Chapter 3 - 3
The photograph on my phone had been taken from the second-floor balcony.
I knew because I could see the top of Massimo's wheelchair in the corner of the frame.
Someone had been watching us from above.
And whoever sent the message wanted me to know it.
I locked my bedroom door, checked the windows, and called Camila.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Emily? Is everything okay?”
I hadn't heard my first name spoken all day. Inside the Pascale mansion, everyone called me Miss Fitzgerald, as though using my first name might make me too human.
“Camila, I need to ask you something.”
“What's wrong?”
“Who recommended me for this position?”
Silence.
“Camila?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Because someone just threatened me.”
I heard movement on the other end.
“Listen carefully,” she said. “Don't discuss this over the phone.”
My stomach tightened.
“Discuss what?”
“Emily, I need you to leave that house.”
“Why?”
“Because I made a mistake.”
Before I could respond, the call disconnected.
I immediately called back.
Straight to voicemail.
Then a text arrived.
I'm sorry. I didn't know they would choose you.
I read it three times.
Choose me?
For what?
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Miss Fitzgerald?”
It was Luca.
I opened the door only a few inches.
“Is something wrong?”
“Mr. Pascale requests your presence.”
“Now?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
I glanced at the clock.
11:47 p.m.
“Tell him I'll see him in the morning.”
Luca didn't move.
“It's important.”
Something in his voice made me reconsider.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and followed him downstairs.
The mansion looked different at night.
The chandeliers had been dimmed. Shadows stretched across the marble floors, and the silence felt deliberate.
Massimo was waiting in his study.
He wasn't wearing the tailored black shirt from earlier. Instead, he wore a gray T-shirt, and his dark hair was slightly disheveled.
He looked younger.
And exhausted.
“Close the door,” he told Luca.
Once we were alone, he gestured toward the chair opposite him.
“Sit.”
“I prefer standing.”
“Suit yourself.”
He placed a phone on the desk.
My phone.
Or rather, a photograph of my phone screen.
The threatening messages were visible.
My blood ran cold.
“How did you get that?”
“Security monitors unusual activity on the estate.”
“Your security monitors my private messages?”
“No. Luca saw you through the hallway camera when you received them. You looked frightened. He asked me to check on you, and I had him photograph the screen when you showed it to him outside your room.”
I stared at him.
“I didn't show Luca anything.”
Massimo went still.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he picked up the phone and examined the photograph again.
“That's what he told me.”
“Then he lied.”
His jaw tightened.
I could almost see him reconsidering every person in his house.
“Did you send these messages?” I asked.
His eyes snapped toward mine.
“If I wanted you gone, you'd already be gone.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I didn't send them.”
I believed him.
I wasn't sure why.
Maybe because the anger in his face looked genuine.
Or maybe because I was beginning to understand that Massimo Pascale was surrounded by enemies who smiled at him over dinner.
I showed him Camila's messages.
His expression changed.
“Camila Reyes,” he repeated.
“You know her?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
He opened a drawer and removed a photograph.
It showed five people standing outside a hospital.
Massimo was in the center, wearing a suit.
Adrian stood beside him.
There were two doctors.
And a woman with dark hair.
Camila.
My mouth went dry.
“This was taken three weeks before my accident,” Massimo said.
I stared at the photograph.
Camila had told me she'd never met the Pascales.
“Why was she there?”
“She was consulting on a rehabilitation foundation I was funding.”
I looked at him.
“You funded a rehabilitation foundation?”
“Before the accident.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“My mother had a stroke five years ago.”
For the first time, his voice carried something other than anger.
“She spent eleven months learning how to walk again. I saw what proper rehabilitation could do.”
I glanced at the photograph again.
“Camila worked with your foundation?”
“For six months.”
“Why did she leave?”
“She didn't.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“She was fired.”
“By whom?”
Massimo's expression darkened.
“Adrian.”
A cold realization began forming.
Camila had recommended me.
Adrian controlled the medical team.
Someone wanted Massimo to remain disabled.
And someone had specifically chosen me.
“Massimo,” I said carefully, “I think we need to involve someone outside this house.”
He gave a bitter laugh.
“Police?”
“If there's evidence of a crime, yes.”
“My family has spent thirty years buying influence in this city.”
“Then we find someone who hasn't been bought.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“You really don't understand what you've walked into.”
“Then explain it.”
He turned toward the window.
“When my father died, he left control of Pascale Holdings to me.”
“And Adrian?”
“Received a substantial inheritance and a minority ownership interest.”
“That must have caused resentment.”
Massimo smiled without humor.
“Adrian spent his entire life believing the company belonged to him.”
“Why didn't your father choose him?”
“Because my father knew something I didn't.”
“What?”
Massimo's expression became distant.
“That Adrian was willing to destroy anything he couldn't control.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Both of us turned.
Footsteps.
Then silence.
Massimo pressed the intercom.
“Luca. Who's outside my study?”
Static.
No answer.
He tried again.
“Luca?”
Nothing.
Massimo reached beneath his desk.
A hidden drawer opened.
Inside was a handgun.
I stepped back.
“Absolutely not.”
He looked at me.
“Emily—”
It was the first time he'd used my name.
“Put that away.”
“Someone may be inside my house.”
“Then call the police.”
He stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he would refuse.
Instead, he placed the gun on the desk and reached for his phone.
Before he could dial, the lights went out.
Complete darkness swallowed the room.
I heard Massimo curse.
Then glass shattered somewhere downstairs.
A woman's scream followed.
Rosa.
I moved toward the door.
Massimo caught my wrist.
“Don't.”
“She might be hurt.”
“And whoever did this might be waiting.”
I pulled free.
“Then call emergency services.”
I opened the door.
The hallway was dark except for the red glow of emergency lights.
At the far end, a figure disappeared around the corner.
I heard running footsteps.
Then a door slammed.
I hurried toward the staircase.
“Rosa?”
No answer.
“Rosa!”
A weak voice came from below.
“Help me.”
I ran down the stairs.
Rosa lay near the entrance to the west wing, clutching her shoulder.
Blood stained her white uniform.
I dropped beside her.
“Don't move. Where are you hurt?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“Someone pushed me.”
“Did you see who?”
Her breathing was shallow.
“Miss Fitzgerald…”
“Stay with me.”
She gripped my sleeve with surprising strength.
“Don't trust the brother.”
“I know.”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
She pulled me closer.
“Not Adrian.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Rosa's voice dropped to a whisper.
“The other brother.”
I stared at her.
“Massimo has another brother?”
Rosa opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, someone spoke behind me.
“She talks too much.”
I turned.
May you like
Adrian stood at the end of the hallway.
And beside him was a man who looked almost exactly like Massimo Pascale.
