Chapter 4 - The Woman Nobody Was Supposed to Notice
Lucian did not shout.
That frightened Camille more than shouting would have.
He picked up Matteo’s napkin.
Read the word.
Then looked at Dante.
“Lock the property.”
“Already done.”
“Find my brother.”
Dante ran.
Guests were moved into the central salon.
Security searched rooms.
Vehicles were stopped.
Phones were collected voluntarily.
Camille remained beside Lucian.
He did not ask her to.
She did not leave.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
No Matteo.
Lucian stared at the darkened courtyard through the glass.
Camille said, “He didn’t leave willingly.”
“How do you know?”
“His phone is still here.”
“You saw it?”
“Beside his plate.”
Lucian turned.
She pointed.
Matteo’s phone lay under the table.
Screen cracked.
Camille picked it up carefully.
There was blood on one corner.
Very little.
Lucian’s face changed.
“We find him.”
“That is not enough.”
His eyes hardened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone wanted you to react.”
“My brother has been taken.”
“I know.”
“And you want me calm?”
“Yes.”
He took one step closer.
Camille did not move.
“You think this is one of your lessons?”
“No.”
“Then stop teaching.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Then stop behaving exactly how your enemy expects.”
Silence.
Lucian stared at her.
Camille softened her tone.
“They left the word trade.”
He looked down at the napkin.
“They want something.”
“Which means Matteo is useful alive.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
“For now.”
“For now is enough.”
His eyes met hers.
Then his shoulders lowered slightly.
Not relaxed.
Controlled.
Camille realized something dangerous.
He trusted her.
Not completely.
But enough to listen when almost nobody else could reach him.
Dante returned.
“Found a service door open in the north hall.”
“Cameras?”
“Disabled for six minutes.”
“Vehicle?”
“Nothing passed the gates.”
Camille frowned.
“Then Matteo is still here.”
Dante looked at her.
“Not necessarily. There’s an old delivery tunnel beneath the north wing.”
Lucian turned sharply.
“I ordered it sealed.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
Dante’s face darkened.
“The lock was cut from the inside.”
Lucian walked toward the corridor.
Camille followed.
He stopped.
“No.”
“What?”
“You stay here.”
“No.”
“This is not negotiation.”
“Then phrase it better.”
“Camille.”
She folded her arms.
“Whoever designed this expected your security. They may not have expected me.”
Lucian looked at Dante.
Dante said nothing.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
“You enjoy agreeing with her.”
“I enjoy staying alive.”
Camille almost smiled.
They entered the tunnel with four guards.
Stone walls.
Low ceiling.
Emergency lamps.
A cold underground passage ran beneath the mansion.
Camille’s heels clicked against concrete.
Lucian looked down.
“Those shoes.”
“You invited me to a formal dinner.”
“I did not invite you into a tunnel.”
“Your hospitality has been inconsistent.”
Even Dante almost laughed.
They found Matteo’s cuff link after fifty yards.
Burgundy enamel.
Gold edge.
Camille crouched.
“He dropped it deliberately.”
Lucian nodded.
Further ahead, another.
Then a torn strip from his pocket square.
Breadcrumbs.
Matteo was reckless.
But not stupid.
The trail led to an old storage room.
Door locked.
Dante signaled.
Two guards positioned themselves.
Lucian stepped forward.
Camille caught his sleeve.
He looked at her hand.
Then at her.
“Let security do their job.”
Something passed between them.
He stepped back.
The door opened.
Empty.
One chair.
One rope.
A camera.
And a laptop.
The screen turned on automatically.
Rafael Valenti appeared.
Fifties.
Silver hair.
Elegant suit.
Smile without warmth.
“Lucian.”
The recording had been prepared.
“By now, your brother has disappointed you one final time.”
Lucian’s face went hard.
Valenti continued.
“But do not worry. Matteo is alive. That depends on you.”
A document appeared on the screen.
Development rights.
Port contracts.
Transfer agreements.
Camille scanned the pages.
Matteo’s life in exchange for business assets.
Lucian watched without expression.
Valenti leaned toward the camera.
“And because your new etiquette coach seems unable to mind her own business…”
Camille froze.
“…bring Camille Brooks with you.”
Lucian turned toward her.
Valenti smiled.
“She has something that belongs to me.”
The recording ended.
Camille stared at the blank screen.
