Chapter 3 - The Dead Man’s Name
“Stay down.”
Luca’s command came through the darkness.
Elena dropped beside the tailoring table.
Marco fired no shots.
That told her he could not see a target.
Someone screamed in the hallway.
Then glass shattered.
A guard switched on a flashlight.
The beam swept across the room.
Isabella was still seated.
Alive.
Claire was crouched near the wall.
The mannequin remained upright.
The red thread remained tight.
The door stood open.
Nobody was there.
Marco moved to the hallway.
“Clear.”
Luca looked at Elena.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
He looked at his mother.
“Mama?”
“I’m fine.”
But her voice shook.
The emergency lights flickered on.
Dim red strips illuminated the corridor.
Marco came back.
“This wasn’t a power failure.”
Luca understood.
“Someone shut down the house.”
“And opened this door.”
Claire looked terrified.
“They’re inside.”
Luca turned toward two guards.
“Lock the west wing. Nobody leaves.”
Marco stopped him.
“We don’t know who we’re locking in.”
Luca’s eyes flashed.
“That’s the point.”
Elena stood slowly.
“Dominic Vescari.”
Luca looked at his mother.
“You’re going to tell me everything.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Twenty-eight years earlier, Dominic Vescari had been Luca’s father’s closest friend.
Antonio Moretti and Dominic had built their organization together.
Two ambitious men.
Two immigrant families.
One empire.
Then money disappeared.
A witness vanished.
A federal investigation nearly destroyed them.
Antonio blamed Dominic.
Dominic blamed Antonio.
Shots followed.
Homes burned.
Men disappeared.
The war ended when Dominic’s car exploded on a highway outside Newark.
At least that was the story Luca had been told.
“I saw him at Saint Catherine’s Hospital,” Isabella said.
Luca stared at her.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why were you there?”
“To visit Maria Bellini.”
Marco’s mother.
Marco frowned.
“My mother?”
“She asked me not to tell you.”
“Why?”
“She was frightened.”
Marco’s face hardened.
“Of Dominic?”
Isabella nodded.
Luca’s voice was quiet.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“From a dead man?”
“I wasn’t sure it was him.”
“But you just said you saw him.”
“I saw an old man with Dominic’s eyes.”
Luca looked away.
Elena could see the anger underneath his restraint.
Not because Isabella had lied.
Because she had been afraid to trust him.
Marco stepped closer to Isabella.
“What did my mother say?”
“She said the past had started moving again.”
Marco’s face changed.
“What does that mean?”
“She wouldn’t explain.”
Claire whispered, “Bianchi found Vescari’s name inside the suit.”
Everyone looked at her.
“If Dominic is alive…”
Luca finished.
“Then he may have planted the trap.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
Luca looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because this wasn’t designed like revenge.”
“What does revenge look like in tailoring?”
“Messier.”
Despite everything, Luca almost smiled.
Elena continued.
“This trap is too precise. Whoever built it knew the fitting schedule, the suit construction, your mother’s chair, the room layout, and the security pattern.”
Marco understood.
“An insider.”
“Yes.”
Luca looked at his men.
Silence.
Then a phone rang.
Not a guard’s.
Not Luca’s.
Isabella’s handbag.
Everyone froze.
Isabella stared at it.
Luca moved toward her.
“Don’t.”
She whispered, “That isn’t my ringtone.”
The phone rang again.
Marco crouched near the bag.
“Your phone is inside?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Wallet. Keys. Rosary.”
The ringing stopped.
Then began again.
Luca said, “Elena.”
She looked at him.
“Can the chair move?”
“No.”
“Can the bag?”
“I don’t know.”
The handbag hung from one arm of the chair.
Elena examined the red thread.
It did not connect to the bag.
“I think so.”
Marco removed the handbag carefully.
Inside, Isabella’s normal phone was dark.
Beside it lay another device.
Small.
Black.
Unmarked.
Marco lifted it.
The screen showed one line.
CUT THE THREAD.
Elena’s stomach tightened.
Luca stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
OR SHE DIES IN SIX MINUTES.
