Chapter 2 - The Black Card on the Bar
Elena woke the next morning on the sofa in her studio.
For three seconds, she did not remember why.
Then she looked down.
Wedding dress.
Yesterday returned all at once.
Marco.
Sophia.
The bedroom.
The ring.
Elena closed her eyes.
“No.”
She was not going to begin the day crying.
She had already given betrayal enough hours.
Someone knocked on the glass door separating her office from the main architectural studio.
“Elena?”
It was Giulia Conti, her business partner and closest friend.
Elena groaned.
“Go away.”
The door opened.
“You are wearing your wedding dress.”
“Excellent observation.”
“And you slept here.”
“Another excellent observation.”
“And there are approximately nine journalists outside.”
Elena sat upright.
“What?”
Giulia held up her phone.
A photograph showed Elena leaving Marco’s penthouse.
Wedding gown.
Bare shoulders.
Tears.
The headline underneath read:
MILAN ARCHITECT’S WEDDING IN CRISIS?
Elena stared.
“That took six hours?”
“It gets worse.”
“Of course it does.”
Giulia showed another article.
BELLINI WEDDING CANCELED HOURS BEFORE CEREMONY
Then another.
A photograph of Sophia entering Marco’s building two nights earlier.
Someone had started connecting the dots.
Elena handed the phone back.
“I’m going to murder the internet.”
“I’ll help you hide the router.”
Despite herself, Elena smiled.
Giulia crouched in front of her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Want to lie?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. Try again.”
Elena breathed.
“I’m fine.”
“Terrible performance.”
They looked at each other.
Then Elena’s composure cracked.
Not dramatically.
No screaming.
She simply covered her face.
Giulia sat beside her.
For ten minutes, Elena said nothing.
When she finally lowered her hands, her cheeks were wet.
“I keep thinking about stupid things.”
“Like?”
“The coffee machine.”
Giulia frowned.
“What?”
“Marco hated my coffee machine. He said it sounded like construction equipment.”
A shaky laugh escaped her.
“I was going to move it into my office after we got married.”
Giulia’s expression softened.
“That’s what grief does. It gives you the coffee machine because the big thing is too big.”
Elena looked across her studio.
Models.
Blueprints.
Material samples.
The world she had built before Marco.
That realization mattered.
Before Marco, Elena Rossi had existed.
And she would exist after him.
Giulia stood.
“Go home. Shower. Change.”
Elena glanced at the gown.
“I was thinking of making this my new office uniform.”
“It’s memorable.”
Her phone lay on the drafting table.
Still switched off.
Beside it sat the black card.
Giulia noticed.
“What is that?”
Elena picked it up.
“Something weird happened last night.”
“Beyond discovering your fiancé sleeping with your sister?”
“After that.”
“That sentence has frightening potential.”
Elena handed her the card.
Giulia read the name.
Her expression disappeared.
“Elena.”
“I know.”
“Alessandro Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“Actual Alessandro Moretti?”
“As opposed to?”
“A tax accountant with unfortunate branding?”
Elena laughed despite herself.
Giulia lowered her voice.
“What did he want?”
“Villa Belladonna.”
Now Giulia froze completely.
“He owns Belladonna?”
“Apparently.”
“And he wants us?”
“He wants me.”
“That sounded more sexual than I intended.”
“It really did.”
Giulia sat.
“Are you going to call?”
Elena looked at the card.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I discovered my sister with my fiancé twelve hours ago. This is not when emotionally stable career decisions happen.”
Giulia nodded thoughtfully.
“True.”
A beat.
“Call him.”
Elena stared.
“Giulia.”
“Do you know what Belladonna would do for this firm?”
“Yes.”
“It would put Rossi-Conti on every serious architecture page in Europe.”
“I know.”
“And you’ve talked about that villa for years.”
“I know.”
“You once drove two hours just to photograph its western facade through a fence.”
“That was professional research.”
“You climbed on the hood of my Fiat.”
“There was a hedge.”
Giulia pointed toward the card.
“Call him.”
Elena hesitated.
Then someone began pounding on the downstairs door.
“Elena!”
Marco.
Her entire body went rigid.
“Elena, please!”
Giulia looked furious.
“How did he get through security?”
“He knows the access code.”
“Not for long.”
Marco’s voice echoed from below.
“We need to talk!”
Elena stood.
Every instinct told her to hide.
Then she stopped.
Yesterday, she had been ambushed.
Not today.
She walked downstairs.
Giulia followed.
Marco stood outside the locked glass entrance.
He looked exhausted.
“Elena.”
She did not open the door.
“What?”
“Can we talk privately?”
“No.”
His eyes flicked to Giulia.
“Please.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“You had six months for private conversations.”
Marco winced.
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve much more. I’m showing restraint.”
He lowered his voice.
“Sophia told reporters something.”
Elena stared.
Of course.
“What?”
“She didn’t mean to.”
“I’ve known Sophia twenty-seven years. She always means to.”
“Elena.”
“What did she say?”
Marco exhaled.
“She told someone we had been unhappy for a long time.”
“And?”
“She implied the wedding was already off.”
Elena laughed incredulously.
“Interesting. Someone should have told the bride.”
“I didn’t ask her to say that.”
“But you’re still with her?”
Silence.
There it was.
Elena nodded.
“You should leave.”
“Elena, I care about you.”
“You don’t get to use that sentence anymore.”
Marco placed a palm against the glass.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You keep saying things that would be hilarious if I weren’t exhausted.”
“Elena—”
“Go.”
Something hardened in him.
Perhaps embarrassment.
