Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Locked Door
“Don’t move,” Lena whispered.
Lucian stopped.
So did everyone else.
The man behind her stepped into view.
But he was not Adrian Bellini.
He was a member of the household staff Camille had seen twice.
Older.
Gray hair.
Navy service jacket.
His hand shook so badly the weapon trembled against Lena’s side.
Lucian’s voice stayed calm.
“Put it down.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“They’ll kill my son.”
Matteo glanced toward Dante.
Dante had one hand near his jacket but did not move.
Camille understood the problem immediately.
The man was terrified.
Terrified people made unpredictable decisions.
She stepped slightly forward.
Lucian caught her wrist.
“Stay.”
Camille looked at the man.
“What’s your name?”
His eyes jumped toward her.
Lucian tightened his grip.
Camille ignored him.
The man swallowed.
“Peter.”
“Peter, look at me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Lucian gave Camille a warning look.
She gave him one back.
Camille had taught negotiation etiquette for crisis mediators before.
People assumed etiquette was forks and napkins.
It was not.
Etiquette was behavior under pressure.
It was knowing which words reduced humiliation.
Which movements felt threatening.
Which silence gave someone room to regain control.
Camille kept her hands visible.
“Peter, Lena isn’t the person you’re angry with.”
“I’m not angry.”
“I know.”
“They said I just had to bring her upstairs.”
“Who?”
Peter’s mouth opened.
He stopped.
Someone had frightened him more than Lucian Moretti frightened him.
That was impressive.
And dangerous.
“Who?” Lucian repeated.
Peter closed his eyes.
“The man with the ring.”
Matteo cursed softly.
Adrian.
Camille watched Lena.
Her breathing was too fast.
Her knees were beginning to shake.
Camille said, “Peter, she’s going to faint.”
He looked down.
“She’s what?”
“She’s frightened.”
“I never touched her.”
“You don’t have to. Her body doesn’t know that.”
Lena swayed.
Peter instinctively loosened his arm.
It was enough.
Dante crossed the space.
Fast.
Controlled.
Two seconds later the weapon hit the floor.
Lena stumbled forward.
Camille caught her.
Lucian’s men pulled Peter away.
Nobody shouted.
Lucian knelt beside Lena.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
Camille put an arm around her shoulders.
“You’re okay.”
Lena looked at her.
Then started crying.
“I tried to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“The book.”
Camille frowned.
“My book?”
Lena nodded.
“I put something in it.”
Lucian looked at Dante.
“Where?”
Dante checked the corridor.
“The book isn’t here.”
Lena’s face collapsed.
“He took it.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Bellini.”
The room changed.
Matteo stared at her.
Lucian became frighteningly still.
Lena spoke quickly.
“I saw him in the office two nights ago. He was copying schedules. I thought it was normal because he works for you. But then I saw another file.”
“What file?” Lucian asked.
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know. There were initials.”
“What initials?”
Lena swallowed.
“R.V.”
Matteo’s face lost color.
Lucian noticed.
Camille did too.
“Who is R.V.?” she asked.
Neither brother answered.
Lena continued.
“I took pictures.”
Lucian’s gaze sharpened.
“Where are they?”
“In the etiquette book.”
Camille understood.
Lena had hidden printed photographs between the pages.
She had asked about cameras because she knew she was being watched.
“And the newspaper?” Camille asked.
Lena wiped her face.
“I put it beside your seat.”
Lucian turned.
Dante’s eyebrows rose.
Lena nodded rapidly.
“I wanted you to notice it, Ms. Brooks. You notice everything.”
Camille glanced at Lucian.
So that was why.
“I didn’t know who I could trust,” Lena said. “But you weren’t family. You weren’t security. You weren’t here long enough to be part of it.”
Matteo gave a humorless laugh.
“She chose the etiquette coach as Switzerland.”
Camille looked at him.
“Please don’t insult Switzerland.”
For the first time since the confrontation, Lena almost smiled.
Lucian did not.
“Where is Adrian?”
Dante pulled out his phone.
“His car left the property thirty-two minutes ago.”
“With the book?”
“Probably.”
Lucian turned to Peter.
The older man sat in a chair now, two guards beside him.
“Who has your son?”
Peter’s eyes filled.
“Men from Valenti.”
Matteo swore.
Camille looked between them.
“R.V.”
Lucian finally answered.
“Rafael Valenti.”
The name meant something even to Camille.
Valenti Holdings appeared in financial pages often.
Hotels.
Construction.
Shipping.
And rumors.
Always rumors.
Lucian said, “Rafael has wanted access to our redevelopment contracts for two years.”
Matteo shook his head.
“This isn’t about contracts.”
Lucian looked at him.
“What do you know?”
Matteo hesitated.
That hesitation cost him.
Lucian’s voice hardened.
“What do you know?”
Matteo looked at Camille.
Then Lena.
Then the guards.
“Not here.”
Lucian pointed toward the library.
