Chapter 4 - The Final Supper
The night of the dinner, the mansion felt different. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and the sharp, metallic tang of an approaching storm. I had dropped Emma off at my mother’s place, my hands trembling so hard I could barely steer the car.
I returned to the house, instructed to stay in the kitchen until the "business" was concluded.
I waited, listening to the muffled sounds of conversation from the dining hall. The clinking of crystal. The polite laughter of people who were about to lose everything.
Then, the silence.
It was a total, absolute silence that lasted for ten minutes.
The door to the dining hall swung open. Alessandro Moretti didn't wheel himself out; he was helped by his security guards, who looked as pale as death. He wasn't holding a folder. He was holding a glass of wine.
He didn't look at me as he passed, but he stopped in the doorway.
"The castle has fallen," he said.
Behind him, I saw Norah and Marco being led out by the estate's private security team. Their faces were gray, their hands zip-tied. They wouldn't be seeing the sun again for a very long time.
I followed him back to the west wing. He entered his office and collapsed into his chair, the adrenaline finally wearing off. He looked exhausted. He looked, for the first time, his age.
"It is finished," he said, staring at the ceiling. "They are gone. The estate is secure."
I walked over and picked up the blocks Emma had left behind. "And now?"
"Now," he said, looking at me. "I have to find a way to make a three-year-old understand that her friend is a very dangerous man."
"She’s a child, Mr. Moretti. She doesn't care about danger. She just cares about cookies."
He looked at the small pile of blocks. "She made me laugh, Ms. Miller. I hadn't laughed since the accident. I didn't think it was possible."
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"Maybe you should try it more often."
He smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Perhaps. But for now, I think you should go home. Your daughter is waiting."
