Chapter 2 - The Audio Recording That Stopped Time
The silence in the ballroom shifted.
It went from stunned awe to absolute, suffocating tension.
Men in expensive suits who worked for Luca Moretti slowly moved their hands closer to their jackets.
The hotel supervisor took a step back, sensing a shift in the atmosphere that had nothing to do with spilled wine or broken glass.
“An answer,” Luca repeated.
His voice was no longer empty.
It was quiet, but it possessed the kind of weight that cracked stone.
“From whom?”
I looked around the room. Four hundred pairs of eyes were glued to us. Cameras from the local press were still flashing near the entrance.
“Not here,” I said softly.
I was just a waitress making fourteen dollars an hour, but I knew better than to humiliate a man of his standing in public.
Or to expose my own vulnerability to a room full of strangers.
Luca’s gaze locked onto mine. He searched my face for any sign of a hustle, a scam, a lie.
He found none.
He stood up.
The movement was fluid, commanding.
He didn’t address the crowd. He didn’t offer a charming excuse to the wealthy donors who had paid ten thousand dollars a plate to be here.
He looked at Elias Thorne, his second-in-command, a man with silver hair and a tailored suit who stood near the stage.
“Clear the room,” Luca ordered.
“Luca, the press—” Elias started.
“Clear. The. Room.”
Elias nodded once.
Within sixty seconds, the Moretti security detail began herding the city’s elite out of the ballroom.
The string quartet packed their instruments in terrified silence.
The catering manager motioned wildly for me to return to the kitchens, but one of Luca’s men stepped between him and me.
Soon, it was only the vast, echoing ballroom, the scattered crystal, Luca, Sophia, Dr. Benton, and me.
And Elias, who lingered near the heavy oak doors.
“Show me,” Luca demanded.
I reached into the pocket of my black apron.
My fingers trembled as I pulled out my cheap, scuffed smartphone.
“I didn’t want money,” I said, my voice shaking just a little. “The news reports said you were offering two million dollars for the person who pulled her out before the ambulance arrived. I didn’t care about the money. I just wanted to know if she woke up.”
Sophia reached out and grabbed my free hand.
Her tiny fingers were warm.
“I woke up,” she whispered.
I smiled at her, tears finally spilling over my lashes. “I see that, sweetie. You’re doing so beautifully.”
Luca stepped closer, invading my personal space. The scent of sandalwood and cold rain clung to him.
“The answer, Hannah.”
I unlocked my phone.
I opened my voice memos.
“When I called the private number listed on the foundation’s public appeal, it went to voicemail,” I explained. “I left my name. The next day, I got a call back. I recorded it because the tone of the man’s voice frightened me.”
I pressed play.
The tinny speaker of my phone echoed in the massive room.
A burst of static.
Then, a voice.
“Miss Carter. We received your message regarding the Ashwood Bridge incident. Let me be unequivocally clear. The Moretti family is not interested in your opportunism. Mr. Moretti considers the matter closed. If you attempt to contact this family again, if you show up at the hospital, or if you speak to the press, we will not call the police. We will simply ensure you are never found. Stay away from the child. You are nothing to us.”
The recording ended.
A heavy, lethal silence dropped over the room.
I didn’t look at the phone. I looked at Luca.
The color had drained entirely from his face, leaving behind a mask of pure, terrifying wrath.
His eyes slowly moved from my phone.
They didn’t look at me.
They looked past me.
Toward the heavy oak doors.
Toward Elias Thorne.
Elias, whose face was completely pale.
May you like
“Elias,” Luca whispered.
It was the sound of a blade being drawn from a leather sheath.
