Chapter 2 - The Bullet Behind the Pillar
Vivian stared at the engraving.
VIVIAN MORETTI.
The letters were old.
Not scratched there that night.
Not hastily carved.
Old enough for grime to have settled into them.
“That isn’t mine,” she said.
Edmund took the rifle.
“I know.”
“How?”
“You don’t own rifles.”
“You’ve investigated me?”
“I investigated the woman I was marrying.”
Her laugh was sharp.
“How romantic.”
“This rifle is twelve years old.”
The guard nodded. “Serial number was removed, but the model fits.”
Vivian looked at her name again.
“Why would my name be on a twelve-year-old rifle?”
Nobody answered.
Edmund handed it back.
“Bag it. Nobody touches anything without gloves.”
He turned to Vivian.
“We’re leaving.”
“My father is missing.”
“Which is why we’re leaving.”
“I’m not going anywhere until—”
The lights died.
Darkness swallowed the ballroom.
Vivian heard weapons being drawn.
Then Edmund’s arm closed around her.
“Down.”
She obeyed this time.
Emergency lights flickered red along the walls.
Somebody screamed near the kitchen.
A door slammed.
Edmund pulled Vivian behind the pillar.
“Stay against me.”
“I thought you didn’t trust anyone.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why—”
“Because whoever planned this put your name on the rifle.”
The lights returned.
One of Edmund’s guards lay near the service corridor.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Vivian covered her mouth.
Edmund moved toward him, but another guard knelt first.
“Alive.”
“What happened?”
The wounded man struggled to speak.
“Someone... staff uniform.”
“Which direction?”
“Garage.”
Edmund’s security chief, Marco DeLuca, appeared.
“Cars are ready.”
“Take Vivian.”
She stepped back.
“No.”
Edmund’s stare hardened.
“This is not a debate.”
“Then stop speaking to me like I’m luggage.”
A burst of shouting came from the corridor.
Edmund looked away for half a second.
Vivian used it.
She walked directly toward the wounded guard.
“Vivian.”
She ignored him.
Something glittered beside the man’s hand.
A cuff link.
She picked it up with the handkerchief from the rifle.
Gold.
Black enamel.
A small M.
Her stomach dropped.
She had given an identical pair to her father three Christmases ago.
Edmund saw her face.
“What?”
She opened the cloth.
Marco cursed.
Edmund said nothing.
Vivian whispered, “They’re my father’s.”
Marco reached for it.
Edmund stopped him.
“No.”
He looked at Vivian.
“Are you certain?”
“I had them made.”
A memory surfaced.
Victor complaining they were too expensive.
Then wearing them to every important dinner because he loved being asked about them.
Vivian looked at the blood.
“Was my father here?”
The wounded guard opened his eyes.
“Woman.”
Everyone froze.
“What woman?” Edmund asked.
“Blonde.”
Vivian instinctively touched her hair.
The guard shook his head weakly.
“Older.”
“Did you recognize her?”
His lips moved.
No sound came.
Edmund crouched.
“Who was she?”
The guard whispered one word.
“Moretti.”
Vivian’s knees nearly gave way.
“That’s impossible.”
Edmund looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because there is no other Moretti woman.”
“What about your mother?”
Vivian stared at him.
“My mother died when I was eleven.”
Edmund became very still.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“Who identified her?”
“My father.”
That silence again.
Vivian hated it.
“You know something.”
Edmund stood.
“We need to leave.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Knowing things about my life and deciding I’m too fragile to hear them.”
His eyes darkened.
“This is not about fragility.”
“Then tell me.”
“Not here.”
Vivian stepped close.
“Six years ago. What did you buy?”
Marco looked at Edmund.
That was enough.
Vivian saw it.
Marco knew too.
“Both of you?”
Edmund lowered his voice.
“Six years ago, I bought a controlling interest in a company called Aurelia Maritime.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“Why?”
“Because it existed only on paper.”
Her anger faltered.
“For what?”
“To move money.”
“For you?”
“No.”
“For my father?”
Edmund’s silence confirmed it.
Vivian backed away.
“You knew him six years ago.”
“Yes.”
“You told me your first business with him was three months ago.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because six years ago your father came to me terrified.”
“Of what?”
“He said somebody was using Moretti ships to move things he had never agreed to carry.”
“What things?”
Edmund looked toward the guests.
“People.”
Vivian felt sick.
“No.”
“He said he discovered manifests that didn’t match the cargo.”
“My father would never—”
“I believed him.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to destroy his own company if that was what it took to stop it.”
Vivian struggled to reconcile the frightened, weak gambler she knew with the man Edmund described.
“What happened?”
“I bought Aurelia Maritime because it controlled the hidden accounts. Then the records vanished.”
“Who took them?”
“I never knew.”
“And my father?”
“He stopped speaking about it.”
“Why?”
Edmund’s gaze settled on her.
“Because three days later someone tried to kill you.”
Vivian stopped.
“What?”
“You were nineteen.”
Her mind raced.
Nineteen.
College.
A late-night crash on Route 8.
Her brakes had failed.
Victor had told her the mechanic found a manufacturing defect.
“That accident.”
“Wasn’t an accident.”
Vivian stared at him.
“You knew?”
“I found out afterward.”
“And said nothing?”
“Your father begged me not to.”
“Why?”
“He believed silence would keep you alive.”
Vivian slapped him.
The sound cut through the ruined ballroom.
Marco looked away.
Edmund did not move.
“You had no right.”
“No.”
“You let me live six years believing—”
“I know.”
“My father sold me to you.”
Edmund’s expression changed.
“No.”
“He traded me for debt.”
“No, Vivian.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“I offered the marriage.”
She froze.
“What?”
“Victor didn’t.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Edmund continued quietly.
“Your father asked me for money. I told him I would settle everything if you married me.”
“Why?”
“Because the people from six years ago had started moving again.”
“You married me for protection?”
“I married you because if you became a Costa, anyone touching you would start a war.”
Vivian laughed without humor.
“You could have hired guards.”
“They can be dismissed.”
“Then tell me the real reason.”
Edmund looked at her for a long moment.
Before he could answer, Marco’s phone rang.
He listened.
His face drained.
“What?”
Marco lowered the phone.
“They found Victor’s car.”
“Where?”
“Pier Nine.”
Vivian moved immediately.
Edmund caught her.
“There’s blood inside.”
She stared at him.
“Is he there?”
“No.”
“Then I’m going.”
Edmund knew arguing would waste time.
“Fine. With me.”
Twenty minutes later they reached Pier Nine.
Victor’s sedan sat abandoned beside a warehouse.
The driver’s door was open.
Blood stained the seat.
Vivian approached slowly.
Something white lay on the dashboard.
An envelope.
Her name was written across it.
VIVIAN.
She opened it.
Inside was an old photograph.
Her father.
Her mother.
And Edmund.
Six years ago.
Standing together beside a ship.
Vivian turned the photograph over.
Three words had been written on the back.
EDMUND KNOWS EVERYTHING.
She looked up.
Edmund was staring past her.
At the warehouse.
May you like
Its steel door was moving.
Someone was opening it from the inside.
