Chapter 2 - The Room That Wasn’t Empty
Elena Russo knew something was wrong the moment she opened the door to her hotel suite.
Nothing looked disturbed.
That was exactly what frightened her.
She had grown up with a father who had spent thirty-five years investigating financial crimes. Antonio Russo had taught his daughter that careless people left messes.
Professionals restored things.
Elena stood in the doorway.
Her suitcase remained on the luggage stand.
The curtains were half open.
Her laptop sat where she had left it.
A glass of water remained beside the bed.
But the small silver clasp on her suitcase faced left.
Elena always closed it facing right.
A tiny detail.
Meaningless to anyone else.
Not to her.
She stepped backward.
A hand closed around the door before she could retreat.
Elena spun.
Marco.
“Don’t go inside.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“What happened?”
“Come with me.”
“Marco.”
His eyes remained on the room.
“Now, Elena.”
She had never heard him use her first name like that.
No teasing.
No professionalism.
Only urgency.
She followed.
They took the service elevator instead of the main one. Marco checked the mirrored walls twice before pressing the button.
“Where’s Enzo?”
“Waiting downstairs.”
“Why?”
Marco looked at her.
“Because someone has been in your room.”
The elevator seemed to shrink.
“I know.”
Marco’s expression sharpened. “How?”
“My suitcase.”
“What about it?”
“The clasp was wrong.”
For the first time since she had met him, Marco looked impressed.
“You notice everything.”
“I work for Enzo Moretti. It’s a survival skill.”
Normally Marco would have smiled.
He didn’t.
The elevator opened into a private conference level.
Enzo waited inside an empty meeting room.
He had removed his watch and placed it on the table beside a photograph.
Elena entered.
The anger from the terrace was still there.
But now it belonged to a different emotion.
Fear.
Enzo Moretti was afraid.
That terrified her more than anything Marco could have said.
“What happened?”
Enzo slid the photograph toward her.
Elena looked down.
It was her.
Manhattan.
Six months earlier.
Then another.
Her bookstore.
Her apartment.
Her office.
Finally, the photograph with the red circle.
SHE IS HIS WEAKNESS.
Her stomach tightened.
“What is this?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
“You think I know?”
“No.”
“Then why do you sound like you’re interrogating me again?”
“Because I don’t know how else to ask questions when I’m worried.”
Silence.
Marco glanced at Enzo.
Enzo ignored him.
Elena slowly sat.
“Someone has been following me?”
“For at least six months.”
She looked at the photographs again.
“No.”
“Elena—”
“No. I would have noticed.”
“You noticed your suitcase clasp.”
“Exactly.”
“Professionals were watching you.”
Her face went pale.
Enzo regretted the sentence immediately.
He crouched beside her chair.
The gesture surprised Marco.
Enzo Moretti did not crouch beside people.
“Elena.”
She looked at him.
“I need you to think. Has anything unusual happened recently?”
“No.”
“Anything.”
She started to shake her head.
Then stopped.
Enzo saw it.
“What?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What happened?”
“My apartment building lost power.”
Marco leaned against the table.
“The whole building?”
“I thought so.”
“Did you verify?”
“No.”
Enzo and Marco exchanged a glance.
Elena continued.
“I came home around nine. The hallway lights were off. My door was unlocked.”
Enzo’s face changed.
“I assumed I had forgotten to lock it.”
“You never forget.”
“How would you know?”
He didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Marco asked, “Was anything missing?”
“No.”
“Moved?”
“I didn’t notice.”
Enzo stood.
“We’re leaving Monaco.”
Elena blinked.
“What?”
“Tonight.”
“I have presentations tomorrow.”
“Cancelled.”
“You cannot cancel a hundred-million-dollar acquisition meeting because somebody moved my shampoo.”
“It wasn’t shampoo.”
Enzo placed the transmitter on the table.
Elena stared.
“What is that?”
“A listening device.”
Her breathing changed.
Enzo noticed immediately.
He wanted to reach for her.
He didn’t.
Marco did something more useful.
“Your room is being swept now. We’ll know more soon.”
Elena pushed herself upright.
“I want my laptop.”
“No,” Enzo said.
“My work is on it.”
“You’ll get another.”
“My father gave me that laptop.”
Enzo paused.
Antonio Russo.
The name triggered something.
“How long has your father known we were in Monaco?”
“Since Sunday.”
“Who else?”
“No one.”
“Did he ask why?”
“He knows I travel for work.”
“What exactly did you tell him?”
Elena’s frustration returned.
“That I was attending the Moretti-Ventresca negotiations.”
Marco’s head lifted.
Enzo’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Elena looked between them.
“What?”
Enzo pulled out his phone.
He made one call.
“Check Antonio Russo. Everything from the last six months.”
Elena stood.
“No.”
Enzo ended the call.
“You’re not investigating my father.”
“I’m investigating everyone.”
“He’s seventy years old.”
“He spent thirty-five years investigating organized financial crime.”
“He’s retired.”
“So are half the dangerous men I know.”
“My father has nothing to do with this.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Elena stepped closer.
“Do you?”
The question caught him.
“Of course.”
“Because ten minutes ago you were angry that Marco touched my shoulder. Now someone puts a tracker in my room and suddenly you’re investigating my father.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“Why?”
Enzo stared at her.
Marco quietly walked toward the door.
Neither noticed.
“Why?” Elena repeated.
Enzo could have given her a dozen professional answers.
She was his employee.
She knew confidential information.
He had a duty to protect his staff.
All technically true.
None were the truth.
Instead he said, “Because the photograph says you’re my weakness.”
“And?”
“And I think whoever wrote it knows something I have spent two years refusing to admit.”
Elena stopped breathing.
Enzo took one step toward her.
His voice dropped.
“They’re right.”
The room became impossibly quiet.
“Elena, if something happened to you—”
Marco suddenly opened the door.
“Boss.”
Enzo turned.
Marco held a phone.
His expression had changed.
“What?”
“The security team found something.”
“Another device?”
“No.”
Marco looked at Elena.
“Your laptop is gone.”
Elena’s face drained.
“But there’s more.”
Marco handed Enzo the phone.
On the screen was security footage from the hotel corridor.
A man entered Elena’s suite at 8:12 that morning.
He wore a hotel maintenance uniform.
His face was partially visible.
Elena leaned closer.
Then froze.
“No.”
Enzo looked at her.
“You know him?”
She stepped backward.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Who is he?”
Her hands began trembling.
Enzo caught them.
This time he did not stop himself.
“Elena.”
She looked up at him.
“That man worked with my father.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“What was his name?”
“Daniel Vescari.”
Marco went silent.
Enzo did too.
Elena noticed.
“What?”
Enzo released her hands.
“Daniel Vescari died eight years ago.”
Elena stared at the image.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
Enzo nodded.
Elena answered.
“Hello?”
For three seconds there was only static.
Then a man spoke.
“Elena.”
She recognized the voice.
Her knees nearly gave way.
“Daniel?”
A soft laugh came through the phone.
“No.”
Elena’s face changed.
Because she recognized that voice too.
And it belonged to someone who was supposed to be even more impossible.
May you like
“Dad?”
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