Chapter 2 - Six Rings in a Locked Drawer
The name was Elena.
I stayed behind the upstairs wall, listening.
“Elena is dead,” Lorenzo said.
Bianca’s answer came after a long silence.
“Then somebody wants us to believe she isn’t.”
I should have walked downstairs.
I should have demanded an explanation.
Instead, I went to bed.
Curiosity had already dragged me into one mafia mansion. I wasn’t going to let it murder me before breakfast.
For the next ten days, Lorenzo behaved like the least convincing dangerous criminal in America.
He took calls behind locked doors.
Black SUVs arrived after midnight.
Men lowered their voices when he entered rooms.
Then, at breakfast, he repaired Rosa’s broken bracelet with a magnifying glass because she refused to let anyone else touch it.
At a construction site, a steel support shifted and pinned a worker.
Three men tried lifting it.
Lorenzo joined them.
His face turned red.
His hands shook.
But together they raised it enough to pull the worker free.
The worker’s six-year-old daughter ran toward Lorenzo crying.
He knelt.
He didn’t grab her.
He simply held out one enormous hand.
She decided whether to take it.
She did.
That image stayed with me.
Everyone talked about what Lorenzo’s strength might destroy.
Nobody talked about what it could save.
Then I found the rings.
It happened after midnight.
I wanted water.
The Duca mansion had approximately nine thousand hallways designed specifically to humiliate people without a sense of direction.
I opened the wrong door.
Lorenzo’s private study.
A desk drawer stood partially open.
Inside were six velvet boxes.
I knew immediately.
I shouldn’t have touched them.
Naturally, I touched them.
Six engagement rings.
Different cuts.
Different settings.
Different women.
I opened the last box.
Empty.
“Looking for something?”
I nearly threw the box through the window.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway.
“No.”
“You’re holding it.”
“That complicates my defense.”
He approached.
I expected anger.
Instead, he took the box gently and returned it to the drawer.
“Six?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Bianca?”
“One.”
“Elena?”
His eyes snapped toward mine.
So much for pretending I hadn’t heard.
“You were listening.”
“Your mansion echoes.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
He closed the drawer.
“Who was Elena?”
“Someone I failed.”
The answer contained no drama.
That made it worse.
“How?”
“You don’t want that answer.”
“I hate when men decide what women want.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m not deciding for you.”
“You just did.”
He looked tired.
“Amelia.”
“Lorenzo.”
Something changed between us.
He took one step closer.
“You are free to leave.”
“You’ve reminded me.”
“Because people forget freedom when money and fear enter the room.”
That silenced me.
He walked me back to my room.
At my door, he stopped.
“I won’t lie to you.”
“Good.”
“But there are things I cannot tell you yet.”
“That sounds suspiciously like lying in an expensive suit.”
“Probably.”
I almost smiled.
Then he looked at me differently.
Not as an obligation.
Not as Rosa’s candidate.
As a woman.
His eyes dropped toward my mouth.
Mine did the same.
Neither of us moved.
Finally, Lorenzo stepped backward.
“Good night, Amelia.”
He waited until I locked the door.
The next morning, a white envelope sat beside my coffee.
Six photographs.
Six women.
Bianca was on top.
Across the back:
ASK WHY SHE REALLY LEFT.
I looked around.
Guards.
Cameras.
Locked gates.
Nobody should have reached this table unnoticed.
Marco entered.
He saw the photographs.
His face changed.
Within minutes, the estate became a machine.
Doors locked.
Radios crackled.
Security staff moved.
Lorenzo returned twenty minutes later.
He studied the envelope.
Then me.
He was waiting for the obvious question.
Why did Bianca leave?
I pointed at the envelope.
“How did somebody put this beside my breakfast?”
For the first time since I met him, Lorenzo looked genuinely afraid.
Not for himself.
For me.
Marco appeared holding a tablet.
“We found something.”
Security footage showed the breakfast room at 5:42 a.m.
Empty.
At 5:43, the camera froze.
At 5:47, the picture returned.
The envelope was on the table.
“Four minutes,” Marco said.
Lorenzo’s voice became quiet.
“Who has access?”
“Seven people.”
“Names.”
Marco hesitated.
Then the tablet chimed.
A new video file had appeared.
No sender.
No timestamp.
Marco opened it.
The footage showed me asleep in my locked bedroom.
Recorded from inside the room.
May you like
Then the camera slowly turned toward my bedroom door.
Someone was standing behind it...
