Chapter 4 - Dinner Was Cancelled Due to Treason
Luca moved before the echo died.
He shoved Mia into Elena’s arms.
“Down.”
Elena dropped behind the marble console.
Jonah appeared from the corridor with a handgun already drawn.
Vincent grabbed Bianca.
Another shot struck the tall window.
Glass exploded inward.
Guests screamed.
Luca hated screaming.
It made instructions difficult.
“Safe room,” he ordered.
Jonah’s men moved instantly.
Elena clutched Mia so tightly the child could barely breathe.
Luca caught Elena’s eyes.
“Go with Jonah.”
“What about you?”
He paused.
It was such an ordinary question.
Nobody asked Luca Moretti that during gunfire.
People assumed he belonged there.
“I’ll be fine.”
Mia reached toward him.
“Uncle Luca!”
He hated how that sounded when she was frightened.
“I’ll come get you.”
“Promise?”
He should not have promised.
Promises were liabilities.
“Yes.”
Then Jonah took them away.
The shooter vanished before security reached the eastern tree line.
One casing was recovered.
Professional ammunition.
No fingerprints.
No footprints worth following.
But Luca knew something more important.
The shot had not been aimed at him.
It had been aimed at Elena.
Security footage showed the trajectory clearly.
The bullet struck the glass exactly where she had been standing seconds earlier.
At midnight, Luca entered the safe room.
Mia was asleep on a leather sofa wrapped in his emergency cashmere blanket.
Elena sat beside her.
“You promised,” she said.
“I did.”
Her face looked different.
Not softer.
Exhausted.
“You believe me now?”
“Yes.”
She laughed bitterly.
“All it took was someone trying to shoot me.”
“I was already halfway there.”
“Romantic.”
He blinked.
She realized what she had said.
So did he.
An uncomfortable silence followed.
Elena cleared her throat.
“I meant reassuring.”
“Obviously.”
Neither sounded convinced.
Luca sat across from her.
“Your key.”
Her expression closed.
“No.”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
“Which is precisely why I’m not handing you the one thing keeping me alive.”
“If they know you have it—”
“They don’t.”
“Vincent searched your room six times.”
“He thinks I have something.”
“Do you?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
Luca exhaled.
“Good. Progress.”
“It isn’t the key.”
“What is it?”
“A music box.”
Luca stared.
“A music box.”
“Yes.”
“This conspiracy is becoming aggressively whimsical.”
Despite herself, she smiled.
“My father gave it to me when I was eight.”
“Does it open?”
“It’s a music box, Luca.”
First name.
Neither commented.
She continued.
“After his death, I found numbers carved underneath.”
“What numbers?”
“Coordinates.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Where?”
“North Shore.”
His expression changed.
“How close?”
“Your property.”
Silence.
“My father hid something here?”
“Apparently.”
“You’ve worked in my house nine months and neglected to mention buried treasure?”
“I was investigating.”
“As a maid.”
“People don’t notice maids.”
Luca remembered the years Elena had spent perfecting invisibility.
Something twisted inside him.
“They should.”
She looked at him.
For a moment the conspiracy disappeared.
There was only the quiet room, sleeping child, and two people who had spent most of their lives believing vulnerability was a kind of stupidity.
Then Mia snored.
Loudly.
Both looked at her.
Elena whispered, “She gets that from her father.”
Luca’s jaw hardened.
“Tell me about him.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“You’re remarkably demanding for a man whose chair has been stolen by a toddler.”
He almost smiled.
“Daniel Bennett. Where is he?”
Her humor faded.
“He found me when I was twenty-two.”
“Found?”
“I thought we met accidentally.”
Luca understood immediately.
“You think someone sent him.”
“I know someone did.”
The bruises.
The fear.
The constant apologies.
“Was he abusive?”
She stared at Mia.
“At first, no.”
The answer became its own story.
Daniel had been patient.
Funny.
Safe.
He knew when she needed space.
He knew exactly what frightened her because, Elena later realized, he had been paid to learn.
After they married, the questions began.
Her father.
The crash.
Anything he might have hidden.
Then Mia was born.
Daniel stopped pretending.
“He never hurt her,” Elena said quickly.
“But he hurt you.”
“Yes.”
Luca’s hands curled.
She noticed.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re imagining twelve things.”
“Only nine.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
Then tears followed.
That embarrassed her more.
She wiped them away angrily.
“I hate crying.”
“Why?”
“Because he liked it.”
Luca’s face changed.
Elena looked at him.
“Daniel said crying meant he was finally getting the truth.”
Luca spoke carefully.
“Crying means your body has exceeded its capacity to pretend.”
She blinked.
“That sounded suspiciously healthy.”
“I employ an expensive therapist.”
“You?”
“My mother forced me.”
“Ah.”
“He says I have control issues.”
Elena looked around the fortified safe room.
“No.”
“He may be onto something.”
This time they both smiled.
Then Luca’s phone buzzed.
Jonah.
They had identified the shooter’s escape vehicle.
The car belonged to a shell corporation.
Luca knew the company.
Vincent controlled it.
He stood.
Elena watched him.
“What are you going to do?”
“Ask my cousin a question.”
“Using words?”
“I know several.”
“Luca.”
He stopped.
“Don’t become your father trying to solve your father’s murder.”
That sentence followed him upstairs.
Vincent was waiting in Luca’s study.
Bianca sat nearby drinking brandy with trembling hands.
“You think I arranged this?” Vincent demanded.
“The car belongs to your company.”
“So do forty-seven cars.”
“You searched Elena’s bedroom.”
Vincent’s face changed.
Bianca went still.
Luca saw it.
Fear.
Not guilt.
Vincent stood.
“You don’t understand.”
“Explain.”
“I was searching for something before someone worse found it.”
“Who?”
Vincent looked toward Bianca.
She whispered, “Don’t.”
Luca’s attention shifted.
Vincent swallowed.
Then said a name Luca had not heard since childhood.
“Silvio Moretti.”
Luca stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
“My uncle died twenty-three years ago.”
Vincent’s face was almost apologetic.
“No, Luca.”
“He didn’t.”
Before Luca could respond, every light in the mansion died.
Total darkness swallowed the room.
Then Bianca screamed.
When backup power returned twelve seconds later, Vincent was lying on the floor.
A knife protruded from his shoulder.
May you like
And written across Luca’s wall in blood were five words.
ANTONIO SHOULD HAVE STAYED SILENT.
