Chương 6
Vivian had visited Villa Moretti for two years. She knew the main rooms, the terraces, Alessandro’s private suite, and the wine cellar where she hosted tastings. She did not know the servants’ routes unless someone had shown her.
Alessandro ordered half the guards to remain with the families and sent the rest in pairs. He placed Clara, Emma, Don Ricci, and Matteo inside the east library while he questioned Vivian’s escort.
Clara objected.
“You are not searching passageways with a child in your arms,” Alessandro said.
“I can tell you where they lead.”
“You can draw a map.”
“The walls don’t follow maps.”
His gaze hardened. “Mrs. Bennett.”
“Mr. Moretti.”
Don Ricci turned toward the bookcases, hiding what might have been amusement.
Alessandro lowered his voice. “Someone has already attempted to take the rabbit from your daughter. Your husband may have been murdered for whatever he hid. I am not permitting you to walk through dark corridors while the people responsible are still inside this house.”
“You are not permitting me?”
“No.”
“Daniel spent his last weeks trying to keep me ignorant. It worked. He died alone, and I spent a year believing he had frightened himself to death before driving off a road.”
Emma’s arms tightened around Clara’s neck.
Clara forced her voice lower. “I will not sit quietly in another room while men decide what I’m allowed to know.”
Alessandro’s eyes flicked toward Emma. “And if your decision places her in danger?”
The question landed where he intended.
Clara looked away first.
A grandfather clock ticked in the library corner. Its brass pendulum seemed absurdly calm. Emma had begun winding a loose strand of Clara’s hair around one finger.
“I stay with her,” Clara said. “But I tell you where to look.”
Alessandro nodded once. The concession did not feel like victory.
A guard brought paper. Clara sketched the villa’s staff routes on the back of a printed dinner menu. Her lines were imperfect. The old passage from Vivian’s suite joined a linen stair, crossed behind the portrait gallery, and split near the chapel. One branch descended toward the wine cellar. Another reached the disused nursery. A third ended beside the ballroom musicians’ alcove.
Matteo studied the sketch. “There is no passage on the architectural plans behind the chapel.”
“There is,” Clara said. “The door sticks in damp weather.”
“It hasn’t rained.”
“It also sticks when the villa is warm.”
Don Ricci glanced at Alessandro. “Your housekeeper knows your house better than your security chief.”
Matteo folded the menu. “My department monitors threats, not linen.”
“Tonight they seem related,” Ricci said.
Alessandro sent two teams into the passages and ordered one to approach the underground garage from the kitchen stair. Then he turned to Matteo.
“You will remain here.”
The security chief’s face darkened. “Again?”
“The intruder carried your department’s access card. Your technician is missing. Your man fired toward a child. I need you where I can see you.”
“I have protected you for nine years.”
“And if that history clears you, you will survive an hour of insult.”
Matteo’s nostrils flared. “You sound like your father.”
The clock’s ticking became noticeable.
Alessandro’s father had been dead six years, killed outside a private clinic by men who had worn municipal uniforms. Clara knew because everyone in Milan knew. The murder had put Alessandro at the head of the Moretti organization before he turned thirty-three and started three years of retaliation that left restaurants empty whenever a black car slowed outside.
Alessandro took one step toward Matteo. “Be careful.”
“I am being careful. You’re locking down your own allies because a frightened employee found a symbol in a toy.”
“A symbol your security failed to find after an armed man entered my staff corridors.”
“I didn’t hire the waiter.”
“You hired Greco.”
“On Vivian’s recommendation.”
The words seemed to surprise Matteo as soon as he said them.
Alessandro’s gaze sharpened. “You never told me that.”
“She knew his previous employer. A Swiss hotel group. She said he was discreet.”
Don Ricci’s cane stopped moving.
Clara stared at Matteo. “Did Daniel know him?”
“I have no idea.”
Emma whispered into her shoulder. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
The ordinary need made Clara’s eyes burn more than fear had.
She kissed Emma’s hair. “I’ll find you something.”
“No one leaves,” Matteo said.
Clara looked at him.
Alessandro opened the library door and spoke to the guard outside. “Bring bread, fruit, water, and a sewing kit.”
Matteo gave a disbelieving shake of his head. “We may have an assassination team in the walls.”
“And the child is hungry.”
It was the first thing Alessandro had said that did not sound like command or threat. Clara looked at him differently for half a second, then disliked herself for it. A man could order bread for a child and still command a criminal empire. Small kindnesses did not erase large truths.
The food arrived on a silver tray. Emma refused the sliced pear because the edges had turned brown. She ate bread and drank water from a glass Clara held with both hands. Then she sat on the rug while Clara repaired the rabbit’s torn eye.
Her fingers were not steady. She pushed the needle through blue wool, missed the edge, and pricked her thumb.
A small bead of blood rose.
Emma leaned close. “You hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Everybody hurt.”
No one in the room responded.
Clara tied off the black thread. The new eye sat slightly higher than the old one, giving the rabbit a permanently skeptical expression.
Emma examined it. “He looks funny.”
“He’s had a difficult evening.”
“Like Mr. Moretti?”
Don Ricci coughed into one hand.
Alessandro, standing near the windows, looked over. “Exactly like me.”
Emma accepted this and hugged the rabbit.
May you like
The first search team reported the linen passage empty. The second found Vivian’s diamond bracelet near the disused nursery, its clasp broken. A thin smear of blood marked the wall beside it.
Matteo listened through his radio. “She may have been taken.”