“I have nothing.”
Lucian’s voice was quiet.
“He thinks you do.”
“The photos?”
“Maybe.”
“But Adrian took the book.”
Dante searched the room.
Nothing.
Lucian looked at Camille.
“What did Lena give you besides the book?”
“Nothing.”
“Think.”
“I am thinking.”
She remembered Lena’s first conversation.
The internship.
The book.
The nervous glance.
Then something else.
Lena had returned Camille’s pen.
A silver pen.
Except—
Camille touched her handbag.
Her pen was inside.
She pulled it out.
Lucian watched.
“What?”
“This isn’t mine.”
She unscrewed the barrel.
A tiny memory card fell into her palm.
Everyone stared.
Camille whispered, “Lena gave me this yesterday.”
Dante took the card.
They returned upstairs.
The files contained photographs.
Payments.
Audio recordings.
Messages.
Adrian Bellini had been feeding information to Rafael Valenti for eleven months.
But the betrayal went deeper.
A ledger listed names.
Politicians.
Executives.
Security contractors.
Two Moretti employees.
And one person Camille did not expect.
Dante Russo.
She stared at the screen.
Lucian did not move.
Dante’s face drained of color.
“That isn’t me.”
Lucian turned slowly.
“Your name is there.”
“I know what it says.”
“Step away from the computer.”
Dante did.
Camille watched him.
Something felt wrong.
The payment next to Dante’s name was $200.
Every other payment was thousands.
Some hundreds of thousands.
Two hundred dollars.
Camille leaned closer.
“Wait.”
Lucian looked at her.
She pointed.
“This isn’t a bribe.”
Dante frowned.
“What?”
“The amount.”
Lucian read it.
Camille clicked the document.
There was a date.
Eight years earlier.
Dante suddenly understood.
“That was Noah’s school fundraiser.”
Lucian looked at him.
“My nephew sold raffle tickets.”
Camille searched the file.
The payment description had been altered.
Someone had inserted ordinary financial transfers to make innocent people look guilty.
Lucian’s face darkened.
“Adrian built insurance.”
“Against discovery,” Camille said.
Dante exhaled.
Then another file opened.
Audio.
Matteo’s voice.
Recorded at the casino.
Complaining about Lucian.
Talking about schedules.
But the last recording was different.
Matteo sounded sober.
“Rafael, stop contacting me.”
Valenti laughed.
“You already told me enough.”
“I told you gossip. Nothing else.”
“You told me where your brother would be.”
“If you touch him—”
The recording ended.
Lucian stared at the speakers.
Camille looked at him.
“He tried to stop it.”
Lucian said nothing.
His brother had made a terrible mistake.
But he had not knowingly betrayed him.
That mattered.
A phone rang.
Not Lucian’s.
The laptop.
Incoming video call.
Lucian answered.
Rafael appeared live this time.
Behind him sat Matteo.
Hands tied.
Bruised cheek.
Alive.
Matteo looked directly into the camera.
“Don’t trade anything.”
Rafael smiled.
Lucian’s voice turned cold.
“Where?”
“Tomorrow. Midnight.”
“Location.”
“You’ll receive it.”
Rafael looked at Camille.
“And bring Ms. Brooks.”
Lucian stepped in front of the camera.
“No.”
Rafael laughed softly.
“Then your brother does not come home.”
Camille moved beside Lucian.
“I’ll go.”
Lucian looked at her with open fury.
“No.”
Rafael smiled wider.
“I knew she would.”
The call ended.
Lucian turned toward Camille.
“You are not going.”
“Yes, I am.”
“This is not your family.”
The words landed harder than he intended.
Camille’s face changed.
Lucian saw it immediately.
But she answered calmly.
“No. It isn’t.”
She walked toward the door.
Lucian caught her hand.
Not roughly.
“Camille.”
She looked down at his fingers around hers.
Then up.
“What?”
His voice lowered.
“I should not have said that.”
The room went quiet.
Lucian Moretti apologized rarely enough that even Dante looked surprised.
Camille pulled her hand free.
“You were right.”
“No.”
“You were.”
She opened the door.
Then stopped.
A guard stood on the other side.
Holding an envelope.
“For Ms. Brooks.”
Camille opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Her own apartment building.
Taken that morning.
May you like
On the back, four words were written.
WE KNOW WHERE HOME IS.
