”
Isabella shook her head.
“He smelled like…”
She stopped.
“Like smoke.”
Clara's stomach dropped.
“Smoke?”
Isabella nodded.
“Mommy was crying.”
“Where?”
“The blue room.”
Clara frowned.
“There isn't a blue room.”
Isabella looked frightened.
“Yes, there is.”
She pointed toward the west wing.
“Behind the library.”
Clara stared at her.
The west wing had been closed since Elena's death.
Nobody used it.
Nobody was allowed inside.
At that exact moment, somewhere in the mansion, a door slammed.
Isabella grabbed Clara's wrist.
“That's him.”
Clara looked toward the hallway.
“Who?”
Isabella's voice became barely audible.
“The man Mommy was afraid of.”
And from somewhere beyond the walls came the sound of footsteps.
Slow.
May you like
Measured.
Coming closer.
