Chapter 3 - Dinner at the Moretti House
By eight o'clock, I had turned my own home into an experiment.
Nobody knew that except Marco.
Bianca thought I was paranoid.
Rosa thought I was heartbroken.
The staff thought I was in one of my moods.
Lila thought we were having pasta.
In a way, she was the only innocent person at the table.
I intended to keep it that way.
I prepared her dinner myself.
That statement would have shocked anyone who knew me socially.
I could operate companies employing hundreds of people.
I could negotiate contracts worth millions.
I had once spent fourteen hours across a table from three men who wanted me dead and ended the meeting with all three agreeing to work for me.
But I could barely boil water.
Rosa stood beside me telling me exactly what to do.
“No salt yet.”
“I know.”
“You were about to add it.”
“I was considering it.”
“You were holding the salt.”
I looked at her.
She took it out of my hand.
Under different circumstances, I might have smiled.
Instead, I kept watching the kitchen doors.
Bianca had gone upstairs with Lila.
I had allowed it.
Being alone with her mother wasn't the issue.
Food was.
Drink was.
Anything swallowed.
That was the boundary.
Marco had also installed a temporary camera covering the entire kitchen from an angle not connected to the existing security network.
If someone wanted to touch Lila's dinner, I wanted to know.
At eight-fifteen, we sat down.
Our dining room could seat twenty.
That night there were only three of us.
Lila sat beside me instead of at her usual place across the table.
Bianca noticed.
She noticed everything.
“Why are we eating in here?” she asked.
“Because it's a dining room.”
“We haven't eaten formally since Lila got sick.”
“Maybe routine is good.”
Bianca stared at me.
Lila reached blindly for her water glass.
I guided her hand.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
I kissed the top of her head.
Bianca watched.
There was sadness in her expression.
Real sadness.
That complicated things.
“Can I have cheese?” Lila asked.
“Absolutely.”
I reached for it.
“So can I,” Bianca said lightly.
I passed it to her.
Dinner began.
For ten minutes, nothing happened.
Lila told us about an audiobook she had started.
Bianca asked questions.
I answered when required.
If an outsider had looked through the windows, we might have seemed like a wealthy family trying to recover from a terrible diagnosis.
Perhaps that was what we had been.
Perhaps that was what Bianca wanted me to believe.
Halfway through the meal, the house phone rang in the kitchen.
Rosa answered.
A moment later, she entered.
“Mr. Moretti, Marco needs you.”
“Tell him I'm eating.”
“He says it's urgent.”
That had been arranged.
I stood.
“I'll be right back.”
Bianca looked at me.
I walked out.
But I didn't go far.
I entered the service corridor and stopped in front of a small monitor Marco had installed that afternoon.
The hidden camera showed the dining room.
Lila continued eating.
Bianca watched the doorway through which I had disappeared.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Then she stood.
My heartbeat changed.
She walked around the table.
Not toward Lila.
Toward the sideboard.
She opened her handbag.
I leaned closer to the monitor.
Her hand disappeared inside.
When it emerged, she was holding something small.
My vision narrowed.
Bianca glanced toward the doorway again.
Then she moved toward Lila.
I left the corridor.
Fast.
By the time I reached the dining room, Bianca was standing beside our daughter with one hand near Lila's glass.
“Stop.”
My voice filled the room.
Lila startled.
Bianca spun around.
Something fell from her hand.
It hit the rug.
Not a bottle.
A small silver case.
I crossed the room and picked it up.
Bianca's face had turned white.
“What is this?”
“Vincent—”
I opened it.
Inside were two tablets.
Ordinary-looking.
No markings I recognized.
“Medicine?”
She nodded quickly.
“For me.”
“What for?”
“Migraines.”
“Why were they beside Lila's glass?”
“They weren't.”
“I watched you.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
I held her gaze.
“There's a camera.”
Her eyes moved immediately toward the ceiling.
Wrong direction.
The temporary camera was hidden behind a decorative panel.
“You're spying on me?”
“Answer the question.”
“I was taking one.”
“You weren't.”
“How can you possibly know what I intended?”
“Because I watched your hand.”
“Daddy?”
Lila's frightened voice cut through the room.
I looked at her.
She had stopped eating.
Her hands were in her lap.
“It's okay.”
“You sound mad.”
“I know.”
“Is Mommy in trouble?”
That question was unbearable.
