Chapter 6 - The Woman in the Red Dress
By the end of the week, the broken engagement was public.
Not the reason.
Only the result.
Chicago society pages wrote that Luca Moretti and Vanessa Bellini had “mutually postponed” their wedding.
Nothing about Bruno.
Nothing about the forged documents.
Nothing about me.
Luca wanted it that way.
Vanessa did not.
Her first public statement appeared Saturday morning.
She claimed emotional incompatibility.
Then anonymous sources began describing Luca as controlling.
Possessive.
Dangerous.
By Sunday, photographs of Vanessa crying outside her brother’s apartment appeared online.
The caption called her “the devastated former bride.”
Mrs. Carter showed me the article.
“Don’t read comments.”
I read them.
Big mistake.
People who had never entered the Moretti estate had strong opinions.
Some called Vanessa brave.
Some called Luca heartless.
A few said I must have been his mistress.
That one made me almost drop my phone.
I avoided Luca all day.
Not because I believed the rumors.
Because I didn’t know whether he had seen them.
He found me in the pantry that evening.
“You’re hiding.”
“No.”
“You’ve reorganized the same shelf three times.”
I looked at the canned tomatoes.
He was right.
“I’m working.”
“Emma.”
I sighed.
“People online think I broke up your engagement.”
“People online also think my house has twenty-seven bedrooms.”
“How many does it have?”
“Twenty-three.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Luca smiled.
It was the first time I had seen him look almost relaxed.
Then he held out his phone.
A new article.
Vanessa had given an interview.
She never named me.
She didn’t need to.
She described “an employee who became emotionally attached to Luca.”
She claimed that employee fabricated allegations after being disciplined.
My face burned.
“She’s lying.”
“I know.”
“She’s making me look—”
“I know.”
“My mother could see this.”
“I know.”
That stopped me.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing publicly.”
I stared.
“Nothing?”
“Victor Hale wants noise.”
“What?”
“The more public conflict we create, the easier it becomes to bury whatever he and Vanessa were actually doing.”
“You’re letting her lie.”
“For now.”
I hated that answer.
Luca saw it.
“You have every right to be angry.”
“I don’t care what strangers think.”
“That sentence has never been true for anyone.”
I looked away.
He continued.
“We’re collecting evidence.”
“Of the theft?”
“More.”
Daniel entered.
“Much more.”
He placed a laptop on the pantry counter.
Victor Hale had worked as a corporate intelligence contractor.
Unofficially.
His specialty was creating pressure.
Scandals.
Leaked records.
False narratives.
Information that could damage companies during acquisitions.
“Who hired him?” I asked.
“We don’t know,” Daniel said.
“But Vanessa worked with him?”
“For at least eight months.”
He opened a folder.
Photographs.
Luca entering restaurants.
Luca meeting attorneys.
Luca visiting his mother’s grave.
Someone had followed him.
My skin crawled.
Then a photograph appeared of the Moretti estate kitchen.
Taken through a window.
I was in it.
Serving coffee.
“That’s me.”
Luca’s face hardened.
Another photograph.
Me walking to the bus stop.
Another.
Me outside the hospital with my mother.
I stepped backward.
“Why would they photograph me?”
Daniel answered carefully.
“Leverage.”
The threat about my mother had not been random.
Vanessa knew exactly where my mother received treatment.
Where I lived.
What time I traveled.
My knees weakened.
Luca caught my arm.
“You’re staying here tonight.”
“I have an apartment.”
“You’re staying here.”
“My mother—”
“Daniel already sent someone.”
I stared at him.
“You sent security to my mother?”
“To offer transportation here.”
I should have been angry.
Instead I was terrified enough to feel grateful.
At 8:17 my mother arrived.
Luca greeted her personally.
She looked from him to me.
Then at my bandaged shoulder.
“Emma.”
“I’m okay.”
“What happened?”
I told her enough.
Not everything.
She hugged me carefully.
Later that night, while I helped settle her into a guest room, she looked around the enormous suite.
“This is your employer’s house?”
“Yes.”
“He seems decent.”
“He is.”
She gave me a look mothers have used since the beginning of time.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“Be careful, Emma.”
“I will.”
“No. I mean with powerful people.”
I knew what she meant.
The next morning, Daniel discovered a hidden camera.
Not outside.
Inside.
It had been placed in a smoke detector overlooking Luca’s study.
The memory card contained weeks of footage.
Vanessa entering after midnight.
Photographing documents.
Searching drawers.
And on one recording, Victor Hale himself stepped into the room.
Vanessa let him in.
The date?
The same night Bruno had carried the velvet jewelry pouch into the kitchen.
Suddenly we knew exactly what the old dog had interrupted.
And on the final recording, Victor looked directly toward the hidden camera.
Then said:
“After the wedding, Moretti won’t know what hit him.”
May you like
Vanessa laughed.
“He won’t even know it came from me.”
