Chapter 5 - A Kiss Before the Underworld
The kiss lasted only a few seconds.
To Elena, it felt much longer.
The rooftop vanished.
The music vanished.
Even the fireworks became distant.
Luca's hand rested at her waist, steady but not restrictive. He did not pull her against him. He did not trap her.
He had asked without words.
She had answered.
And that answer frightened Elena more than the kiss itself.
Because she wanted it.
When they separated, Luca remained close enough that she could feel his breath.
Elena stared at him.
For the first time since meeting him, Luca Demir looked uncertain.
It was almost worth the public humiliation.
Almost.
Behind them, someone coughed.
Elena remembered the crowd.
She turned.
Dozens of people were pretending not to stare.
Matteo Rinaldi was doing the worst job.
His eyebrows were practically in his hairline.
Elena's face became hot.
Luca looked entirely unconcerned.
Matteo lifted his champagne glass.
“Well.”
Elena covered her face briefly.
“Please don't.”
“I wasn't going to say anything.”
“You were absolutely going to say something.”
Matteo looked at Luca.
“I value my life.”
Luca gave him a dry look.
“Good instinct.”
Matteo disappeared.
Elena turned back to Luca.
“You enjoyed that.”
“The kiss?”
“The intimidation.”
“Both.”
She stared at him.
He didn't even pretend otherwise.
“You are unbelievable.”
“And you're blushing.”
“That is anger.”
“Of course.”
She moved away from him.
Luca caught neither her hand nor her waist.
He simply followed.
“Elena.”
“No.”
“You don't know what I'm going to say.”
“You're going to say something infuriating.”
“Probably.”
She reached the quieter side of the terrace.
Below them Milan glittered.
Fireworks reflected across glass towers and old stone rooftops.
Elena faced him.
“What was that?”
“A kiss.”
“I noticed.”
“You participated.”
“That is also something I noticed.”
Luca folded his hands behind his back.
It was a strangely formal posture for a man who had kissed her in front of a hundred people.
“Do you regret it?”
Elena opened her mouth.
Closed it.
That irritated her most.
“No.”
His expression softened slightly.
“But,” she added, “that doesn't mean you get to do it because another man complimented me.”
“I didn't.”
“You were jealous.”
“I was irritated.”
“Difference?”
“Jealousy is irrational.”
“And irritation?”
“In this instance, equally irrational.”
Elena blinked.
“That was almost emotionally healthy.”
“I dislike the tone of your surprise.”
She laughed.
Luca watched her.
The look in his eyes changed.
The humor remained, but something deeper appeared beneath it.
“Don't,” Elena whispered.
“What?”
“Look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“As if you're about to make this complicated.”
“It already is.”
She looked toward the city.
He was right.
Her phone vibrated.
The warmth disappeared instantly.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
She opened the message.
A photograph of the rooftop.
Taken seconds earlier.
It showed Luca kissing her.
Beneath it:
NOW WE KNOW WHAT DEMIR VALUES.
Elena went cold.
Luca saw her expression.
“What?”
She handed him the phone.
His face changed.
The man from moments earlier vanished.
The mafia boss returned.
Luca scanned the rooftops around them.
“Dario.”
Dario emerged almost immediately.
“Lock the elevators.”
Guests began murmuring.
Elena looked around.
“Who took it?”
“We'll find out.”
Luca moved her away from the railing.
“Inside.”
“Luca—”
“Now.”
She heard the difference in his voice.
This was not possessiveness.
This was fear.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for her.
They entered the hotel.
Security shut the terrace doors behind them.
Dario spoke quietly into an earpiece.
Luca took Elena into a private conference room.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
He turned.
“We aren't doing this argument tonight.”
“We are if you intend to lock me in a room.”
“I intend to identify who photographed you.”
“Then let me help.”
“How?”
“I saw almost everyone on that terrace.”
“So did security.”
“Security wasn't checking guest badges.”
Luca paused.
Elena continued.
“That was my job.”
He studied her.
“Tell me.”
She closed her eyes.
Reconstructed the terrace.
Tables.
Waiters.
Guests.
Musicians.
Matteo.
A woman in emerald silk.
Two men from Geneva.
Three photographers hired by the charity.
Then Elena remembered something.
“There was another server.”
Luca frowned.
“What?”
“Near the west stairway.”
“Description.”
“Male. Mid-thirties. Dark hair. About my height.”