Bianca's face crumpled.
She sat beside Lila.
“Sweetheart—”
I moved between them.
“Vincent.”
“No.”
She looked up at me.
“You're terrifying her.”
“So are you.”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I pressed the house intercom.
“Rosa.”
She appeared almost immediately.
“Take Lila upstairs.”
Lila began to protest.
“I want Daddy.”
“I'll come in ten minutes.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Rosa guided her away.
The sound of Lila's cane tapping gently across the floor stayed with me long after she disappeared.
When we were alone, I put the silver case on the table.
“Start talking.”
Bianca crossed her arms.
“They're mine.”
“We'll test them.”
Her eyes flickered.
There.
Again.
Fear.
I reached for my phone.
She spoke before I touched it.
“You can't send those to one of your people.”
“Why?”
“Because you won't trust the answer.”
“I'll send them to three independent labs.”
“Vincent—”
“What are they?”
She looked away.
I moved closer.
“I am giving you one opportunity to tell me the truth before I find it without you.”
Her voice dropped.
“You think you know everything.”
“I know my daughter's losing her sight.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
“And I know you lied about knowing Eli.”
“I panicked.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw the way you looked at me.”
“Why did he recognize you?”
She didn't answer.
“Bianca.”
“I gave him food once.”
That wasn't what Eli had said.
“When?”
“A month ago.”
“Where?”
“Behind the restaurant.”
My stomach tightened.
“You told him I was stealing,” I said.
“He had been hanging around.”
“So you did know him.”
“Yes.”
“Why lie?”
“Because the moment he accused me, you stopped being my husband.”
Her voice cracked.
“You became Vincent Moretti.”
I took that quietly.
Because it was true.
There had always been two versions of me.
The man my family knew.
And the man other people feared.
That afternoon they had collided.
Bianca wiped her cheek.
“I saw what you were thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
“That I hurt Lila.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Too instantly?
I no longer knew.
“Then why were you standing over her drink?”
“I was taking medicine.”
“With your hand above her glass?”
“Yes.”
“Why was the kitchen footage deleted?”
Her head snapped up.
“What footage?”
I watched her reaction carefully.
This one seemed genuine.
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“Someone removed recordings from nights when Lila's symptoms got worse.”
“I didn't.”
“Who has access?”
“You. Marco. Security.”
“And you.”
Bianca went silent.
I stepped away.
This was no longer a question of whether something was wrong.
Something was wrong.
The only uncertainty was who was responsible and why.
I picked up the silver case.
“I'll find out what these are.”
Bianca stared at it.
Then something unexpected happened.
She whispered, “Don't.”
I stopped.
She looked terrified.
“Why?”
Her lips trembled.
“Because if you start digging into this, you won't know where it ends.”
The room seemed colder.
“That sounds like a confession.”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“A warning.”
“From my wife?”
She looked toward the hallway, making sure Lila was gone.
Then she stepped closer.
“When you married me, you made me promise never to ask certain questions about your business.”
“I remember.”
“I kept that promise.”
“So?”
“So maybe there are things you don't know about mine.”
I stared at her.
Bianca had never had a business.
At least none that I knew about.
“What are you talking about?”
Before she could answer, my phone rang.
Marco again.
I considered ignoring it.
Then I saw the message attached to the call.
LAB CONTACT CONFIRMED. NEED YOU NOW.
I answered.
Marco spoke immediately.
“I found something else in the security system.”
“What?”
“An outside login.”
“From where?”
“I'm tracing it.”
“Whoever deleted the footage?”
“Looks that way.”
I turned toward Bianca.
“And?”
A long pause.
“The credentials belonged to somebody who's been dead for three years.”
That got my attention.
“Whose?”
Marco told me.
For the first time that evening, I forgot about the tablets.
The name belonged to a man I had once trusted with my life.
A man who had known every entrance to my house.
A man whose death had started a war we never fully understood.
And suddenly my daughter's illness looked connected to something far older than six months.
“Vincent?” Bianca whispered.
I ended the call.
She had clearly recognized the change in my expression.
“Who was it?”
I looked at my wife.
Then at the silver case in my hand.
“You tell me.”
Because the name Marco had just given me belonged to Bianca's older brother.
And if a dead man was somehow reaching into my home, the question was no longer simply what my wife had been putting into Lila's food.
May you like
It was who had taught her to do it.
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