Chapter 4 - The Bride’s Secret
The photograph lasted on Elena’s screen for three seconds.
Then disappeared.
Luca had already seen enough.
“Who was that?”
Marco answered.
“Daniel Rizzo.”
One of Luca’s security men.
Thirty-six.
Former Marine.
Ten years with the Moretti family.
Trusted.
Married.
Two daughters.
Marco stared at the empty hallway.
“He was in the fitting room.”
“So was I,” Luca said.
Marco looked at him.
The implication hurt.
Anybody could be compromised.
Anybody.
Including Marco.
Including Isabella.
Including Sofia.
Including Luca himself.
Bianchi groaned.
Elena knelt beside him.
“Matteo, stay with me.”
He opened his eyes.
“You found the thread.”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
She almost cried.
He had said those exact words when she was seventeen and repaired her first antique wedding veil.
“Why Sofia?” Elena asked.
Bianchi struggled to speak.
“Not… why Sofia.”
“What?”
“Ask… what she knows.”
Luca crouched.
“What does she know?”
Bianchi looked at him.
“Your father.”
Luca’s face became stone.
“My father has been dead eleven years.”
Bianchi closed his eyes.
“Not his death.”
Before Luca could ask more, Marco’s phone rang.
Claire.
He answered.
“What?”
Her voice was frantic.
“The timer stopped.”
Marco looked at Elena.
“At what?”
“Thirty seconds.”
Everyone went silent.
The countdown had frozen.
That meant the timer had never been a timer.
It had been pressure.
Manipulation.
Someone wanted panic.
Wanted mistakes.
Luca stood.
“Get Bianchi medical help. Quietly.”
Marco nodded.
Luca turned toward Elena.
“We’re finding Sofia.”
The south house sat beyond the formal gardens.
The security cameras were down.
Two guards were missing.
One vehicle had left the property without authorization.
They found Daniel Rizzo’s phone in a fountain.
No sign of Daniel.
No sign of Sofia.
Her bedroom looked untouched.
Wedding gifts lined the dressing room.
A veil lay across the bed.
Elena noticed one thing.
A seam had been opened on the veil box.
She touched it.
Luca saw her.
“What?”
“Someone opened this with a blade.”
“Recently?”
“Very.”
She lifted the cardboard insert.
Beneath it lay a photograph.
Old.
Faded.
Two young men stood outside a social club.
Antonio Moretti.
Dominic Vescari.
Between them stood a woman.
Beautiful.
Dark hair.
Luca picked up the photograph.
“Who is she?”
Elena turned it over.
One sentence was written on the back.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO SOFIA REALLY IS.
Luca stared.
Elena whispered, “Someone keeps leading us back to Isabella.”
They returned to the fitting room.
The chair mechanism had been stabilized.
Isabella was moved safely.
Nothing exploded.
Nothing released.
The brass cylinder contained only a small spring and a recording device.
The entire trap had been theater.
But theater with a purpose.
Someone had wanted Luca to believe his mother was about to die.
Wanted him frightened.
Angry.
Uncertain.
They had succeeded.
Luca placed the old photograph on the table.
“Who is she?”
Isabella saw it.
Her face broke.
Luca noticed.
“Mama.”
She sat slowly.
“That is Francesca Vescari.”
“Dominic’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“What does she have to do with Sofia?”
Isabella started crying.
Luca’s anger disappeared.
He knelt beside her.
“What?”
“Francesca had a daughter.”
Luca frowned.
“I know. She died with Dominic.”
“No.”
Silence.
Isabella covered her mouth.
“The daughter lived.”
Luca stared.
“Who?”
Isabella looked at the photograph.
“Her name was Alessandra.”
Marco spoke quietly.
“Carlo Caruso’s wife is named Alessandra.”
Nobody moved.
Luca felt the truth before Isabella said it.
“Sofia is Dominic Vescari’s granddaughter.”
The marriage that was supposed to unite the Moretti and Caruso families would also bind Luca to the bloodline of the man his father supposedly murdered.
Luca stepped away from the table.
“You knew.”
Isabella nodded.
“How long?”
“Years.”
“And you said nothing.”
“Your father begged me.”
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Did Sofia know?”
Isabella hesitated.
Luca’s voice rose for the first time.
“Did Sofia know?”
“Yes.”
That hurt more than anything.
Elena watched Luca’s face.
Betrayal looked quieter than rage.
He stood completely still.
The woman he was marrying tomorrow had known she descended from Dominic Vescari.
And had hidden it.
“Why?”
Isabella said, “Because she loved you.”
Luca laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“People keep lying to me because they love me.”
Elena understood that sentence too well.
Luca turned toward Marco.
“Find Sofia.”
Marco nodded.
Then one of the guards entered.
“We found Rizzo.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the old wine cellar.”
They found Daniel Rizzo tied to a chair.
Beaten.
Conscious.
His face was swollen.
Luca stepped in front of him.
“Who took Sofia?”
Rizzo coughed.
“I didn’t.”
“We saw you in the photograph.”
“It was staged.”
“How?”
“They forced me.”
“Who?”
Rizzo looked at Marco.
Then away.
Luca noticed.
“Say it.”
Rizzo whispered, “Carlo Caruso.”
Sofia’s father.
Luca’s future father-in-law.
The man hosting half the wedding.
The man whose daughter Luca was supposed to marry.
Rizzo continued.
“Caruso said Sofia found documents. Old ones. About Dominic.”
“What documents?”
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
Rizzo swallowed.
“Your father didn’t betray Dominic.”
Luca stared.
“Then who did?”
Rizzo looked toward the cellar door.
A shadow moved outside.
Then the door slammed shut.
The lock turned.
A familiar voice came through the wood.
May you like
Marco Bellini.
“I’m sorry, Luca.”
