Chapter 2 - The Woman Outside the Door
“Elena?”
The voice came again.
Soft.
Professional.
Almost friendly.
Marco aimed his gun toward the door.
Luca raised one hand.
Nobody moved.
Elena could hear her own pulse.
The woman outside had introduced herself on the phone as Claire Harrow, assistant to Luca Moretti’s wedding coordinator.
She had sounded ordinary.
Efficient.
Polite.
She had known exactly how to convince Elena to come.
She had even apologized for calling at dawn.
“Elena Ward?” the woman had said.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Bianchi recommended you. We have an urgent alteration at the Moretti estate.”
Elena almost declined.
She did not work for crime families.
She did not work for politicians.
She did not work for men whose last names appeared too often in newspapers next to words like investigation, racketeering, or grand jury.
But Claire knew things.
She mentioned Elena’s grandmother.
She mentioned a 1948 lace restoration Elena had done for the Chicago Textile Museum.
She mentioned that Elena’s mother had once said, “A seamstress should always trust the fabric before she trusts the client.”
Only one person outside Elena’s family knew that line.
Matteo Bianchi.
The missing tailor.
Now Elena stood beside a booby-trapped wedding suit while Claire waited on the other side of the door.
“Open it,” Luca said.
Marco stared at him.
“Boss.”
“Open it.”
“With respect, no.”
Luca looked at him.
“If she wanted to kill us through the door, she’d already be doing it.”
Marco did not lower the gun.
“That doesn’t mean we invite her in.”
Elena whispered, “She may not know we found the thread.”
Luca looked at her.
“Exactly.”
He stepped behind the antique mirror.
Marco positioned two men on either side of the entrance.
Isabella remained perfectly still in the chair.
Elena’s heart hurt looking at her.
The older woman was composed, but the fear in her eyes was impossible to miss.
She had not cried.
That seemed almost worse.
Luca nodded.
Marco unlocked the door.
Claire Harrow entered carrying a black leather portfolio.
She was in her late thirties.
Brown hair.
Gray dress.
Low heels.
Nothing about her seemed threatening.
She smiled at Elena.
“There you are.”
Then she noticed the men.
Her smile faded.
“What happened?”
Elena forced herself to breathe.
“The hem was uneven.”
Claire looked toward the mannequin.
“Is that all?”
Elena nodded.
“We’re fixing it.”
Claire’s eyes moved toward Isabella.
Too quickly.
Then away.
Luca stepped from behind the mirror.
Claire stopped.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Claire.”
She swallowed.
“I was told the fitting was nearly finished.”
“Who told you?”
“Mr. Bianchi.”
Luca smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“What time?”
“About seven.”
“And where was he?”
“At the hotel, I assume.”
“Wrong answer.”
Claire’s eyes flicked toward the door.
Marco closed it behind her.
Luca walked closer.
“Elena says you called her.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Bianchi requested her.”
“Another wrong answer.”
Claire’s face tightened.
Elena saw it.
The smallest twitch near the mouth.
Fear.
Real fear.
But fear of whom?
Luca?
Or someone else?
Luca noticed too.
“You’re not very good at lying.”
Claire looked at Isabella again.
Elena followed her gaze.
Claire knew.
She knew about the chair.
Marco saw it.
He seized Claire’s wrist.
She gasped.
“Don’t touch me!”
Luca’s voice stayed level.
“Tell me what’s under my mother’s chair.”
Claire went still.
That was confirmation.
Isabella shut her eyes.
Luca leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Claire whispered, “If you move her, she dies.”
The room turned to ice.
Marco tightened his grip.
“Explain.”
Claire looked at Elena.
“You cut it?”
Elena said nothing.
“The thread,” Claire said. “Did you cut it?”
“No.”
Claire exhaled.
Relief.
That told Elena everything.
“You expected me to.”
Claire stared at her.
Elena continued.
“You brought me here because you knew I would notice it.”
Claire’s face changed.
Luca looked between them.
“What?”
Elena stepped closer.
“She didn’t bring me to fix the suit. She brought me to find the trap.”
Claire looked at the floor.
Luca’s voice became dangerous.
“Why?”
Claire whispered, “Because I couldn’t stop it myself.”
Marco laughed once.
Coldly.
“Convenient.”
Claire turned toward him.
“You think I wanted this?”
“I think people say whatever keeps them breathing.”
Claire looked at Luca.
“If I planned to kill your mother, why would I bring the one seamstress capable of noticing the thread?”
Luca said nothing.
Claire continued.
