Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE CAR
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“The man beside me was Dominic Russo.”
Those were the seven words Mrs. Moretti had spelled with trembling fingers.
And the moment I whispered them, I watched something terrifying happen to Luca Moretti's face.
He didn't shout.
He didn't curse.
He simply went still.
Dominic Russo was standing near the ballroom entrance, wearing a charcoal-gray suit and an expression of professional concern.
He was Luca's head of security.
His closest friend.
And, according to the household staff, the only man Luca trusted with his life.
“Lock the gates,” Luca ordered into his phone. “Nobody leaves this house.”
Dominic immediately reached for his earpiece.
“Understood, boss.”
But I saw it.
The smallest hesitation.
His eyes moved toward Mrs. Moretti.
Then toward Vanessa.
And Vanessa looked away.
My fingers tightened around the elderly woman's hand.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Dominic,” Luca said quietly.
“Yes, boss?”
“Come here.”
Dominic approached the table.
Twenty-six dinner guests watched in silence as Luca pushed his chair back and stood.
He was taller than Dominic, broader through the shoulders, and there was a dark tattoo climbing from beneath his collar.
But it wasn't his appearance that frightened me.
It was the way he spoke.
“Where were you on August twenty-eighth?”
Dominic blinked.
“The day of your mother's accident?”
“I know what happened that day. I'm asking where you were.”
“Chicago. Working.”
“All day?”
“As far as I remember.”
Mrs. Moretti made a small sound.
I turned.
Her right hand was gripping the wheelchair armrest.
Her left hand moved.
Liar.
My heart pounded.
“Sir,” I whispered.
Luca glanced at me.
I translated.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“With respect, Mrs. Moretti hasn't been herself since the accident.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Exactly. This is what I've been trying to explain.”
Luca raised one hand.
She stopped talking.
“Dominic,” he said, “my mother says you were in her passenger seat when the accident happened.”
For one second, Dominic forgot to breathe.
Then he laughed.
A short, unnatural sound.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because I was never in that car.”
Mrs. Moretti began moving her hands again.
Faster this time.
I leaned closer.
He told me not to drive.
I translated.
Dominic's expression changed.
He knew.
My mouth went dry.
“Your mother says Dominic warned her not to drive the car.”
A murmur passed through the room.
Dominic looked directly at me.
“Be very careful, sweetheart.”
The threat was quiet enough that only I could hear it.
But Luca heard something in his voice.
“Don't speak to her like that.”
Dominic immediately lowered his eyes.
“Of course.”
Luca turned toward the guests.
“Dinner is over. Everyone will remain in the ballroom until my security team finishes checking the property.”
Several people protested.
One elderly businessman demanded to call his driver.
Luca ignored them.
Then he looked at me.
“Claire, take my mother into the library.”
Vanessa hurried forward.
“I'll come with you.”
“No,” Luca said.
Her smile vanished.
“Excuse me?”
“You're staying here.”
“Luca, you cannot seriously believe a maid over your own fiancée.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“I'm beginning to wonder why you're so desperate to stop her from talking.”
Nobody moved.
Not even Vanessa.
I carefully turned Mrs. Moretti's wheelchair and guided her toward the library.
The mansion's hallways seemed unusually long that night.
Behind us, the ballroom doors closed.
I could still hear muffled arguments.
Mrs. Moretti reached for my wrist.
Her fingers were cold.
Lock door.
I did.
Then she pointed toward the enormous portrait above the fireplace.
A handsome man in a dark suit stood beside a younger version of Mrs. Moretti.
Her late husband.
Luca's father.
“What is it?” I whispered.
She pointed again.
Behind.
I looked at the painting.
“Behind the portrait?”
She nodded.
My stomach tightened.
I moved closer and discovered a small brass latch hidden along the frame.
When I pressed it, the portrait swung outward.
Behind it was a wall safe.
Mrs. Moretti motioned urgently.
Open.
“I don't know the combination.”
She began spelling numbers.
I entered them.
The lock clicked.
Inside were several envelopes, a small velvet box, and a black leather notebook.
Mrs. Moretti pointed to the notebook.
I picked it up.
The first page contained dates, names, and amounts of money.
The second page contained photographs.
One showed Vanessa meeting a silver-haired man outside a downtown restaurant.
Another showed Dominic entering an office building.
And beneath the photographs was a handwritten sentence.
If anything happens to me, Luca must know the truth.
I turned another page.
Then I stopped breathing.
There was a photograph of Mrs. Moretti's damaged black sedan.
The front end was crushed.
The windshield was shattered.
But the photograph wasn't what made my hands shake.
It was the note taped beneath it.
Brake line inspected three days before the crash. Someone has been inside the garage.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I whispered. “You knew someone was trying to hurt you before the accident?”
She nodded slowly.
Then she signed something that made my knees feel weak.
I left evidence with someone.
“Who?”
Her fingers formed one name.
Patricia.
I stared at her.
“Your sister?”
She nodded.
“But Luca said Patricia passed away years ago.”
Mrs. Moretti shook her head violently.
Before I could ask another question, someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Then a familiar voice came through the door.
“Claire? It's Dominic.”
My blood turned cold.
“Mr. Moretti asked me to bring his mother downstairs.”
Mrs. Moretti clutched my arm.
Her fingers moved desperately.
Don't open.
I backed away.
Dominic knocked again.
“Claire, I know you're in there.”
May you like
Then his voice dropped.
“And I know what you found behind that painting.”
