Chapter 2 - The Photograph on the Table
“Desmond.”
Vanessa Bellucci’s voice came through the front door.
Roman raised his pistol.
Claire grabbed Desmond’s sleeve.
“Don’t answer.”
The knock came again.
Three calm taps.
Then silence.
Desmond stared toward the hallway.
His fiancée was supposed to be at a bridal fitting across town.
At least twelve security personnel should have been around her.
Yet she was standing outside the building where Claire had been imprisoned.
That eliminated coincidence.
Elias whispered, “Back exit?”
Claire shook her head.
“They boarded it.”
“Windows?”
“Alley is too exposed.”
Roman looked at Desmond.
“We take her.”
Desmond understood what he meant.
Open the door.
Pull Vanessa inside.
Interrogate her.
Simple.
Usually effective.
But nothing about the room felt simple anymore.
Someone had known Desmond would come.
Someone had placed surveillance inside.
Someone had known Roman and Elias would accompany him.
Desmond looked toward the hidden printer.
Then at Claire.
“What exactly did they ask about Vanessa?”
Claire hesitated.
“Whether you trusted her.”
“And?”
“I told them you didn’t trust anybody.”
Roman almost smiled.
“That part’s true.”
Desmond ignored him.
“What else?”
“They asked if you would cancel the wedding if you believed Vanessa betrayed you.”
Desmond’s eyes sharpened.
“What did you say?”
“That depends on the betrayal.”
“And they?”
“They laughed.”
The door handle moved.
Locked.
Vanessa spoke again.
“Desmond, I know you’re inside.”
Roman whispered, “She shouldn’t know that.”
“No,” Desmond said.
Claire’s face tightened.
“She knows because they told her.”
“Or she’s with them.”
Claire stared at him.
“I don’t think she is.”
Desmond turned.
“Why?”
“Because when they showed me the photograph, they asked what you would do if you thought she was.”
That changed the room.
Desmond looked again at the picture of Vanessa standing beside the mysterious man.
A planted image?
Possibly.
A real meeting taken out of context?
Also possible.
Someone was not merely trying to attack Desmond.
Someone was trying to control his decisions.
He approached the front door.
Roman caught his arm.
“Boss.”
Desmond looked down.
Roman released him.
Desmond unlocked the deadbolt but kept the security chain attached.
He opened the door two inches.
Vanessa stood outside.
She wore dark trousers, a cream blouse, and no coat despite the cold.
Her normally perfect dark hair had been pulled into a rushed ponytail.
No jewelry.
No bodyguards.
Most importantly, she looked afraid.
Not nervous.
Afraid.
“What happened to your security?” Desmond asked.
Vanessa glanced behind her.
“Let me in.”
“Answer.”
“They think I’m at my fitting.”
“You left twelve guards?”
“I didn’t leave them.”
“Then?”
“They were given different orders.”
“By whom?”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You.”
Roman and Elias exchanged a look.
Desmond’s voice dropped.
“I didn’t give any order.”
“I know that now.”
“Why are you here?”
Vanessa reached into her pocket.
Roman raised his weapon.
She froze.
“Easy.”
She slowly withdrew a folded envelope.
“This was under my hotel door.”
Desmond opened the chain and pulled her inside.
Roman locked the door.
Vanessa saw Claire.
All color left her face.
“My God.”
Claire stiffened.
“Don’t.”
Vanessa looked at the ropes.
“Claire, I didn’t—”
“Don’t come near me.”
Desmond stepped between them.
“The envelope.”
Vanessa handed it over.
Inside was another photograph.
Desmond.
Standing beside Claire’s chair.
Taken moments earlier.
Across the bottom was a message.
ASK YOUR BRIDE WHY SHE KNOWS THE ADDRESS.
Desmond looked at Vanessa.
She immediately said, “I didn’t.”
“You found this place.”
“The envelope had the address.”
“Convenient.”
“Desmond.”
“Who changed your guards’ orders?”
“Your office.”
“Name.”
“I called when I realized something was wrong.”
“And?”
Vanessa’s eyes moved toward Roman.
“Roman answered.”
Everyone went silent.
Roman frowned.
“No, I didn’t.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“I spoke to you twenty minutes ago.”
“I’ve been here for almost an hour.”
“I know your voice.”
Roman pulled his phone from the oven before anyone could stop him.
“No signal history while it was shielded.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“You told my security chief that Desmond had moved our rehearsal dinner and wanted the entire team at Bellucci headquarters.”
Roman stared at Desmond.
“Someone cloned me.”
Claire whispered, “That’s what they were doing.”
Desmond looked at her.
“What?”
“The questions.”
She pushed away from the table.
“They asked me who you listened to without verification. Which voices you recognized immediately. Which people could change your schedule.”
Vanessa looked sick.
“They’re building orders around people you trust.”
Desmond stared at the wedding documents.
His organization was disciplined because authority flowed through predictable channels.
