Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Wanted Renata Gone
The first thing I learned about Elena Marino was that she apologized too much.
She apologized when Isabella spilled juice.
She apologized when Pino jumped onto a guest-room sofa beside the child.
She apologized when I told her to sit down.
She even apologized because Isabella had fallen asleep with her head against my dog.
That last one irritated me.
Not because of the child.
Because Elena kept looking at me as though I were waiting for a reason to punish her.
“Stop apologizing.”
She immediately said, “Sorry.”
I stared at her.
She closed her eyes.
“That one doesn’t count.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
It was brief.
Unexpected.
Elena looked startled.
I probably did too.
We were in the small upstairs sitting room overlooking the south garden.
Isabella slept on the sofa.
Pino lay on the floor beside her, his head resting near her shoes.
The stuffed rabbit was tucked under the child’s chin.
I had asked Elena to tell me everything she remembered about the past week.
She had little.
That bothered me.
Nothing suspicious.
No unexplained arguments.
No known reason for Renata to target her.
“Why did you take this job?”
The question surprised her.
“My husband died two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
She looked toward Isabella.
“He left medical bills. Rent. Other things. I worked at a hotel for a while, but the hours were bad for Bella. This job paid better.”
“You live nearby?”
“In one of the apartments behind the old church.”
I knew the area.
Small.
Safe.
Expensive for someone on her salary.
“Renata hired you?”
“Yes.”
That was interesting.
“How long ago?”
“Eight months.”
“What changed recently?”
Elena thought.
“Nothing.”
“There’s always something.”
She frowned.
Then her eyes shifted.
“What?”
“Last week, Renata asked me about you.”
“What did she ask?”
“Whether you ever came downstairs late at night.”
I waited.
“Why?”
“She said she was arranging staff schedules.”
“That’s not why.”
Elena nodded.
“I know that now.”
“What else?”
“She asked whether you opened your own mail.”
My attention sharpened.
“What did you say?”
“That Mr. Carlo usually places correspondence on your office desk.”
“Did she ask about specific letters?”
“One.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know. She described the envelope.”
My posture changed.
“How?”
“Cream paper. Dark green seal.”
I knew exactly what that was.
My mother’s former attorney used green wax seals.
He had died years ago.
His firm still used them for private family correspondence.
“Did you see such an envelope?”
Elena nodded.
“When?”
“Monday.”
“Where?”
“On the foyer table. A courier delivered it while Mr. Carlo was outside.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know. Renata told me she would take it to your office.”
It never reached me.
I stood.
“Stay here.”
Elena looked worried.
“Where are you going?”
“To find my mail.”
I stepped into the hallway.
Marco, my security chief, met me near the stairs.
“Gates are closed.”
“Any complaints?”
“Mr. Marchetti threatened to call his attorney.”
“Good.”
Marco almost smiled.
“We also checked the security system.”
“And?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“When do I?”
“The east office camera was disabled manually.”
“By whom?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Inside or remotely?”
“Inside the security panel.”
I stopped.
That panel was behind a locked utility door.
“Who has access?”
“Me. Carlo. Two senior guards.”
“And Renata?”
“No.”
“Adrian?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then either somebody gave her access or somebody else disabled it.”
Marco nodded.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“The camera wasn’t the only one.”
He handed me a tablet.
A map of the estate security system appeared.
Three cameras highlighted in red.
East office corridor.
Service stairwell.
Mail foyer.
All three covered routes that could connect the missing letter, the stolen clock, and Renata.
“How long?”
“Intermittently for six days.”
“Someone wanted blind spots.”
“Looks that way.”
“Can we recover the footage?”
“Maybe.”
“Make ‘maybe’ become yes.”
Marco nodded.
I turned toward the east wing.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“You want backup?”
“No.”
“You always say no.”
“And yet you keep asking.”
“Job security.”
I walked into the east conference room.
Vittorio stood at the window.
Adrian Marchetti sat beside his attorney.
His daughter, Sofia, was not there.
That itself was strange.
A marriage negotiation without the woman supposedly getting married.
Adrian looked annoyed.
“You locked the gates.”
“Yes.”
“Open them.”
“No.”
My uncle sighed.
“Lorenzo.”
I ignored him.
“Adrian, where is Sofia?”
His expression shifted slightly.
“At home.”
“Why?”
“She felt unwell.”
“She’s expected to marry me but couldn’t attend the meeting deciding how?”
“This is business.”
“No. Apparently it’s my life.”
I sat opposite him.
“Do you know Renata Bellini?”
“No.”
Lie.
Fast.
Bad.
I leaned back.
“You sure?”
“Why would I know your housekeeper?”
“She looked at you downstairs.”
“I look at many people.”
“She looked afraid.”
His mouth tightened.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe.”
I placed the antique clock on the table.
His eyes dropped to it.
The reaction lasted less than a second.
But it was enough.
“You recognize this?”
“No.”
Another lie.
I opened the hidden compartment.
Then turned the clock so he could see the engraving.
M. Marchetti.
His face changed.
Vittorio stepped closer.
“What is that?”
Adrian stayed silent.
I repeated the name.
“M. Marchetti.”
My uncle stared.
“Who is M?”
Adrian stood.
“This meeting is over.”
“No.”
“It is for me.”
I remained seated.
“You walk out now, the marriage agreement disappears.”
He stopped.
Good.
People revealed themselves when losing leverage became possible.
“You would throw away thirty years of cooperation over a household theft?”
“There it is.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You knew about the theft.”
“Everyone knows.”
“No. Everyone does not.”
Silence.
Vittorio turned toward Adrian.
“What exactly is happening?”
I closed the clock.
“Someone stole this, planted it in a maid’s locker, removed a photograph hidden inside, intercepted private legal correspondence, and disabled three security cameras.”
Adrian’s face had become expressionless.
“Then call the police.”
“That’s what an innocent man would say.”
He gave me a cold smile.
“Careful.”
“I am.”
My uncle stepped between us.
“Enough.”
I looked at him.
“Did you know about the green-sealed letter?”
Confusion appeared.
“What letter?”
“From my mother’s old law firm.”
“No.”
I believed him.
That narrowed things.
Adrian walked toward the door.
Marco appeared outside before he reached it.
Not threatening.
Just present.
Adrian looked at me.
“You cannot keep me here.”
“You’re free to leave.”
“Then tell him to move.”
“I didn’t tell him to stand there.”
Marco smiled faintly.
Adrian understood.
He turned back.
“This is insane.”
“Probably.”
I rose.
“But until five minutes ago, I thought someone framed a housekeeper because of petty jealousy.”
I held up the clock.
“Now I think someone is trying to keep me from learning why my mother hid your family name inside this.”
His face went pale.
Not angry.
Pale.
That mattered.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Duca.”
A woman’s voice came through.
Shaking.
Quiet.
“Mr. Duca?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Sofia Marchetti.”
Everyone in the room froze.
I looked at Adrian.
His eyes widened.
Sofia continued.
“My father told you I was sick.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not.”
Adrian moved toward me.
“Hang up.”
That was confirmation enough.
I stepped away.
“Where are you?”
Sofia began crying.
“I left home this morning.”
“Why?”
“Because I found something in my father’s safe.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What photograph?”
She took a shaky breath.
“A woman standing beside your mother.”
I looked at the empty compartment in the clock.
Then at Adrian.
Sofia whispered the next words.
“My father told me that woman never existed.”
She paused.
May you like
“But she has my face.”
---
