All Chapters of VELVET GUN: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The thought of her even in serious situations marveled her. The crystal clinked first then came the slow, deliberate pour of aged wine into stemmed glasses, the scent of roasted rosemary lamb hanging heavy in the air, thick like the tension pressed between every eye around the table. Ellie sat at the far end of the long oak dining table in The Marchetti estate polished to a shine, lined with silver cutlery sharp enough to gut fish or feelings alike. She hated this room, always had. The paintings that stared too long, the silence between fork clinks, the expectation carved into every surface, every bite, every glass of Barolo and tonight, it all reeked worse than usual. 86 THE DINNER WASN’T FINE Because he was here, the Capetti boy; Giovanni Capetti clean-cut, chestnut-haired, dressed like money and manners and none of the things Ellie gave a damn about. He sat three seats to her left, next to the supposed woman who birthed Ellie a woman with pin straight silver hair and a face th

The rumors came in like perfume; soft, sweet, and impossible to ignore.In the halls of the Marchetti estate, nothing stayed secret for long, not even the kind of secret that happened behind tinted glass and moaned through fogged-up car windows.Whispers slipped between wine glasses at breakfast, echoed down linen covered hallways, curled beneath the heavy chandeliers in the ballroom.Did you hear? She was seen leaving Amy Moretti’s club. Not just seen; she looked wrecked, you know what I mean. The estate staff had no chill, and the daughters of the empire? Even less.But Elowen Marchetti was untouchable or at least she had been until Amy. Ellie twirled in her bedroom, bare feet sliding over the marble floor, her silk nightgown catching the late morning sun like smoke, the music was soft, some old jazz from the vinyl player her maid had rescued from the attic last winter. She didn’t care what was playing. She just wanted to move. To feel everything she felt last night still clinging to

Sometimes we get caught up in things we love and forget to ask questions, not until everything keeps happening all at once... Amy stood in the center of her private backroom dressed in black leather and ice cold determination. The club beyond buzzed half empty too dark, too intimate for a Wednesday night, but she liked it that way now. This was her sanctuary and she guarded it like a queen. In her fist was a crystal tumbler, swirling with cheap whiskey she didn’t taste the alcohol. Her ears were tuned to the distant whisper of heels on marble Ellie’s heels and the clink of fine china upstairs, at that dinner she probably didn’t belong at. The dinner that could destroy everything she’d built.She set the glass on the desk hard and paced toward a framed photo tucked in a drawer. She lifted it, it was Ellie, laughing in the club naked and defiant in Amy’s arms. No lipstick, no pearls just skin, just raw. Amy’s chest tight her phone buzzed; Car’s ready. She pressed it, fingers shaking. Sh

Quiet mansion, loud voices in the heart, a precious little one has been lost and you dare not make a sound The Marchetti mansion hadn’t heard laughter in weeks curtains were drawn, chandeliers dimmed, servants whispered in corners like ghosts afraid to breathe too loud. Outside, the wind rattled the gates. Inside, silence pressed down like grief itself. Giulia’s daughter was still missing, no ransom call, no witnesses, no clue just the blood soaked dress and that damned note: It just begun. No one had slept properly since, no guests came in, no one went out. Armed men patrolled the hallways even the kitchen staff looked like they were walking on broken glass. Tension bled through every corner of the house, turning warmth into dread. Ellie sat by the east wing window, staring out at the driveway, hoping for headlights that never came. Every night, she waited. Every night, she was disappointed Amy had vanished like smoke, like she never existed, her landline was dead, her club was lo

The love, the legacy marriage... all shattered... maybe the moonlit drive back to the Marchetti estate felt like a nightmare in motion. Water dripped from bowed clouds, downcasting the manicured lawns. The grand mansion loomed oppressive—gilded and silent, like a mausoleum made of secrets. Giulia had been pacing all evening, pale lipstick smeared over trembling lips. Her daughter remained missing, no trace, no ransom note, a shameful hole in the family, she hadn’t slept, she hadn’t eaten. Amy drove through the gates, the hired driver silent as a moon, until they reached the still‐lit door. Inside, Giulia’s mother the woman known for her iron will waited with guards around her. Her collarbone tensed in anger, dark circles under her eyes. But when she saw Amy step out of the car, something broke. Creaking inexorably, she fell to her knees in the marble hallway’s pale light. Amy, she said, voice brittle with desperation Please, you know what family means; you... you know her more than an