Chapter 2 - Nobody Leaves the House
Luca turned before the door opened completely.
His right hand moved beneath his jacket.
“Stop.”
The door froze.
A second later Matteo appeared.
He raised both hands slightly.
“It’s me.”
Luca stared past him.
“Where’s Carlo?”
Matteo frowned.
“He was here.”
“He isn’t now.”
Elena emerged from the bathroom wearing Luca’s black shirt over the ivory dress.
The stained skirt remained visible below it.
“What happened?”
Luca locked his phone.
“Nothing.”
She looked at him.
“You’re lying.”
Matteo noticed the blood.
His face tightened.
“Boss, what is this?”
“Where is Isabella?”
“In the east sitting room.”
“Alone?”
“With Rosa.”
Rosa had worked for the family for thirty years.
Luca trusted her more than most blood relatives.
“And Adriano?”
“Still missing.”
Luca handed Matteo the silver cufflink.
Matteo’s expression changed immediately.
“Where did you find this?”
“Elena did.”
Matteo looked toward her.
Luca watched him carefully.
“You know something.”
Matteo shook his head.
“I know Adriano’s been acting strange.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I had no proof.”
“I didn’t ask whether you had proof.”
Matteo lowered his eyes.
That answer would normally have ended careers.
Tonight Luca had larger problems.
“Talk.”
“Adriano started meeting people outside the usual circle. Men from Jersey. Men who used to work for your uncle Vittorio.”
Vittorio Valenti.
Salvatore’s younger brother.
Isabella’s late husband.
Adriano’s father.
A man Luca remembered as smiling in photographs and lying at family dinners.
Vittorio had died when Luca was twenty-two.
A car accident.
At least that was what everyone had been told.
“When?”
Matteo continued.
“Late at night. Usually Thursdays.”
“Locations?”
“I have two.”
“Send them.”
Matteo took out his phone.
Luca’s screen lit again.
Same unknown number.
This message contained only a clock.
11:45.
Twenty-three minutes away.
He looked toward Elena.
“Did Marco ever mention eleven forty-five?”
“No.”
Luca checked the time.
11:22.
Whoever held Marco wanted him moving.
Quickly.
That meant they were afraid he would think.
“Matteo, take Elena downstairs.”
“No.”
Elena spoke before Matteo moved.
Luca turned.
“No?”
“I’m not sitting downstairs while you go after Marco.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“He’s my brother.”
“And someone already chased you through my house.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The words came out harder than Luca intended.
Elena became quiet.
So did Matteo.
Luca took a breath.
“When someone wants me to act quickly, I move slowly.”
Elena frowned.
“Marco doesn’t have time for slow.”
“They gave me a deadline because they need something.”
“The key.”
“Yes.”
“And you have it.”
Luca reached into his pocket.
“No.”
Elena stared.
He opened his hand.
Empty.
Her eyes widened.
“You left it in the bedroom?”
Luca said nothing.
Then he glanced at Matteo.
Matteo understood.
“Decoy.”
Luca nodded.
The real key was already somewhere else.
Elena looked between them.
“When did you—”
“While you were changing.”
“Where?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Luca.”
“If I know and you know, two people can betray the secret.”
Her face changed.
He immediately regretted the phrasing.
“That came out wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not accusing you.”
“It sounded like it.”
“I’m keeping you alive.”
Elena looked away.
Matteo pretended not to hear.
Luca’s phone rang.
This time an actual call.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No greeting.
A distorted male voice.
“You have twenty minutes.”
“Put Marco on.”
“Bring the key.”
“Put Marco on.”
A pause.
Then a familiar voice came through.
“Luca?”
Marco.
Elena rushed toward the phone.
“Marco!”
“Elena?”
“I’m here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
Marco exhaled.
“Thank God.”
Luca took control again.
“Where are you?”
Marco hesitated.
The distorted voice interrupted.
“Enough.”
Luca spoke calmly.
“You hurt Marco, the key disappears forever.”
“You don’t know what it opens.”
“Yes, I do.”
Silence.
Luca didn’t.
But whoever called did not know that.
“Room 317,” Luca continued. “Bellini Hotel.”
Another silence.
Longer.
Good.
He had surprised them.
“You have eighteen minutes.”
The line disconnected.
Elena stared at Luca.
“You really know what the key opens?”
“No.”
Her mouth opened.
“You just—”
“Lied.”
“You sounded certain.”
“That’s the point.”
Matteo almost smiled.
Almost.
Luca turned to him.
“Call Enzo Bianchi.”
“The retired locksmith?”
“Yes.”
“At midnight?”
“Wake him.”
Matteo left.
Elena crossed her arms.
“What happens now?”
“We figure out why someone believes an old hotel room matters enough to abduct your brother.”
“And if we don’t figure it out in eighteen minutes?”
Luca looked at her.
