Chapter 2

Sealing the Moretti estate was easier than I expected. Luca gave one order, and the guards locked every exit.

I had been the Don's wife for thirty years, yet even the smallest decision had required his approval. He had not inherited the family yet, and I was only the overlooked second daughter of the Vitales. Still, one sentence from him made the entire estate obey me. It was useful. I did not mistake usefulness for kindness.

The guests were divided into three groups. The women remained in the ballroom. The family heads were taken to the sitting room. Everyone else surrendered coats, phones, and weapons. Marco sealed the kitchen and wine cellar. Twenty minutes later, he returned with bad news. Paolo, the wine steward, was dead.

His body lay at the back of the cellar, his neck broken from behind. He had died before I fired the first shot.

"Convenient. Clean. And he can't talk." Luca sat on the study sofa, his voice still rough from the drugs. "A scapegoat prepared in advance."

Dr. Rossi had ordered him to bed. Instead, Luca changed into a clean shirt, leaving only a square of bloodstained cotton visible beneath his cuff. He had always hated letting anyone see weakness. Even when he was young.

"Where is the camera?" I asked.

Marco placed the device on the desk.

"The memory card is missing. There was no wireless transmitter in the room, so the footage probably hasn't left the estate."

The card had to be somewhere inside. If its contents were released, neither family would let the matter go. Luca raised his eyes to me.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I saw enough upstairs. Someone drugged you and prepared to record what happened."

The study went quiet. Father sat at the far end of the long table, his expression dark.

"Mind your words."

"You should be more concerned about what your daughter nearly drank."

Father planted a hand on the table. Luca spoke first.

"Enzo. Let her finish."

"You knew where to find Rossi. You knew Isabella was pregnant. You knew there was a camera in Room 217. Explain."

I had known the question would come. He had interrogated me the same way after my sister died. I knelt before him then and said again and again that I did not know. He had not believed a word. Now I knew too much, but I had no way to explain where the memories came from.

"The roses in the planter changed color, so I suspected the wine. Rossi always sits near the kitchen at banquets because he hates cigar smoke. As for Isabella--"

I turned to my sister.

"She has refused every alcoholic drink lately, and she sent a maid to buy folic acid."

Isabella pressed her lips together but did not deny it. The explanations were imperfect, but true enough. Luca kept watching me.

"And the camera?"

"The painting was crooked. It looked as if someone had moved it recently."

Luca studied me for a moment, plainly unconvinced. Once, I would have analyzed every shift in his expression. Now I did not care what he thought. The study door opened. A guard entered carrying my handbag.

"Sir, we found this in Miss Vitale's bag."

An empty glass vial lay in a clear evidence pouch. Dr. Rossi took it, smelled it once, and immediately sealed it again.

"Same odor as the drug in the wine."

Father shot to his feet.

"Serafina!"

He swung at me. Luca caught his wrist before the blow landed. He had barely recovered from the drug, but his fingers closed firmly around the bone. Father tried to wrench free and failed. Luca did not look at him. His eyes stayed on me.

"Who had your bag?"

"Before the banquet, Father gave it to a maid for safekeeping."

"Are you accusing your own father?"

"I'm answering your question."

Only after Luca released him did Father pull his arm away.

"She's insane. She has always envied Isabella for this engagement. Now that her scheme has failed, she wants to blame me."

After Isabella died, Father had said the same thing: I had loved Luca since childhood, resented my sister, and entered that room on purpose. I used to think he had blamed me only because he was desperate to protect the family. Now the accusation sounded rehearsed.

"She doesn't envy me," Isabella said.

Everyone turned toward her. She removed the engagement ring from her finger and set it on the table.

"At least, she didn't tonight. I hid my pregnancy. I received a threat and insisted on holding the banquet anyway. Serafina saved me. She saved Luca too."

Father's voice cracked across the room. "Put the ring back on."

My sister's hand trembled, but she did not move. I had never seen her defy him this openly. Luca picked up the ring and closed it in his palm.

"The engagement is suspended."

"Luca, our families have already--"

"Someone threatened my child, drugged my wine, and installed a camera at the scene." Luca looked up. "The engagement waits until we know the truth."

He held out a hand to Marco. Marco gave him my bag and the glass vial. Luca searched the lining himself and pulled a scrap of white paper from the stitching. It was not mine. Half of a dark red emblem had been printed on it: a snake coiled around a key. I knew that symbol.

In my first life, a ring of white roses from the St. Agatha Benevolent Society had stood beside my sister's coffin. The same seal marked their ribbons. The society's chairman was Luca's uncle, Salvatore Moretti.

I raised my head.

Salvatore stood in the doorway. He was sixty, his silver hair combed straight back without a strand out of place. When he noticed everyone looking, he offered a kindly, puzzled smile.

"It seems I've missed the important part."

He approached Luca and patted his shoulder like a concerned uncle.

"Are you all right?"

Luca did not answer. I said nothing about the emblem either. Half a mark was not enough to accuse a family elder, especially while the vial remained in my bag. Salvatore's calm entrance meant he had prepared for this. Marco's phone rang.

He listened for a few seconds. His expression darkened.

"Sir, we found a letter in Paolo's locker."

He handed the phone to Luca.

The screen showed a sheet of paper unfolded across a table.

My name was signed at the bottom.

Serafina Vitale.