Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO DIED TWICEThe man in the footage was impossible.
At least, according to every record Daniel could find.
Frank Bellini had died twelve years ago.
A heart attack.
Funeral.
Cremation.
Death certificate.
Medical report.
Photographs.
Yet someone with his face had just walked through the Moretti mansion.
Anthony wouldn't stop shaking.
“I told you,” he said. “You don't understand.”
Luca stared at him.
“Start making me understand.”
Anthony closed his eyes.
“When my father was alive, he worked for your father.”
“As what?”
“Security.”
Daniel frowned.
“Private security?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would he kill him?”
“Because he wasn't really security.”
Anthony looked at me.
“He was one of the men your father's criminal associates used to move money.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“Then why was his death faked?”
Anthony shook his head.
“It wasn't.”
“What?”
“My father died.”
“Then who is the man?”
“I don't know.”
That answer scared me more than anything else.
Luca turned toward the footage.
“Find Maria.”
Daniel nodded.
But before he left, Bruno began barking.
The dog was standing beside the study door.
He scratched at the wood.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Luca opened it.
Bruno ran directly to Vivian's old writing desk.
He sniffed the lower drawer.
Then scratched.
Luca opened it.
Nothing.
Bruno scratched harder.
Daniel checked the drawer.
Still nothing.
I noticed something.
The desk leg.
There was a small groove in the floor beneath it.
“Move the desk.”
Luca and Daniel pushed.
The heavy desk shifted.
A narrow metal compartment was built into the floor.
Luca stared.
There was no lock.
Only a circular indentation shaped exactly like a dog tag.
He looked at Bruno's collar.
The tag was gone.
Then he looked at me.
“The key.”
Anthony's eyes widened from across the room.
“You found it.”
Luca reached inside his pocket.
He had removed the brass key from the west wing earlier.
He inserted it.
The compartment opened.
Inside was a metal box.
And on top of it sat an old cassette labeled:
SEPTEMBER 13.
Luca inserted the cassette into Vivian's recorder.
A man's voice filled the room.
Luca's father.
“If anyone finds this, I'm already dead.”
Luca stopped breathing.
His father continued.
“Vivian, you were right. They know about the ledger.”
A woman's voice answered.
“Then leave the city.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because Luca is being watched.”
Luca clenched his fists.
Then another voice entered the recording.
Vanessa.
Much younger.
“I can help you.”
Luca looked at Anthony.
Anthony whispered,
“She was there.”
The tape continued.
Vanessa said,
“Trust me.”
Luca's father answered,
“I trusted your family once. Never again.”
There was a crash.
A gunshot.
Then silence.
Luca's face became white.
The tape resumed.
His father's final words were barely audible.
“Bruno saw who entered the room.”
I looked at the dog.
Bruno stared at the recorder.
The tape stopped.
Luca opened the metal box.
Inside was an old ledger.
Hundreds of pages.
Names.
Payments.
Company accounts.
Dates.
One page had been circled.
At the top:
BELLINI HOLDINGS.
Underneath:
Recipient: Vanessa Bellini.
Luca's face tightened.
“It's her.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Boss, keep reading.”
At the bottom of the page was another name.
Vivian Moretti.
And another.
Luca Moretti.
Luca stared.
His own name appeared next to a transaction dated thirteen years ago.
A payment made after he had allegedly left Chicago.
He looked at Daniel.
“I never received this.”
“I know.”
The next line made my blood run cold.
PAYMENT FOR SURVEILLANCE OF EMMA CARTER.
My name.
I stared at the page.
“I don't understand.”
Luca looked at me.
“I don't either.”
Daniel flipped through the ledger.
There were dozens of entries.
For years.
My name appeared repeatedly.
Long before I had ever worked at the mansion.
Someone had been paying to watch me.
The last entry was dated only three days ago.
TARGET: EMMA CARTER.
STATUS: ACTIVE.
INSTRUCTION: DO NOT LET HER REMEMBER.
I looked at Luca.
“Remember what?”
Before he could answer, every security alarm in the mansion began screaming.
May you like
Then the lights went out.
And Bruno disappeared.
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