Chapter 2
The estate changed its breathing.
That was the only way I could describe it.
Doors locked.
Guards moved.
Phones buzzed.
Marco spoke into an earpiece with his jaw clenched.
Rosa stood at the breakfast-room window, one hand on her cane, looking like she wanted to personally interrogate the shrubbery.
Lorenzo said nothing for a full minute.
That was worse than shouting.
He turned the photos over one by one.
Six women.
Six backs marked with dates.
Bianca.
Serena.
Marisol.
Claire.
Evelyn.
Daphne.
I knew those names because gossip had delivered them to me before luggage did.
The women who left.
The women who were frightened away.
The women who knew.
I waited for Lorenzo to explain.
He didn’t.
So I asked, “What am I supposed to know?”
His hand stopped on Bianca’s picture.
“That depends on who sent this.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
“At least we agree.”
Marco cleared his throat.
“Kitchen camera lost eight minutes.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“When?”
“Between six twelve and six twenty this morning.”
“That’s when the envelope appeared,” I said.
Marco nodded.
“The system shows no entry.”
Rosa tapped her cane once.
“Then the system is lying.”
Lorenzo looked at Marco.
“Pull internal access logs.”
“Already doing it.”
I picked up Bianca’s photo.
She looked younger in it.
Still perfect.
Still smiling.
But her eyes were scared.
“When did she leave?”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“Two years ago.”
“Why?”
“She said she was afraid of me.”
The room went quiet.
I looked at the photograph again.
“Were you angry?”
“Yes.”
“At her?”
“At myself.”
That answer unsettled me more than denial would have.
Rosa stepped closer.
“Bianca did not leave because Lorenzo hurt her.”
Lorenzo’s eyes cut to his grandmother.
“Nonna.”
“No,” Rosa said. “The girl deserves more than silence if someone is putting threats beside her coffee.”
I looked at her.
“What happened?”
Rosa’s mouth pressed thin.
“Bianca was found in the east garden at dawn. Barefoot. Shaking. She claimed Lorenzo had locked her in the wine room.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did he?”
“No,” Lorenzo said.
His voice was flat.
Too controlled.
“I was in New York that night.”
“Then why did people believe her?”
“Because a video showed me entering the wine room with her.”
I stared.
“But you were in New York.”
“Exactly.”
Marco handed him a tablet.
“The access logs are corrupted.”
Lorenzo took it.
His face did not change, but Marco stepped back.
That told me enough.
I sat down before my knees decided to embarrass me again.
“So someone faked evidence.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“And Bianca left before I could prove it.”
Rosa’s eyes softened.
“She was not the first.”
I looked at the other photos.
“All six?”
Lorenzo did not answer.
That was answer enough.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text.
You are funnier than the others. That will not save you.
Attached was a photo of me in the kitchen the night before.
Lorenzo catching me.
His hands at my waist.
My hands on his chest.
The almost-kiss.
My skin went cold.
Marco swore.
Lorenzo’s face went deadly still.
“Who has access to kitchen cameras?”
Marco answered, “Security, house office, and you.”
“Who else?”
“Rosa, Edna, and estate technical support.”
Rosa’s eyes narrowed.
“Edna has served this family thirty years.”
“So did Judas,” Marco muttered.
Rosa pointed her cane at him.
“Do not compare my housekeeper to Bible betrayal unless you want to eat standing.”
Even terrified, I almost laughed.
Then another text arrived.
Ask Lorenzo what happened to woman number three.
Marisol.
The woman in the red dress.
I turned the photo over.
Her date was three years ago.
Lorenzo reached for it.
I pulled it back.
“No.”
His eyes lifted.
“No?”
“If someone wants me scared, I want information.”
His gaze held mine.
Then he nodded once.
“Marisol claimed I threatened her brother.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Was her brother threatened?”
“Yes.”
“By who?”
“We never found out.”
My phone rang before he finished.
Unknown number.
Lorenzo reached for it.
I held up a hand.
“I answer my own phone.”
His mouth tightened, but he stopped.
I accepted the call.
A woman whispered, “Amelia Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Get out before they use your ex.”
My pulse jumped.
“Who is this?”
“You saw my picture.”
“Marisol?”
Silence.
Then, “He is not the monster. But the house is full of ghosts wearing uniforms.”
The line died.
I stared at the phone.
Lorenzo looked at me.
“What did she say?”
I repeated it.
Marco went still at the word uniforms.
Rosa’s face changed.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at Lorenzo.
“Your father’s old guards.”
Lorenzo’s father, Vittorio Duca, had died six years earlier.
Everyone spoke his name like a warning.
Lorenzo turned to Marco.
“How many of my father’s men still work inside the estate?”
“Four.”
Rosa whispered, “Five.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Who?”
She closed her eyes.
“Bianca’s father.”
The room froze.
I looked at Bianca’s photo.
“What does that mean?”
Rosa opened her eyes.
“Bianca Romano was not just a bride candidate. Her father was your grandfather’s driver.”
Lorenzo’s face drained of color.
“No.”
“Yes,” Rosa said. “And he disappeared the same week Bianca left.”
My phone buzzed again.
A final text.
If you want the truth, check the old chapel before midnight. Come alone, Mrs. Carter, or Ethan gets the next envelope.
My ex-fiancé’s name stared up from the screen.
Ethan.
The man who knew exactly how to make me feel small.
May you like
The man I had finally escaped.
And someone inside Lorenzo’s house knew enough to bring him back.
