Chapter 2 - Twenty-One Nights
I did not answer.
The person outside knocked again.
“Sofia.”
My pulse hammered.
My father’s former partner had been named Michael Russo.
I remembered him clearly.
He had come to our house every Christmas when I was a child.
He sent me a bicycle when I turned nine.
Then he disappeared during a sailing trip.
His body was reportedly recovered two weeks later.
I had attended the memorial.
Now his voice was outside my bedroom.
Or someone wanted me to believe it was.
I backed toward the balcony.
My phone shook in my hand.
The unknown number sent another message.
DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR.
That seemed like excellent advice.
Then Lorenzo’s voice sounded from the hall.
“Step away from her door.”
Silence.
A gunshot cracked somewhere outside the room.
I ducked.
Someone ran.
Lorenzo shouted.
Another crash.
Then nothing.
Five seconds later, he called my phone.
“Open the door.”
“How do I know it’s you?”
A pause.
“Because you hate hazelnut syrup.”
I unlocked it.
Lorenzo stood there with a gun in one hand.
His shirt sleeve was torn.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Who was that?”
“He got away.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
I shoved the phone toward him.
His face changed when he saw the messages.
“You know something.”
“I know someone wants you frightened.”
“They mentioned my father.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“They sounded like Michael Russo.”
Lorenzo looked sharply at me.
“You remember his voice?”
“Yes.”
“Michael Russo is dead.”
“I know.”
His jaw tightened.
“Come with me.”
He moved us into a secure room downstairs.
Two guards arrived minutes later.
One had been knocked unconscious near the western gate.
The other had found a cut alarm wire.
Lorenzo spent an hour giving orders in Italian.
I understood enough to know he was furious.
When he finally joined me, I was sitting at a small table.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He poured water.
I pushed the glass away.
“Answer me.”
“Sofia—”
“No.”
I stood.
“We are seventeen days into a fake honeymoon, someone breaks into the villa, sends me messages about my father, and speaks to me using the voice of a dead man. I think I’ve earned more than your usual half-truth.”
He stared at me.
Then he sat.
“My uncle believed someone inside his organization was stealing money.”
“What does that have to do with my father?”
“Your father discovered something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
I laughed.
“Again?”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“What did he discover?”
“Records. Payments. Offshore accounts. Enough to frighten him.”
“Why borrow eleven million dollars?”
“To keep Bellini Imports alive while he tried to move something valuable out of reach.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
I slowly sat.
“What kind of ledger?”
“One containing names.”
“What names?”
“Politicians. Businessmen. Criminal intermediaries. People being paid by the same hidden network.”
My mouth went dry.
“You think my father had it?”
“My uncle believed he did.”
“And you married me because you thought I could find it?”
Lorenzo looked directly at me.
“No.”
I searched his face.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew what would happen.”
“What?”
“You would start looking.”
He was right.
I hated that.
“My father died in a car accident.”
“Yes.”
“Was it an accident?”
Lorenzo did not answer quickly enough.
My hands went cold.
“Was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You suspected?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Before our wedding.”
I stood so fast the chair fell.
“You knew my father may have been killed and said nothing?”
“I had no proof.”
“You used my debt to marry me.”
“I removed a debt created by someone else.”
“You benefited from it.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I would agree because my family had no choice.”
“Yes.”
His honesty was brutal.
“Then maybe whoever sent those messages is right.”
“About what?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t trust you.”
Something hardened behind his eyes.
“That would be reasonable.”
I expected an argument.
Instead, Lorenzo picked up my fallen chair.
“Sleep in the secure wing.”
“And you?”
“I’m finding whoever entered this house.”
He left.
I did not sleep.
The next morning, I called my brother, Marco.
“Do you remember Michael Russo?”
“Dad’s old partner?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“What did Dad say when Michael died?”
Marco was silent.
“Not much.”
“Think.”
“He said some people are lucky to disappear before their enemies know where to look.”
My breath caught.
