Chapter 7: Mrs. Moretti

I didn’t sleep.

The message stayed on the bedside table long after I had read it, its words growing more unsettling each time I looked at them.

If Lucien gives you the ring, do not trust what it opens.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the symbol beneath the engraving. Sophia had drawn the same mark in one of her old notebooks. Back then, I assumed it was connected to one of her university projects. She often filled the corners of her pages with strange shapes whenever she was deep in thought.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

By three in the morning, I had searched every drawer in the bedroom, checked the wardrobe, inspected the balcony doors, and examined the ring beneath my phone’s light. Nothing had changed. The ring remained firmly on my finger, and the tiny symbol offered no clue about what it opened.

Eventually, I lay down without changing out of my dress.

Sleep came in short, restless stretches.

When I woke again, sunlight streamed through the curtains.

For several seconds, I forgot where I was.

Then I noticed the unfamiliar ceiling.

The Moretti house.

The wedding.

Sophia.

Lucien.

I sat up.

My dress was wrinkled from the night, and my hair had fallen loose around my shoulders. I reached for the ring without thinking.

It was still there.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

The woman from the previous evening entered with a breakfast tray.

“Good morning, Mrs. Moretti.”

I almost corrected her.

Instead, I watched as she placed the tray on the small table beside the window.

“What’s your name?”

“Mrs. Elena.”

“Do you work for Lucien?”

“I’ve worked for the Moretti family for twenty-seven years.”

Twenty-seven years.

That meant she knew things.

A lot of things.

“Then you knew his first wife?”

She stopped arranging the plates.

I waited.

“There has been no other wife.”

“Sophia.”

Something shifted in her expression.

“Miss Veyra.”

I gave her a faint smile.

“Not anymore, apparently.”

She glanced toward the open doorway, then lowered her voice.

“Your breakfast is ready.”

“Mrs. Elena.”

She hesitated.

“How long has Lucien been expecting me?”

Her hands went still.

“I don’t understand.”

“You do.”

She studied me carefully.

“You’re asking a lot of questions for this early in the morning.”

“I’m asking because no one gave me any answers last night.”

She picked up the empty tray from the chair.

“Some questions are safer left unasked.”

“That’s what people usually say when they know something.”

She gave me a tired look.

“You should be careful.”

“Of Lucien?”

“Of everyone.”

Before I could ask anything else, she left.

I stared at the closed door.

That hadn’t been a warning about one person.

It had been a warning about the entire house.

I showered, changed into one of the outfits laid out in the wardrobe, and tucked the note from my wedding dress into my bag. Then I slipped a small lock-picking tool into the inner pocket.

Old habits.

They had kept me alive before.

They would probably do the same here.

By the time I went downstairs, the house was already awake. Staff moved quietly through the corridors, carrying trays and speaking in low voices. Two men stood near the main entrance, while another sat in the adjoining room, pretending to read a newspaper.

No one looked relaxed.

I followed the sound of voices until I reached the dining room.

Lucien sat at the head of the table.

He had changed into a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Several documents lay spread before him, and his phone rested beside his plate.

Cassian sat across from him.

Both men stopped talking when I entered.

Cassian looked at me for a moment before standing.

“Mrs. Moretti.”

“Mr. DeLuca.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“You remembered my name.”

“I remember people who watch me.”

Lucien looked up from the documents.

“Sit.”

I pulled out the chair across from him.

“I can do that without permission.”

“I know.”

A plate was set in front of me.

I glanced at the food but didn’t touch it.

“Where is my family?”

“At home.”

“Are they safe?”

“Yes.”

“And Sophia?”

Lucien continued reading.

“I don’t have her.”

“Then who does?”

He set the document down.

“I told you last night. I don’t know.”

“You also told me you were trying to find her.”

“I am.”

“How?”

“Cassian is handling it.”

Cassian glanced at me.

“We have people searching the places she might have gone.”

“Might have gone?”

“We’re working with limited information.”

I looked at him.

“Then give me access to everything you have.”

Lucien leaned back slightly.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not trained for this.”

I gave him a long look.

He knew exactly how false that was.

“That’s interesting.”

“What is?”

“You watched me fight. Remember?”

Cassian glanced between us.

Lucien remained calm.

“Fighting and investigating are two different things.”

“I’m a private investigator.”

Silence fell.

Cassian’s expression shifted.

Lucien didn’t look surprised.

That was almost worse.

“You already knew that, too,” I said.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I have a file on you.”

The words were simple.

Their effect was anything but.

I set my fork down.

“How detailed?”

“Very.”

“What does it contain?”

“Your education. Your training. Your investigations. The people you’ve worked with. The cases you turned down and the ones you never told your family about.”

My chair scraped softly against the floor as I leaned forward.

“How long have you had it?”

“Three years.”

I stared at him.

Three years.

Someone had been tracking my life while I was busy believing I was the one tracking everyone else’s.

“Why?”

“Because you were getting close to something.”

“What?”

“I’m still trying to find that out.”

His answer irritated me, but beneath the irritation was something more useful.

He didn’t know everything.

For the first time since entering the Moretti house, I felt as though I had found a weakness.

Lucien knew about me.

But he didn’t know everything.

That meant I still had something he wanted.

I reached for my coffee.

“Then perhaps we should make a deal.”

Cassian glanced at Lucien.

Lucien waited.

“You give me access to everything you know about Sophia, and I’ll tell you what I know about the investigation I was working on before the wedding.”

“What investigation?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re willing to stop treating me like a prisoner.”

Lucien remained silent.

I took a sip of coffee.

Suddenly, the dining room doors opened.

A man hurried inside and walked over to Cassian. He bent down and whispered something in his ear.

Cassian’s entire posture changed.

Lucien noticed.

“What happened?”

Cassian straightened.

“We found the car.”

I set my cup down.

“Sophia’s?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

“About forty miles outside the city.”

“Was she inside?”

“No.”

“Was there any blood?”

Cassian hesitated.

Lucien’s attention shifted to him.

“Answer her.”

“No blood.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“What was inside?”

Cassian glanced at Lucien before looking back at me.

“Her phone.”

My chair scraped backward.

“Where was it?”

“Under the driver’s seat.”

“Was it damaged?”

“No.”

“Then she left it there deliberately.”

“Maybe,” Lucien said as he stood.

I looked at him.

“What else?”

Cassian reached into his jacket and placed a small transparent evidence bag on the table.

Inside was a folded piece of paper.

I stared at it.

“That was found in the car.”

“Open it.”

Cassian shook his head.

“It’s addressed to you.”

My eyes moved to Lucien.

He said nothing.

Cassian placed the bag in front of me.

I picked it up carefully.

Only four words were written across the paper:

You were never the replacement.