“We will.”
For the first time that night, Elena seemed to believe him.
Then footsteps sounded from the hall.
Isabella entered without permission.
Rosa followed.
Luca’s face went cold.
“I told you to stay downstairs.”
“And I told Matteo I would not be treated like a prisoner.”
“Tonight you are one.”
Isabella looked at Elena.
Her gaze fell to the blood.
“What exactly has she accused Adriano of?”
Elena said nothing.
Luca answered.
“She found his cufflink.”
“A cufflink.”
“Beside an injured man.”
Isabella’s face tightened.
“Adriano owns a dozen.”
“Engraved with his initials?”
“He loses things.”
“So do careless men.”
Isabella looked sharply at him.
“You sound like your father.”
“Good.”
“No, Luca. Not good.”
Something in her tone changed.
Not anger.
Fear.
Luca noticed.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Wrong answer.”
Isabella walked farther into the room.
“You were a boy when your father died.”
“I was twenty-four.”
“A boy where this family was concerned.”
“What does that have to do with Room 317?”
Isabella froze.
Elena saw it.
So did Luca.
He moved closer.
“You know the number.”
“No.”
“You just answered too quickly.”
“Everyone knows the Bellini.”
“I didn’t say Bellini.”
Isabella went pale.
That was the first real crack.
Rosa lowered her eyes.
Luca noticed that too.
He turned.
“Rosa.”
The older housekeeper looked at him.
“What happened in Room 317?”
Isabella snapped, “Do not answer him.”
Luca slowly turned back.
The room changed.
Even Elena felt it.
Isabella had just made a mistake she could not undo.
Luca’s voice became very soft.
“You don’t give orders in my house.”
Isabella looked shaken.
“Luca—”
“Rosa.”
The housekeeper swallowed.
“Your father kept documents there.”
“What documents?”
“I never saw them.”
“Who did?”
Rosa hesitated.
“Your uncle Vittorio.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Elena looked between them.
Luca felt something old and poisonous begin to move beneath years of family history.
“My uncle died before my father.”
Rosa nodded.
“Six months before.”
“In a car accident.”
Rosa said nothing.
Luca stared at her.
“Rosa.”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
The words landed without sound.
Elena lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
Luca remained standing.
“Who told you that?”
“Your father.”
Isabella turned away.
Luca saw tears gathering in her eyes.
That surprised him more than anything else.
“What happened?”
Rosa looked toward Isabella.
“You should tell him.”
Isabella laughed bitterly.
“After eleven years?”
“You should have told him eleven years ago.”
Luca stepped between them.
“Tell me what?”
Isabella’s hands trembled.
“Your father and Vittorio were fighting.”
“About?”
“Money. Control. Something Vittorio had discovered.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Luca did not believe her.
“You do.”
“I know pieces.”
“Then give me the pieces.”
Isabella looked at Elena.
“This has nothing to do with her.”
Elena spoke quietly.
“My brother is tied to a chair because of it.”
Isabella’s expression softened for a fraction of a second.
Then hardened again.
Luca’s phone rang.
Matteo.
He answered.
“Talk.”
“I found Enzo.”
“And?”
“The key isn’t for a hotel door.”
Luca looked at Elena.
“What is it?”
“Old bank key. Swiss-made. Private storage system.”
“Can he identify where?”
“He already did.”
Matteo paused.
“Manhattan Continental Trust.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
That bank had shut down twelve years ago.
“What happened to its private boxes?”
“Transferred.”
“Where?”
“That’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“They were acquired by Valenti Financial Holdings.”
Luca went still.
That company did not exist.
At least not officially.
Matteo continued.
“And boss?”
“Yes?”
“The transfer was authorized by your father.”
Isabella sat down.
Luca turned toward her.
Her face had lost all color.
“You knew.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You knew enough to be afraid.”
“Luca—”
“Who owns Valenti Financial Holdings?”
Isabella’s lips parted.
No answer came.
Elena suddenly stood.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at her.
She had pulled something from inside the torn lining of her stained dress.
A folded strip of paper.
“I forgot this was there.”
Luca approached.
“What is it?”
“Marco pushed it into my hand before he ran.”
She unfolded it.
A sequence of numbers.
And beneath them, one sentence.
Luca read it once.
Then again.
DO NOT TRUST THE WOMAN IN BLACK.
Everyone looked toward Isabella.
She rose slowly.
Her eyes filled with horror.
“I didn’t write that.”
Luca did not respond.
Then somewhere below them, glass shattered.
A gunshot cracked through the house.
Matteo shouted from the hallway.
Luca moved toward the door.
But before he reached it, Rosa grabbed his arm.
Her face was terrified.
“Don’t go downstairs.”
“Why?”
She looked directly at Isabella.
May you like
“Because Adriano isn’t the Valenti you should be afraid of.”
Then the lights went out.
