Chapter 2 - Five Minutes of Absolute Power
Luca Moretti had survived three federal investigations, two assassination attempts, and one Christmas dinner in which his mother had seated two rival politicians beside each other because, in her words, “men behave better when they’re forced to pass potatoes.”
None of those experiences prepared him for Mia Bennett’s second day as head of the Moretti organization.
At precisely 10:03 the next morning, the three-year-old marched into his office wearing a pale yellow dress, two mismatched socks, and an expression suggesting she had already reviewed the quarterly reports and found them disappointing.
Elena followed two steps behind.
“Five minutes,” she reminded Luca.
Luca looked at his watch.
“Five minutes.”
“And she cannot touch anything.”
Mia immediately reached toward the antique bronze letter opener.
“No.”
She withdrew her hand.
Then pointed at Luca.
“You touched it.”
“It belongs to me.”
“You said I’m boss.”
Luca stared at her.
Elena covered her mouth, but not quickly enough.
He saw the smile.
It was the first genuine one he had ever seen from her.
It transformed her face.
That bothered him more than it should have.
“Fine,” Luca said. “Boss Mia may touch the paperweights.”
Mia climbed into the enormous leather chair.
Luca remained standing.
Elena hovered near the door, shoulders tense despite the absurdity of the situation.
Yesterday’s bruise had disappeared beneath the sleeve of her uniform.
Luca had not forgotten it.
He forgot very little.
“First order?” he asked.
Mia thought deeply.
“No broccoli.”
“Denied.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“You can deny boss?”
“I own the broccoli.”
She frowned.
“Second order. Mr. Grumpy can’t yell at Mommy.”
Something inside Luca went still.
“Mr. Grumpy?”
Elena’s smile vanished.
“Mia.”
The little girl pointed toward the hallway.
“The man with shiny hair.”
Luca’s mind began sorting faces.
“Which man?”
Elena stepped forward.
“She means nobody.”
Mia disagreed.
“He says Mommy is stupid.”
“Mia, enough.”
“And the lady with red nails says Mommy is trash.”
Silence.
Not awkward silence.
The specific silence that had preceded violence many times in Luca’s life.
He lowered himself into the chair opposite Mia.
“What lady?”
“Mr. Moretti,” Elena said quietly.
He raised one hand.
Not threatening.
Final.
“Mia?”
The girl tapped his fountain pen against the desk.
“She smells like flowers.”
Half the women visiting the estate smelled like flowers.
“What does she look like?”
“Red nails.”
Helpful.
“And she has a necklace like this.”
Mia drew a circle around her throat.
Then she added the detail that changed Luca’s expression.
“A snake.”
Luca looked at Elena.
Elena went pale.
There were exactly three people regularly permitted into the private wing without security escort.
One was Luca’s attorney.
One was his cousin and chief financial officer, Vincent Moretti.
The third was Vincent’s wife, Bianca.
Bianca wore a diamond serpent necklace almost every day.
And Vincent’s hair looked as though it had been negotiated into position by a team of professionals.
Luca rose.
“Elena. Take Mia downstairs.”
“Gladly.”
She lifted her daughter.
Mia protested.
“My five minutes!”
“You’ve had seven.”
“That’s not five.”
“You got overtime.”
“Do I get money?”
Despite everything, Luca almost laughed.
“Go.”
At the doorway, Mia twisted around in Elena’s arms.
“Uncle Luca?”
Elena sighed.
Luca ignored the title.
“What?”
“Fire Mr. Grumpy.”
Elena hurried away before Luca could answer.
The door closed.
Luca stood alone.
Ten seconds later, he pressed a button beneath his desk.
His head of security entered.
Jonah Mercer was sixty-one, built like an aging prizefighter, and had been protecting Luca since Luca was fifteen.
“You rang?”
“Pull every camera recording from the west wing for the last sixty days.”
Jonah studied him.
“Problem?”
“Maybe.”
“With?”
“Vincent.”
Jonah’s expression changed slightly.
That was all.
In Luca’s world, microscopic facial movements counted as shouting.
“Your cousin?”
“Yes.”
Jonah nodded.
“I’ll handle it personally.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
That afternoon, Luca found Elena polishing silver in the dining room.
He waited until the other staff left.
She kept working.
“You knew who Mia meant.”
The cloth stopped.
“No.”
“Elena.”
She resumed polishing.
“I don’t want trouble.”
“You already have trouble.”
She finally looked at him.
“I need this job.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Because it’s true.”
“What did Vincent do?”
“Nothing.”
“What did Bianca do?”
“Nothing.”
Luca stepped closer.
Elena backed away instinctively.
He noticed.
Immediately, he stopped.
Something cold moved through his chest.
Not anger at her.
Recognition.
He knew that movement.
He had seen his mother make it.
Years ago.
Around his father.
Luca softened his voice.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her eyes flickered.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
That landed.
For several seconds Elena said nothing.
Then she looked toward the open doorway.
“Mr. Vincent sometimes checks the staff rooms.”
“For what?”
“He says theft.”
“Have you stolen from this house?”
“No.”
“Then why does he search your room?”
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“And Bianca?”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“That does not explain bruises.”
Elena’s face lost color.
He had not intended to say it so directly.
Her hand moved toward her wrist.
Luca saw fear.
Then shame.
And something worse.
The automatic instinct to protect the person who had caused it.
“It was an accident.”
“That is rarely a sentence people say when something actually was.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“No.”
“And I would like to keep it that way.”
That irritated him.
Which meant she was right.
Luca stepped aside.
“You can go.”
She hesitated.
Then walked past him.
At the doorway she stopped.
Without turning, she whispered, “Some doors are safer closed, Mr. Moretti.”
Then she left.
At 11:40 that night, Jonah entered Luca’s study carrying a tablet.
“I found something.”
Security footage appeared.
Vincent.
Walking into Elena’s room while she worked downstairs.
Bianca stood outside the door.
Vincent emerged four minutes later holding an envelope.
Luca leaned closer.
“What’s inside?”
“We don’t know.”
Jonah changed the footage.
Another date.
Vincent entering.
Again.
Then another.
Six visits.
All while Elena was absent.
Luca’s voice became quiet.
“Why?”
Jonah looked troubled.
“That’s not the worst part.”
He opened a seventh recording.
A man Luca did not recognize entered through the staff corridor.
Vincent met him.
They spoke briefly.
The stranger handed Vincent a photograph.
The camera caught it for less than two seconds.
Jonah froze the frame.
Luca stared.
The photograph showed Elena Bennett.
Not recently.
Years younger.
Maybe nineteen.
Standing beside a man outside a courthouse.
The man’s face had been crossed out in black ink.
On the back of the photograph, barely visible through the angle of the camera, someone had written three words.
Jonah enhanced the image.
Luca read them.
His blood turned cold.
SHE SAW EVERYTHING.
And beneath those words was a date.
May you like
Seven years earlier.
The same week Luca Moretti’s father had been murdered.
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