Chapter 5 - Four Months Without Sleep
Elena closed her fist around the flash drive.
“It belonged to my father.”
The man’s smile disappeared.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
Then Vittorio’s voice came from behind him.
“She said no.”
The man turned.
Vittorio stood at the end of the corridor.
Marco beside him.
The fake guard moved one hand toward his jacket.
Marco raised his weapon.
“Don’t.”
The man stopped.
Everything became quiet.
Vittorio walked forward.
Four months without sleep should have made him look weak.
It didn’t.
It made him look dangerous.
“Who sent you?”
The man said nothing.
“Celia?”
Nothing.
“Orpheus?”
That did it.
A flicker.
Small.
But Elena saw it.
So did Vittorio.
“Orpheus,” Vittorio repeated.
The man’s face hardened.
Marco restrained him and called the authorities through one of the Moretti family’s legal contacts.
Elena stepped out of the vault.
“You okay?” Vittorio asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I can be okay and shake.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Back at the mansion, Dominic examined the flash drive on an offline machine.
Thomas Marlowe’s archive changed everything.
Orpheus Holdings had existed for nearly fifteen years.
It owned almost nothing.
But money moved through it constantly.
Payments went to security contractors.
Private investigators.
Household employees.
Technicians.
Doctors.
And one furniture company.
The company that built Vittorio’s headboard.
Marco paced.
“Who owns Orpheus?”
“Layered corporations,” Dominic said.
“Unlayer them.”
“I’m trying.”
Elena sat beside Vittorio.
He looked worse.
His eyes struggled to focus.
“When did you last sleep?”
He considered.
“Tuesday.”
“This is Thursday.”
“I know.”
“How much Tuesday?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
Elena stared.
“You need a doctor.”
“I’ve had doctors.”
“Another one.”
“They tell me stress.”
“Doctors who knew about the devices?”
He said nothing.
“Exactly.”
Isabella entered carrying coffee.
Elena intercepted it.
“No.”
Vittorio looked offended.
“That’s mine.”
“You need sleep.”
“I need coffee.”
“You need to stop treating your nervous system like it owes you money.”
Marco coughed to disguise a laugh.
Vittorio stared at her.
Elena took the coffee away.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
Something had changed between them.
Not trust exactly.
But the beginning of it.
Vittorio allowed Dominic to call an independent physician.
Dr. Samuel Greene arrived an hour later.
He examined Vittorio.
Blood pressure elevated.
Severe sleep deprivation.
Dehydration.
Nothing immediately life-threatening.
“You need rest,” Greene said.
Vittorio looked at Elena.
“She stole my coffee.”
“Good.”
Vittorio muttered something in Italian.
Elena did not need translation.
They moved him to a guest room that Dominic had swept twice.
No electronics.
No hidden devices.
No strange signals.
Vittorio lay down.
Elena stood at the door.
“You can leave.”
“I know.”
She remained.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because you’re going to get up the second everyone walks away.”
Vittorio looked mildly impressed.
“You’ve known me five hours.”
“Seven now.”
“Then you’re an expert.”
“Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“Close your eyes.”
“That isn’t how insomnia works.”
“I know.”
She sat in a chair.
“Then we wait.”
“For what?”
“For your body to realize nobody is attacking it.”
Vittorio looked toward the ceiling.
For several minutes, nothing happened.
Then his breathing changed.
Slower.
His shoulders loosened.
Elena remained still.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Vittorio slept.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Marco checked the doorway twice.
Elena raised one finger to silence him.
At three hours, Vittorio still slept.
It was the longest uninterrupted sleep he had experienced in four months.
Elena finally slipped from the room.
Dominic was waiting.
“We found something.”
She followed him downstairs.
Orpheus Holdings had an ultimate beneficiary.
Not a person.
A trust.
The Belladonna Trust.
“Who controls it?”
Dominic turned the screen.
Celia Grant.
Elena stared.
“So Celia did everything?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Belladonna existed before Celia was eighteen.”
Elena frowned.
“Then she inherited it.”
“Or she’s covering for someone.”
Marco entered.
“We found Celia.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Elena turned.
“What?”
“Security detained her at the south gate ten minutes ago.”
“Why would she come back?”
Marco’s expression was grim.
“She says she wants to talk.”
Celia sat in an interrogation room.
Forty-two.
Blonde.
Calm.
The same woman Elena had seen at three that morning.
Vittorio woke after four hours and insisted on attending.
He looked transformed.
Still tired.
But coherent.
Celia looked at him.
“You finally slept.”
Vittorio stopped.
“How did you know?”
Celia smiled sadly.
“Because the system went offline.”
Elena sat opposite her.
“You sent me the messages.”
“No.”
“You hired me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Celia looked at Elena.
“Because your father told me that if the system ever returned, I should find you.”
Elena’s anger faltered.
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“You were a child.”
“Seventeen.”
“What did my father tell you?”
“That you could hear what he could hear.”
Vittorio leaned forward.
“Who installed the devices?”
“I arranged the furniture.”
“Why?”
“Because I was ordered to.”
“By whom?”
Celia looked toward the mirrored glass.
“Turn off the recording.”
“No.”
“Then I’m finished.”
Vittorio stared at her.
Then nodded to Marco.
The recording stopped.
Celia took a breath.
“I didn’t build Morpheus.”
“Who did?”
“Someone who has been inside your family longer than I have.”
Isabella entered behind the glass.
Celia saw her reflection.
Her expression changed.
Vittorio noticed.
“My mother?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Celia looked at Elena.
“Your father discovered him twelve years ago.”
“Him?”
“Yes.”
Elena leaned forward.
“Name.”
Celia’s lips parted.
Before she could speak, the lights went out.
Total darkness.
Emergency power should have activated immediately.
It didn’t.
Marco shouted orders.
A crash came from the hallway.
Then another.
Elena heard Celia stand.
“Stay down!”
Someone grabbed Elena’s arm.
She swung blindly.
A door opened.
Footsteps ran.
Emergency lights finally flashed red.
Celia’s chair was empty.
The door stood open.
Marco rushed into the corridor.
Vittorio followed.
Elena looked down.
Something lay beneath Celia’s chair.
A folded piece of paper.
She picked it up.
One sentence had been written across it.
THE MAN WHO BUILT MORPHEUS IS ALREADY IN THIS ROOM.
Elena slowly raised her eyes.
Vittorio.
Marco.
Dominic.
Isabella.
May you like
Four faces stared back at her.
Then someone behind them quietly locked the door.
