Chapter 2 - THE WHISPER IN THE MARBLE HALLWAYThe heavy mahogany doors of the Moretti study clicked shut, sealing out the hum of the estate’s security grid. Outside, the night air was biting, but inside, the temperature felt absolute zero.
Aleandro Moretti did not look like a man who had cheated death three hours prior. Standing over six feet tall, draped in a charcoal tailored suit that couldn't completely mask the sharp angle of his collarbone, his silver-streaked hair fell across a forehead beaded with cold sweat. His dark eyes—eyes that had sentenced men to unmarked graves without a second flicker of emotion—were locked onto the small, trembling form sitting on his leather sofa.
Emma clutched her pink rabbit backpack so tightly her knuckles looked like porcelain.
“Look at me, little one,” Aleandro said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that usually made capos twice his size check their posture. He crouched down until his eyes met hers, ignoring the twinge in his throat where the needle had pierced his skin. “Who gave you the candy?”
Emma shook her head violently, her dark pigtails whipping against her cheeks. “Not candy. It was a shiny stick. But… but that’s not what I saw before.”
“Before?”
“Before the man fell.” Emma’s lower lip quivered. She leaned forward, lowering her voice as if sharing a state secret. “The man with the pocket watch. The one who smells like lemons and old paper.”
Aleandro’s blood ran instantly cold. The lemons and old paper.
There was only one person in this compound who wore vintage citrus cologne and handled the estate's sprawling archival ledgers.
Vincent Moretti. His own flesh and blood. His nephew.
“Vincent?” Aleandro breathed, the word tasting like copper and ash.
Before Emma could answer, the door flew open. Vincent strode into the study, his expression a masterpiece of calculated concern, a silver tray in his hands carrying a fresh glass of water and a thick manila folder.
“Uncle,” Vincent said, his voice smooth as silk over broken glass. “I heard shouting. Are you alright? The police have already taken the maid away. A textbook poisoning case. Sad, really. Greed makes monsters out of common people.”
Aleandro stood up slowly. He didn't take the water. He didn't look at the manila folder. He kept his eyes locked on his nephew's left wrist, where a gold vintage pocket watch peeked out from a starched cuff.
“Greed is a fascinating disease, Vincent,” Aleandro said softly, stepping closer. “It makes men forget who built the throne they’re trying to sit on.”
May you like
Vincent blinked, a fraction of a second too slow. “Uncle?”
“Tell me,” Aleandro whispered, his shadow swallowing the younger man whole. “Why did Emma smell lemons in the wine room twenty minutes before my throat closed?”