“You remember that exactly?”
“Yeah. It freaked Mom out.”
“Did Dad believe Michael was dead?”
“I assumed so.”
I looked toward the balcony.
“Marco, did Dad ever give you anything before he died?”
“Like what?”
“A book. A key. Documents.”
“No.”
“Think.”
“Sofia, what’s happening?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll explain later.”
“You sound scared.”
“I’m not.”
Another lie.
After we ended the call, I searched my father’s digital archive.
Old shipping records.
Emails.
Invoices.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the handwritten twenty-one in my marriage contract.
I opened the digital copy.
Clause Twelve was about the honeymoon.
Twenty-one consecutive nights.
But the handwritten number had not been part of the original language.
I zoomed in.
Below the number was a mark I had assumed belonged to Lorenzo’s attorney.
A small triangle.
My father used to draw triangles next to important numbers.
Always.
I called Lorenzo.
He answered immediately.
“What?”
“Who altered Clause Twelve?”
Silence.
“Sofia.”
“Who?”
“I did.”
“Why twenty-one days?”
“That was the board’s expectation.”
“Did you write the number?”
“No.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Then who did?”
“The contract was prepared through Victor Hale’s office.”
Victor.
The man who knew my father.
I hung up.
Lorenzo called back.
I ignored him.
I searched Bellini company records for the number twenty-one.
Dozens of results.
Then one invoice appeared.
Shipment 21-B.
Sent six years earlier.
Destination: Lake Como.
I stared at the address.
It was the Santangelo villa.
My father had shipped something here.
Six years before I ever met Lorenzo.
The invoice listed one wooden crate.
Contents: antique wine.
Declared value: $4,800.
Recipient: Michael Russo.
Impossible.
I printed the document.
Lorenzo entered before the printer finished.
“You stopped answering.”
I held up the invoice.
“Explain this.”
He read it.
His expression changed.
“That shipment came here?”
“You tell me.”
“I didn’t own the villa then.”
“Your uncle did.”
“And Michael Russo was supposedly dead by then.”
The room went quiet.
“Exactly.”
Lorenzo looked at the date again.
“What was in the crate?”
“Wine, supposedly.”
“Your father didn’t deal in wine.”
“No.”
Lorenzo met my eyes.
“The ledger.”
The thought landed between us.
“If it was hidden here…”
“Someone may think you know where.”
“I don’t.”
“They may not believe that.”
We searched the old storage rooms.
Nothing.
Wine cellar.
Nothing.
Library.
Nothing.
At sunset, I noticed one of the antique shelves had scratches near the floor.
Lorenzo crouched beside me.
“Recent?”
“No.”
I ran my fingers over the wood.
Three scratches.
A triangle.
My father’s mark.
Lorenzo removed the panel.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside lay a small metal box.
Locked.
My hands trembled.
“Open it,” Lorenzo said.
“I don’t have a key.”
He examined the lock.
“Old mechanism.”
He used a small tool from his pocket.
“You carry lock picks?”
“I have diverse interests.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
The lock clicked.
Inside was no ledger.
Only a photograph.
My father.
Michael Russo.
Lorenzo’s uncle.
And Victor Hale.
All four men stood beside the lake.
On the back, my father had written:
IF ONE OF US DIES, TRUST NONE OF THE OTHERS.
Below it was another message.
Sofia knows the final key.
I stared at the handwriting.
“What final key?”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“You tell me.”
“I have no idea.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression went blank.
“When?”
He listened.
“Lock down the villa.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
“One of my men found a body near the northern road.”
“Who?”
Lorenzo hesitated.
Then held up his phone.
A photograph had been sent to him.
I recognized the gray hair.
The silver watch.
The face from my wedding reception.
Victor Hale.
His eyes were closed.
And pinned to his jacket was a card containing only three words.
SHE REMEMBERS NOW.
May you like
Behind us, the villa lights went out.
Then someone upstairs began playing my father’s favorite song.
