Chapter 2 - THE BLOOD ON THE MARBLEThe silence in the room stretched so thin it felt as though it would snap.
I stared at Alessandro, my mind spinning into chaos. The only woman he ever loved? I was just Sarah Bennett—a widowed housekeeper from Liverpool who took a job in Milan to escape a mountain of debt after my husband died in a suspicious car crash two years ago. I had barely spoken twenty words to Alessandro Moretti in the two years I worked at Villa Moretti.
Vivian’s eyes widened in sheer horror. "What... what are you talking about? She’s a servant! A nobody!"
"She is Arthur Bennett's widow," Alessandro said coldly. "And Arthur Bennett was my brother in everything but blood."
My breath caught in my throat. Arthur? My late husband? He was an accountant! He worked for a logistics firm in London! He had nothing to do with the Italian underworld—or so I had believed.
"Arthur was the one who built the cipher for our family's assets," Don Ricci said, his heavy voice breaking the spell. He slowly rose from his chair, his aged face drawn in deep lines. "If the Russians have the cipher, they don't just have Genoa. They have all of us."
Vivian laughed wildly, a frantic, unhinged sound. "You're too late! The transmission already finished ten minutes ago! The rabbit picked up everything you said in the study before dinner! The Russian syndicate knows the coordinates of the vault!"
Alessandro didn't panic. He slowly pulled out his phone, checked the screen, and then raised his eyes to Vivian with cold pity.
"Did you really think I didn't know about the transmitter?" Alessandro asked softly.
Vivian’s laughter died in her throat.
"I let you keep that wire on the rabbit because for three weeks, I’ve been feeding it false codes," Alessandro continued. "The coordinates your Russian handlers just received aren't for my vault in Genoa. They are for the Interpol strike team currently waiting at the docks."
Outside Villa Moretti, distant sirens began to wail, cutting through the night air.
Vivian dropped the detonator. It clattered uselessly onto the Persian rug, right next to the spilled orange juice.
"Take her down to the cellar," Alessandro ordered without looking at her. "We will find out who paid her before the sun rises."
"Alessandro! No! Please! Don Ricci, help me!" Vivian screamed as two guards dragged her, kicking and screaming, down the service staircase. Her red dress dragged across the marble, leaving a trail of ruined silk.
The remaining bosses in the room began whispering furiously, picking up their coats and preparing to leave as the gravity of the bust sank in. Don Ricci walked over to Alessandro, patted his shoulder heavily, and glanced at me with dark, unreadable eyes.
"Protect the girl, Alessandro," Don Ricci said in a low tone. "If the Russians realize they've been tricked, they won't come for you first. They'll come for Arthur's child."
When the grand hall finally cleared, the heavy oak doors were locked from the inside. The chandeliers flickered as a storm began to rumble outside over the mountains of Lombardy.
I was left standing in the center of the vast, empty room, clutching Emma, who was fast asleep against my shoulder, still holding her blue rabbit.
Alessandro walked over to us. The intimidating mafia Don was gone; in his place stood a man carrying a heavy, invisible weight.
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"Sarah," he said, his voice raw. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"Who was my husband, Alessandro?" I demanded, my voice shaking with rage and fear. "And why did you tell her I was the woman you loved?"