“Bianchi discovered something last night. He called me at 2:08 a.m.”
Elena’s breath caught.
“What?”
“He said someone had altered the suit after he finished his work. He found a second lining. He told me not to call security.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Why not?”
“Because he believed someone in security was involved.”
Every guard in the room looked at Marco.
Marco did not react.
Luca did.
Barely.
His eyes moved across the men he had trusted for years.
Claire kept speaking.
“Bianchi said he needed someone outside the Moretti network. Someone who understood tailoring. He gave me Elena’s name.”
Elena’s throat tightened.
“So he did recommend me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why lie?”
“Because he told me not to tell you anything until you saw the thread yourself.”
“Why?”
Claire looked at her.
“He said if you knew what you were looking for, whoever planted it might know you had been warned.”
Elena felt sick.
“So I was bait too.”
Claire’s silence answered.
Luca turned away.
He looked at his mother.
At the suit.
At his men.
His wedding was supposed to happen the next day.
Four hundred guests.
Judges.
Politicians.
Business leaders.
Crime bosses.
People who loved him.
People who feared him.
People waiting for him to fail.
Someone had decided to turn his wedding into a funeral.
“Where is Bianchi now?” Elena asked.
Claire’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
Marco looked at her sharply.
“We were told he was found dead.”
Claire stared at him.
“What?”
“He was discovered in his hotel room.”
“No.”
Her reaction was immediate.
Authentic.
Elena believed her.
Claire shook her head.
“No. He left.”
“When?” Luca asked.
“After three.”
“Where?”
“He said he was meeting someone.”
“Who?”
Claire hesitated.
Luca stepped closer.
“Who?”
“Your brother.”
Silence.
Luca’s expression did not move.
Elena looked around.
She knew very little about the Moretti family.
But even she knew Luca had one younger brother.
Adrian Moretti.
Thirty-two.
Educated at Columbia.
Ran legitimate family investments.
Publicly charming.
Privately ambitious.
He was also Luca’s best man.
Marco released Claire.
Luca said, “Adrian was at home last night.”
Claire shook her head.
“Not according to Bianchi.”
Marco looked at one of the guards.
“Find Adrian.”
The guard checked his phone.
No answer.
Luca’s face hardened.
“Again.”
The guard called.
Nothing.
Elena returned to Isabella’s chair.
“We still have a problem.”
Everyone looked at her.
“The red thread is under tension.”
Claire stepped closer.
“So Bianchi was right.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“That the thread couldn’t simply be cut.”
Elena stared at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Because I didn’t know if you were involved.”
Elena almost slapped her.
Instead, she crouched beside the chair.
“What happens if it snaps?”
Claire swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Luca said, “That isn’t good enough.”
“Bianchi didn’t know either.”
Marco examined the brass mechanism.
“We need bomb disposal.”
Claire shook her head.
“No police.”
Luca looked at her.
“You don’t give orders here.”
“I’m not. I’m warning you. Bianchi believed the person behind this has access to law enforcement too.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
The wedding suddenly became much bigger than revenge.
This was not one assassin.
It was a network.
Elena studied the thread.
Then noticed a microscopic dab of blue wax near the knot.
She leaned closer.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Did Bianchi ever use blue tailor’s wax?”
Claire looked confused.
“I don’t know.”
Elena did.
No professional tailor would.
Blue wax stained ivory wool.
Yet there it was.
A dot.
A mark.
A signal.
She touched it carefully.
Then found another beneath the seam.
Then another.
Three dots.
A path.
Bianchi had marked something.
“He found the trap,” Elena whispered.
Luca moved closer.
“What?”
“Bianchi marked the safe route.”
She followed the wax dots across the lining.
They led not toward the sleeve.
But toward the inside breast pocket.
Elena carefully opened it.
Inside was a tiny folded strip of paper.
Luca stared.
Elena removed it.
Three handwritten words.
Not a message.
A name.
DOMINIC VESCARI.
Marco’s face changed.
Luca noticed.
“Who is that?”
Nobody answered.
Luca looked at Marco.
“Who is Dominic Vescari?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“A man who should be dead.”
Isabella spoke for the first time in several minutes.
“He isn’t.”
Everyone turned toward her.
Luca’s expression changed.
“Mama?”
Isabella looked at her son.
Tears appeared in her eyes.
“I saw Dominic three weeks ago.”
Luca went completely still.
“Where?”
She opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, every light in the mansion went out.
The chandeliers died.
May you like
The room plunged into darkness.
Then the locked door clicked open from the outside.
