Chương 12
“I can give you money.”
“You already gave us access,” the gunman replied. “Money was never your value.”
Clara found the latch behind a stack of folded tablecloths. She lifted, pushed left, and pulled down. The hidden door opened one inch.
Through the gap she saw the balcony.
The gunman had Vivian by the hair near the railing. His pistol was pressed to the back of her neck. Blood ran from a cut at his temple. The surviving accomplice watched the nursery passage with a compact rifle.
Below, the ballroom had divided into zones of cover. Don Ricci remained behind a stone serving station with Emma. Matteo and three guards were moving toward the visible stair.
The accomplice saw them and fired.
Matteo rolled behind a column. One guard fell.
Alessandro leaned close to Clara. “When I move, close the door.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
It was the first time he had used her given name.
She felt it as a change in pressure, not intimacy.
“The man below knows Emma,” she whispered. “He watched us before I worked here. He needs to know where the locker is.”
“He will not reach the locker.”
“He may have people outside.”
“Then we take him alive.”
“How?”
Alessandro looked toward the gun in her hand.
She nearly laughed. “I missed from six feet.”
“You missed on purpose.”
“I absolutely did not.”
His expression suggested he did not believe her.
The accomplice fired again toward Matteo.
Alessandro opened the hidden door and shot him twice.
The man fell behind the curtain.
The gunman spun, dragging Vivian around as a shield. “Drop it.”
Alessandro stepped onto the balcony.
His pistol remained trained on the man’s head. “Release her.”
“You have become sentimental.”
“No. You have become surrounded.”
The gunman glanced toward the nursery passage, where Matteo now appeared with blood running from his forehead.
Clara stayed inside the closet, holding the gun as steadily as she could.
The gunman saw her in the mirror across the balcony.
His eyes shifted.
Alessandro fired.
The bullet struck his shoulder. His pistol discharged into the railing. Vivian screamed and tore free, but the long train of her gown snagged beneath his shoe. She fell hard.
The gunman grabbed the fabric and pulled her back.
Clara stepped out.
“Inspector Serra has the evidence,” she said again.
He looked at her. “No, she doesn’t.”
The certainty in his voice chilled her.
“You killed Daniel,” she said.
“He killed himself by believing information made him brave.”
Vivian twisted on the floor. The crimson fabric tore at the seam.
Alessandro’s weapon remained aimed, but the gunman kept Vivian between them.
“What is your name?” Clara asked.
He laughed once. “Does it matter?”
“It mattered to Daniel.”
Something flickered in his expression.
Not guilt. Pride.
“Daniel called me Adrian,” he said. “It was not my name.”
“Did he beg?”
Alessandro’s gaze snapped toward her.
The question hurt to ask. She needed the man to look at her, to answer, to expose the part of himself that wanted recognition.
“He tried to bargain,” Adrian said. “Most men do.”
Clara knew it was probably a lie. Daniel bargained over phone bills and restaurant tips, but not over fear. Still, the image struck her with physical force.
She let the pistol dip.
Adrian smiled.
“You want the key,” she said.
His eyes moved to her uniform pocket.
There was nothing inside except Daniel’s letter.
“Yes,” he said.
“You let me take the job here so I would find the envelope.”
“We suspected he hid something in the service walls. Grief makes people repetitive. You checked the laundry every Thursday after the linens were counted.”
Clara felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with weapons. Someone had watched her private ritual, her weekly moment with Daniel’s handwriting.
“You should have taken the envelope before tonight.”
“We needed you to lead us to the key.”
“And Vivian?”
“A useful door.”
Vivian looked at him from the floor. Humiliation returned to her face, deeper than when Alessandro ordered her to apologize.
“You told me I would sit on the council,” she said.
Adrian’s mouth curved. “There is no council for wives.”
The words struck precisely where he knew they would.
Vivian’s expression emptied.
Then she unclasped the diamond necklace from her throat and looped it around his wounded arm.
She pulled with both hands.
Adrian shouted. The pistol swung away.
Alessandro fired once.
The bullet entered Adrian’s chest.
For a moment he remained standing, surprise softening his face. Then Vivian released the necklace and crawled backward as he collapsed against the railing.
His pistol slid across the marble.
Clara kicked it over the edge.
Below, it struck the ballroom floor with a flat metallic sound.
No one moved.
The gunfire had stopped. The remaining attackers were dead, wounded, or captured. Smoke drifted near the ceiling. Broken chandelier crystals glittered across overturned tables like ice.
Alessandro knelt beside Adrian and pressed two fingers to his neck.
“Alive,” he said.
Vivian sat against the wall, holding her torn gown closed at the thigh. Her breathing came in ragged pulls. One diamond earring remained. Without the other, her face looked oddly unbalanced.
Clara approached her.
Vivian flinched.
The reaction should have satisfied something. It did not.
“Your arm needs pressure,” Clara said.
She tore a strip from a tablecloth and wrapped the cut.
Vivian stared at her. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because you’re bleeding.”
“I hit you.”
“Yes.”
“I nearly got your child killed.”
“Yes.”
Vivian looked down. “I thought I could control it.”
Clara tightened the cloth. “People always do.”
It was not forgiveness. Vivian seemed to understand that.
Matteo came onto the balcony with two guards. He looked first at Alessandro, then Adrian, then the gun in Clara’s hand.
“You gave her a weapon?”
“She took it,” Alessandro said.
“I caught it.”
Matteo blinked. “Of course you did.”
Below, Emma called, “Mommy!”
Clara dropped the pistol.
May you like
She ran.
The visible stair seemed endless. Emma broke away from Don Ricci and crossed the ballroom barefoot, dodging glass because no one could move quickly enough to stop her. Clara reached her halfway and lifted her into both arms.