Perhaps frustration that she wasn’t making forgiveness easy.
“You always do this.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do what?”
“Shut people out when you’re angry.”
Giulia muttered, “I’m going to throw a chair through this glass.”
Elena almost smiled.
Marco continued.
“I’m trying to explain.”
“No. You’re trying to reduce your guilt.”
His face changed.
Elena stepped closer to the door.
“You didn’t come here because you’re worried about me.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You came because this scandal makes you look bad.”
“Elena—”
“Your family’s company is preparing that municipal bid next month. Your father doesn’t want headlines about his son sleeping with his fiancée’s sister.”
Marco said nothing.
Elena knew she was right.
She turned away.
“We’re done.”
“Wait.”
She stopped.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
Marco hesitated.
“Your firm.”
Elena faced him.
“What about it?”
“My father’s company won’t be renewing the consulting agreement.”
Giulia swore.
Marco looked miserable.
“I tried to stop him.”
Elena walked back toward the glass.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
“It sounds remarkably like punishment.”
“It isn’t my decision.”
“Then tell your father something for me.”
“What?”
Elena smiled.
Not kindly.
“Thank him.”
Marco stared.
“For what?”
“For giving me one less Bellini contract to regret.”
She turned.
This time she did not stop.
Ten minutes later, Marco was gone.
Giulia looked at her.
“You know that contract is eighteen percent of our annual revenue.”
“Yes.”
“We may have to delay hiring.”
“I know.”
“And possibly cancel the Turin proposal.”
“I know.”
Giulia stared at the black card.
Then at Elena.
Elena followed her gaze.
Neither woman spoke.
Elena picked up her phone.
She turned it on.
Forty-three missed calls.
She ignored them.
Then dialed the number embossed on Alessandro Moretti’s card.
He answered after one ring.
“Rossi.”
Elena blinked.
“You knew it was me?”
“I gave you a private number.”
“That sounds either flattering or terrifying.”
“You’ll get used to the ambiguity.”
She looked toward Giulia.
Giulia silently mouthed: Well?
Elena walked toward the window.
“I want to see Villa Belladonna.”
“Tomorrow.”
“That wasn’t a yes.”
“Tomorrow. Ten.”
“You’re assuming I’m free.”
“I’m assuming you called because you want to become busy.”
Elena smiled despite herself.
“Send me the address.”
“You already know the address.”
He was right.
Architects knew Belladonna the way musicians knew famous concert halls.
“Fine.”
“Rossi?”
“Yes?”
“Wear practical shoes.”
Elena looked at the blister on her heel.
“I learned that lesson yesterday.”
A pause.
Alessandro’s voice became quieter.
“Good.”
The call ended.
The following morning, Elena drove north beneath a pale sky.
Milan disappeared behind her.
The landscape widened.
Trees.
Stone walls.
Long roads disappearing toward the lakes.
At 9:57, she reached a pair of enormous wrought-iron gates.
Two security cameras turned toward her car.
A guard approached.
“Elena Rossi?”
“Yes.”
The gates opened.
She drove through.
Villa Belladonna appeared slowly between the trees.
And Elena forgot Marco Bellini existed.
The estate was extraordinary.
Three stories of pale stone rose above a terraced garden.
Arched windows.
Wrought-iron balconies.
A central tower.
Ancient cypress trees lined the drive.
The eastern wing was damaged, sections covered in scaffolding, but even neglect could not erase the building’s dignity.
Elena parked.
Alessandro waited near the entrance.
Dark trousers.
White shirt.
No tie.
“You came.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I rarely assume anything until it happens.”
She stepped from the car.
“You said your family wants a residence.”
“Yes.”
“How many family members?”
A voice behind Alessandro answered.
“Depends whether he’s counting us.”
Elena looked up.
Another man walked down the stone steps.
For one confused moment, Elena thought Alessandro had changed clothes.
Same height.
Same dark hair.
Same striking facial structure.
But this man wore glasses and a navy suit.
He smiled.
“Elena Rossi. Matteo Moretti.”
Elena looked between them.
“You’re twins.”
Both men smiled.
Then another voice came from behind her.
“Wrong.”
Elena turned.
A third man leaned casually against a black car.
Same face.
Different energy.
His hair was slightly longer. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. A faint scar crossed one eyebrow.
He pushed away from the vehicle.
“Triplets.”
Elena stared.
The man extended his hand.
“Luca Moretti.”
She shook it automatically.
Luca’s smile deepened.
“You should see your face.”
Elena looked at Alessandro.
“You didn’t mention brothers.”
“I said family.”
“That was intentionally misleading.”
“Yes.”
Matteo adjusted his glasses.
“You’ll discover Alessandro considers incomplete information technically truthful.”
“Useful quality,” Luca said, “when everyone thinks you run the Milan underworld.”
Elena’s attention snapped toward him.
Matteo sighed.
“Luca.”
“What? She’s already heard the rumors.”
Elena looked at all three.
Alessandro remained perfectly calm.
“Should I leave?”
“No,” Alessandro said.
Matteo said, “Not unless the building disappoints you.”
Luca grinned.
“Or unless we do.”
Elena looked toward Villa Belladonna.
Her professional instincts overwhelmed everything else.
“Show me the house.”
Alessandro opened the ancient front door.
“After you.”
Elena stepped inside.
She thought she was entering an architectural project.
She did not yet understand that Villa Belladonna would change her career.
May you like
The Moretti brothers would change her understanding of trust.
And somewhere behind the locked doors of that enormous house waited a secret connecting the Moretti family to the same Bellini empire Elena had just walked away from.