If those channels could be imitated, discipline became vulnerability.
He turned toward Elias.
“Call headquarters from Claire’s landline.”
Elias checked the wall.
“Line’s cut.”
“Of course it is.”
Vanessa approached the table.
Then she saw the photograph of herself.
She stopped.
“Where did you get that?”
“You tell me.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
Desmond watched her eyes.
He had survived two assassination attempts, three internal coups, and one federal conspiracy partly because he could detect lies.
Vanessa was hiding something.
But perhaps not what the photograph suggested.
“Who’s the man?” he asked.
She did not answer.
“Vanessa.”
She whispered, “Anthony Vale.”
Claire looked at Desmond.
Roman frowned.
“Who?”
Desmond knew.
Anthony Vale had once worked for Arthur Hayes.
Not officially.
Arthur had called him a consultant.
Other men had called him the Undertaker.
Vale fixed problems that could not be handled through negotiation.
Nine years earlier, shortly after Arthur’s death, Vale disappeared.
Desmond had assumed somebody killed him.
Apparently not.
“What were you doing with him?” Desmond asked.
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
“Trying to stop this wedding.”
Nobody spoke.
Desmond almost laughed.
“You had an unusual method.”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because our fathers didn’t arrange this marriage.”
“My father has been dead nine years.”
“I know.”
“Then explain.”
Vanessa took a breath.
“My father received the proposal six months ago through an intermediary. He told me it came from your organization.”
“It did.”
“No. Your people received the same proposal and were told it came from mine.”
Desmond stared.
His consigliere, Patrick Shaw, had presented the Bellucci offer.
Patrick had served the Hayes family for twenty-three years.
Desmond trusted him more than almost anyone alive.
Claire slowly said, “Who was the intermediary?”
Vanessa looked at the photograph.
“Anthony.”
Roman muttered a curse.
Desmond felt something cold settle behind his ribs.
“This wedding was Vale’s idea.”
“Yes.”
“And you agreed.”
“My father gave me no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
Vanessa looked at Claire’s bruised face.
“Apparently not.”
Desmond wanted to dismiss that.
He could not.
Claire asked, “Why did you meet Vale?”
Vanessa’s voice dropped.
“He contacted me three weeks ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That someone planned to kill Desmond after the wedding.”
Roman asked, “Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Yet you kept planning the wedding?”
“I was trying to find proof.”
Desmond’s gaze remained on her.
“Without telling me.”
“If I had told you without proof, you would’ve thought my family was backing out.”
“Maybe.”
“And if my father learned I warned you, I would disappear.”
Desmond said nothing.
Vanessa looked at Claire.
“I think that’s what happened to you.”
Claire’s expression softened slightly.
Only slightly.
Desmond returned to the table.
He studied the seating chart.
11:47.
Everyone important to his organization gathered in one ballroom.
Everyone important to Vanessa’s organization gathered there too.
If both families were eliminated simultaneously, who benefited?
Someone outside both families.
Someone with enough knowledge to manipulate both.
Anthony Vale.
But Vale did not have the manpower to control international routes alone.
Unless he had help.
Desmond tapped the marked seating plan.
“This attack kills both families.”
Vanessa nodded.
“Which means whoever survives controls both territories.”
Roman said, “Vale?”
“Maybe.”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
Desmond looked at her.
“What?”
“Vale was warning Vanessa.”
“According to Vanessa.”
Vanessa’s eyes flashed.
Claire continued.
“If Vale wanted the wedding to happen, he wouldn’t tell the bride someone planned to kill the groom.”
Roman crossed his arms.
“Unless he wanted her scared enough to make mistakes.”
Desmond looked at Vanessa.
“Did Vale give you anything?”
She hesitated.
Desmond saw it.
“Yes.”
“Vanessa.”
She reached beneath her blouse and pulled out a small key hanging from a thin chain.
“He told me if anything happened before the wedding, I should open locker 317 at Union Station.”
“Anything happen?”
She looked at Claire.
“I’d say this counts.”
Desmond took the key.
The instant his fingers touched it, the hidden printer activated again.
Everyone turned.
A photograph slid from the machine.
This one had not been taken inside the kitchen.
It showed Union Station.
Locker 317.
A man stood beside it.
Desmond stared at the man’s face.
Patrick Shaw.
His consigliere.
His father’s oldest friend.
Claire whispered, “How recent is it?”
Desmond turned the photograph over.
There was a timestamp.
Ten minutes earlier.
Below it were five words.
HE KNOWS YOU FOUND HER.
Desmond grabbed his phone from the oven.
Before he could dial, it rang.
Patrick Shaw’s name appeared on the screen.
Desmond answered.
“Patrick.”
For three seconds, there was only breathing.
Then Patrick whispered:
“Do not come to Union Station.”
A gunshot exploded through the phone.
May you like
The call went dead.
And Vanessa looked at the key in Desmond’s hand and said, “There’s something inside that locker your father never wanted you to see.”