“What uniform?”
“Black vest.”
“All staff wore black vests.”
“No.”
Elena shook her head.
“Tonight's staff had silver buttons.”
Luca became still.
“The man's buttons were black.”
He opened the door.
“Dario.”
Dario returned.
“Find him.”
He listened to the description.
Within minutes, security footage located the man.
He had entered using an employee access card.
He had left thirty seconds after sending the photograph.
“How did he get a card?” Elena asked.
Dario looked toward Luca.
“Card belonged to Marco Bellini.”
Elena frowned.
“Marco?”
“The supervisor from Palazzo Nero?” Luca asked.
“Yes.”
Elena shook her head.
“He wouldn't help Santi.”
“You've known him how long?”
“Three years.”
“That's not an answer.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Elena.”
“No. Marco helped me when my father died. He gave me extra shifts when I couldn't pay rent.”
Luca remained silent.
“That does not mean he betrayed me.”
“It doesn't mean he didn't.”
She hated that he was right.
“Call him.”
Dario did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Elena checked her own phone.
A message from Marco had arrived forty minutes earlier.
CAN WE TALK TOMORROW? IMPORTANT.
She showed Luca.
He immediately called the number.
Voicemail.
Elena typed.
WHERE ARE YOU?
No response.
Minutes passed.
Then three dots appeared.
A message came.
I'M SORRY.
Elena's stomach dropped.
She typed again.
FOR WHAT?
No answer.
“Trace it,” Luca told Dario.
Dario nodded.
Elena waited.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Two.
Then Dario's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
“Signal came from Navigli.”
Luca picked up his jacket.
“We go.”
Elena followed.
He stopped.
“No.”
“He's my friend.”
“Which is exactly why—”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
Luca looked at her.
“If Marco is in trouble, I am going.”
“And if Marco is the trouble?”
Elena's confidence faltered.
Still, she said, “Then I deserve to know.”
They found Marco's apartment empty.
The door had been forced.
Furniture was overturned.
A broken phone lay beneath the kitchen table.
No Marco.
Elena searched the bedroom.
“Marco?”
Nothing.
Luca entered behind her.
“He's gone.”
Elena saw something taped to the mirror.
A photograph.
She pulled it down.
The image showed Marco standing beside Vittorio Santi.
The timestamp was from six months earlier.
On the back, handwriting:
EVERYONE HAS A PRICE.
Elena stared.
“No.”
Luca took the picture.
“Could be planted.”
“You think?”
“I think Santi wants you confused.”
“That isn't difficult tonight.”
Luca's phone rang.
Dario.
Luca listened.
Then he looked at Elena.
“They found Marco.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned warehouse near the canal.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief hit her.
“Then let's go.”
Luca didn't move.
“What?”
“He's asking for you.”
Elena swallowed.
“Why?”
“He says Giovanni Rossi left him something.”
They arrived twenty minutes later.
Marco sat inside an ambulance surrounded by police officers who had apparently been told nothing useful.
His face was bruised.
Elena ran toward him.
“Marco.”
He looked up.
Guilt filled his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
She stopped.
“For what?”
“They threatened my sister.”
Elena's heart sank.
“Santi?”
Marco nodded.
“He wanted your work schedule. Your phone number. Nothing else at first.”
“At first?”
“He wanted me to put you at Palazzo Nero.”
Elena stared.
“My agency assignment?”
“I changed the roster.”
The truth hurt.
“You sent me there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Santi told me your debt would disappear.”
Elena stepped back.
“You sold me for a debt?”
“No.”
Marco's eyes filled.
“I thought he only wanted to talk to you.”
Luca's voice became cold.
“What did Giovanni leave you?”
Marco looked at him.
“Not me.”
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a tiny brass key.
“Your father gave this to Giovanni.”
Luca frowned.
“When?”
“The week before Giovanni died.”
Marco handed the key to Elena.
“He said if anyone ever started asking about locker 217, Elena should open the safe in the old repair shop.”
Elena's pulse quickened.
“What safe?”
Marco looked at her.
“The one behind the photograph of your mother.”
Elena stopped breathing.
That photograph had hung in the repair shop for as long as she could remember.
She had walked past it thousands of times.
Luca looked at the key.
Then at Elena.
Whatever her father had hidden—
it had been inches from her childhood for years.
May you like
And Santi was already looking for it.
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