Chapter 9 - LUCA MORETTI NEVER FORGOT A BETRAYAL
Elena Torres refused to sit.
She stood beside Luca’s desk as though remaining on her feet might make running easier.
“I was nineteen,” she said. “My mother cleaned this house. I helped during summers.”
Luca stared at the ledger.
“You knew Marco?”
“He was kind to staff.”
Her voice shook.
“He treated people like people.”
Luca looked away briefly.
That description hurt because it sounded like memory.
“Elena,” I asked gently, “what happened that night?”
She looked at Luca.
“Marco found me in the kitchen around eleven.”
Luca went still.
“He was scared.”
“Marco wasn’t scared easily,” Luca said.
“He was that night.”
Elena continued.
“He gave me the ledger and told me to hide it.”
“Why you?”
“Because nobody noticed servants.”
That sentence settled heavily over the room.
“He said if anything happened, I should give it to Luca.”
Luca’s face tightened.
“Why didn’t you?”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“Because the next morning somebody came to my mother’s apartment.”
“Who?”
“I never saw his face.”
“He threatened you?”
“He knew where my little sister went to school.”
Silence.
“I burned the jacket Marco gave me, packed my things, and left Chicago.”
“Why return now?”
Elena looked at me.
“Because Margaret told me another woman had started asking about fake invoices.”
I lifted my hands.
“I wasn’t asking intentionally.”
Nobody reacted.
Wrong moment.
Elena pointed toward the ledger.
“Marco wrote everything.”
Luca opened it.
Pages of handwriting.
Dates.
Amounts.
Names abbreviated.
And the crown symbol.
Again.
“What is the crown?” I asked.
Elena swallowed.
“Marco called the person behind it The King.”
“Why?”
“He said everyone thought his father controlled the organization.”
“Lorenzo.”
“But Marco believed somebody else controlled the money.”
Luca looked up.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Luca flipped pages faster.
Then stopped.
One line had been underlined three times.
THE KING IS NOT BLOOD.
I felt the room change.
Not blood.
That weakened the case against Matteo.
Luca read another line.
HE STANDS BESIDE THE FAMILY IN EVERY PHOTOGRAPH.
My mind moved through the mansion.
Adrian.
Daniel.
Old employees.
Advisers.
Elena reached into her purse.
“There’s more.”
She produced a photograph.
A Moretti family charity gala.
Sixteen years earlier.
Luca’s father.
Mother.
Marco.
Young Luca.
Matteo.
Adrian’s father.
Several executives.
And Daniel Russo.
I looked at Luca.
“Marco said beside the family.”
“Several people are beside us.”
“Exactly.”
The clue wasn’t enough.
For the next two hours we examined everything.
The ledger proved money had disappeared.
It proved Marco knew.
It proved he feared someone.
It did not prove identity.
At three in the morning Elena fell asleep in a guest room.
Margaret stayed with her.
Frank worked security.
I remained in Luca’s office.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“So should you.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s unhealthy.”
“I’ve survived.”
“Low standard.”
He closed the ledger.
“Marco called three times.”
“I know.”
“I was sitting three rooms away from Matteo.”
“Luca.”
“I could have answered.”
I sat opposite him.
“What would you tell me if I blamed myself for my mother having a stroke?”
“That it wasn’t your fault.”
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t cause it.”
“You didn’t cause Marco’s death.”
His eyes sharpened.
“You don’t know that.”
“You didn’t answer a phone call. That isn’t the same as hurting someone.”
He looked at me for a long time.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I make things sound survivable.”
His expression softened.
For one suspended second the mansion disappeared.
No guards.
No ledgers.
No Moretti name.
Just a tired man carrying sixteen years of guilt.
Then he said, “Why did you really take this job?”
I smiled faintly.
“I told you.”
“Salary?”
“Mostly.”
“That isn’t all.”
“No.”
I looked toward the windows.
“My mother’s therapy bills destroyed our savings. I owe money. A lot.”
“How much?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“I can pay it tomorrow.”
“That’s exactly why I won’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want our relationship to become a transaction.”
The word relationship hung between us.
I wished I could grab it and throw it out the window.
Luca noticed.
Of course he did.
“What relationship?”
“Employment.”
“Right.”
“Obviously.”
He almost smiled.
Then the office phone rang.
Frank.
Luca answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He stood.
“We’re coming.”
We hurried downstairs.
Security monitors filled the control room.
One camera had captured a man entering the east service door at 2:46.
He used a valid access card.
Frank froze the frame.
We couldn’t see his face.
But we could see the card holder.
Gold trim.
Executive access.
Only four people had them.
Luca.
Adrian.
Matteo.
Daniel Russo.
The figure entered.
Seven minutes later, he left carrying something.
Frank switched cameras.
The man crossed the garage.
Then turned slightly.
I saw the watch.
Silver.
Distinct rectangular face.
I had seen it before.
Every day.
My stomach dropped.
“Luca.”
“I see it.”
Frank enlarged the frame.
The watch belonged to Adrian Vale.
This time there was no vague car.
No indirect connection.
No questionable invoice initials.
Adrian had entered the mansion secretly at three in the morning.
And whatever he had taken came from the office where Marco’s ledger had been kept.
Luca turned toward Frank.
“Bring him here.”
But Adrian wasn’t home.
His phone was disconnected.
His driver had disappeared.
His office had been emptied.
And by sunrise, Moretti financial servers began locking employees out one by one.
May you like
Adrian Vale had vanished.
Along with access to nearly every company account Luca owned.