“Now.”
Camille started to help Lena up.
Lucian said, “You too.”
Camille glanced at him.
“Why?”
“Because apparently everyone tells you things.”
Matteo muttered, “She has that effect.”
The library felt different now.
Lucian shut the doors.
Dante remained outside with Lena.
Only Lucian, Matteo, and Camille entered.
Matteo went to the bar but did not pour anything.
That told Camille more than words.
He was afraid.
Lucian stood across from him.
“Talk.”
Matteo looked at the fire.
“Three months ago, I met Rafael.”
Lucian’s eyes became cold.
Camille said nothing.
Matteo continued.
“At a casino.”
Lucian closed his eyes briefly.
“I told you not to go there.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Keep going.”
“He approached me. Bought drinks. Acted like we were old friends.”
“And?”
“He wanted information about the port development.”
Lucian’s expression sharpened.
“What did you give him?”
“Nothing.”
Lucian stepped forward.
“What did you give him?”
Matteo raised his hands.
“I swear. Nothing important.”
Camille interrupted.
“That means something.”
Matteo looked at her.
“It means I talked.”
“About what?”
“Family stuff.”
“What family stuff?”
Matteo exhaled.
“Lucian’s schedule. Board meetings. Complaints about Adrian. Things I was angry about.”
Lucian stared at him.
Matteo added, “I was drunk.”
Camille winced.
Lucian said, “That does not improve the sentence.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Matteo finally snapped.
“You’ve spent ten years treating me like the family clown. Forgive me for enjoying one conversation with someone who acted like I mattered.”
Lucian went silent.
There it was again.
The fracture.
Camille had been hired to polish Matteo’s manners.
Nobody had hired her to repair the brothers.
But apparently the universe had poor boundaries.
She said, “Did Rafael ever ask you to repeat specific phrases?”
Matteo frowned.
“No.”
“Did he record you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he ask about the charity gala?”
“Yes.”
Lucian’s face hardened.
“What exactly?”
“Where I’d enter. Where you’d stand. Who would be on the terrace.”
Camille felt cold.
“This article isn’t predicting tomorrow.”
Both men looked at her.
“It’s scripting it.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
Camille continued.
“If the journalist already has quotes and movements, then someone wants tomorrow to happen according to a plan.”
Matteo whispered, “For what?”
Camille looked at the newspaper.
“To make something look accidental.”
Silence.
Lucian walked to the desk and opened a drawer.
Empty.
He stared inside.
“What?” Camille asked.
“A seating diagram was here.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“For tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Who had access?”
“Adrian.”
Matteo looked sick.
Camille said, “Cancel the gala.”
Lucian answered immediately.
“No.”
She stared at him.
“That is the stupidest possible response.”
Matteo blinked.
Nobody spoke to Lucian like that.
Apparently Camille did.
Lucian slowly turned.
“You were hired to coach my brother.”
“And clearly the wrong brother was listed on the contract.”
Matteo covered his mouth.
Lucian’s eyes became dangerous.
Camille did not back down.
“You have a leak. Someone has your event plan. Someone has already endangered an employee. And you want to host four hundred people because canceling would look weak?”
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Camille’s voice lowered.
“That isn’t strength. That’s vanity.”
Matteo sat down.
“I am beginning to understand why you hired her.”
“I didn’t,” Lucian said.
“You signed the check.”
Camille took a breath.
Lucian moved closer.
For one strange second they stood exactly as they had at dinner.
Close.
Eye to eye.
Except now she was not touching his tie.
“You think I should run?” he asked.
“I think you should stop letting your enemies choose the room.”
His gaze changed.
Barely.
But she saw it.
Respect.
Again.
Lucian looked toward Matteo.
“Tomorrow’s gala continues.”
Camille opened her mouth.
“But,” Lucian added, “not according to their plan.”
Matteo leaned forward.
“What are you thinking?”
“We change everything.”
Camille slowly smiled.
Lucian noticed.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because that is finally a sentence I can work with.”
For the next two hours, they rebuilt the gala.
Entrances changed.
Tables moved.
Speeches were rewritten.
The east terrace was closed.
Security doubled.
Only five people received the new schedule.
Camille.
Lucian.
Matteo.
Dante.
And the event director, who was given the final plan only ten minutes before printing.
At 1:40 a.m., Camille returned to her guest suite.
A guard waited outside.
She did not argue this time.
Inside, she removed her earrings and set them on the dresser.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She stared at it.
One message.
You should have stayed an etiquette coach.
Another appeared.
Open your closet.
Camille froze.
The guard was outside.
The room had been secured.
No one should have entered.
She walked toward the closet anyway.
Her hand stopped on the handle.
Another message appeared.
The book is inside.
Camille pulled the door open.
The green etiquette book sat on top of her suitcase.
May you like
Something dark stained the cover.
And tucked beneath it was a photograph of Lucian Moretti with a red circle drawn around his head.