A countdown started.
05:59.
05:58.
05:57.
Claire covered her mouth.
Marco swore.
Luca said, “They want us to cut it.”
Elena looked at the thread.
“Then we don’t.”
Isabella stared at her.
“What if they’re telling the truth?”
“They’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because whoever built this already had a chance to kill you.”
Luca looked at Elena.
She continued.
“They didn’t. They built a puzzle.”
Marco understood.
“They want Luca to make a choice.”
“Yes.”
Luca’s eyes went cold.
“Between cutting the thread and letting the clock run out.”
Elena nodded.
The countdown reached five minutes.
Marco examined the device beneath the chair.
“There’s no obvious explosive charge.”
“What does that mean?” Isabella asked.
“It could be somewhere else.”
Luca looked at the ceiling.
The walls.
The windows.
The entire room.
Elena followed his gaze.
Then she saw something she had ignored before.
A red silk spool on the tailoring table.
Her spool.
Except it wasn’t hers.
She picked it up.
The label had been replaced.
Underneath was a brass cylinder.
She pulled it apart.
A key fell onto the table.
Luca stared.
“What does it open?”
Elena looked around.
Then remembered Bianchi’s blue wax.
Three dots.
One on the sleeve.
One inside the breast pocket.
One at the lower hem.
She crouched and looked beneath the mannequin stand.
A tiny keyhole.
She inserted the key.
Turned it.
A panel opened.
Inside was another folded note.
Marco read it first.
His face changed.
Luca took it.
Two lines.
THE MOTHER IS NOT THE TARGET.
THE BRIDE IS.
Luca stopped breathing.
Elena knew the wedding details.
His bride was Sofia Caruso.
Daughter of Carlo Caruso, one of the most powerful men on the East Coast.
The marriage was supposed to end fifteen years of rivalry.
Luca turned to Marco.
“Where is Sofia?”
“At the south house.”
“Call her.”
Marco did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
The countdown kept moving.
03:21.
03:20.
03:19.
Luca grabbed another phone.
Still nothing.
“Elena,” he said. “Can we move my mother?”
“Not yet.”
His face tightened.
“My fiancée may be in danger.”
“I know.”
“You don’t sound concerned.”
“I’m trying to keep one person alive while you find the other.”
He stared at her.
Then nodded.
Marco shouted from the hallway.
“Boss.”
Luca turned.
One of the guards had found blood.
A thin trail.
It led from the fitting room toward the private elevator.
Luca grabbed his jacket.
“Elena stays with my mother.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You’re the only person who understands the mechanism.”
“Exactly. Which means I need to know who built it.”
Marco said, “This isn’t a field trip.”
Elena looked at him.
“Bianchi left clues for a seamstress. Not soldiers.”
That ended the argument.
Luca pointed at Claire.
“You stay.”
Claire nodded quickly.
Luca looked at Isabella.
“I’m coming back.”
She tried to smile.
“I know.”
The countdown reached two minutes.
Luca, Elena, Marco, and two guards followed the blood trail.
It passed the elevator.
Turned toward the old service corridor.
Stopped at a locked wooden door.
Marco examined the handle.
“Blood goes underneath.”
Luca raised his weapon.
Elena’s heart pounded.
Marco unlocked the door.
Inside was Matteo Bianchi.
Alive.
Barely.
His shirt was soaked with blood.
He lifted his head.
“Elena.”
She rushed forward.
“Matteo.”
His eyes found Luca.
“Don’t marry her.”
Luca froze.
“What?”
Bianchi coughed.
“Sofia knows.”
Then his eyes rolled back.
Marco checked his pulse.
“He’s alive.”
Elena’s phone buzzed.
She looked down.
A new message.
Unknown number.
SHE HAS ONE MINUTE.
Then came a photograph.
Sofia Caruso.
Bound to a chair.
Wearing her wedding rehearsal dress.
And standing behind her was a man Elena recognized from the fitting room.
May you like
One of Luca’s guards.
The same guard who had been standing beside Isabella less than ten minutes earlier.
