Chapter 3 - The Locked Grand Salon
The heavy oak doors of the dining room clicked shut with the heavy mechanical thud of an electronic deadbolt.
Marco, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running through his left eyebrow, stepped in front of the threshold with his arms crossed.
Several older guests began murmuring in protest, their social prestige suddenly rendered meaningless by Luca’s command.
"Luca, this is outrageous," barked Alderman Ross, an ally of the Bellini family whose campaign had been funded by dirty cash.
"We are here to celebrate your union with the Bellini family, not to participate in an internal domestic tribunal."
"You are humiliating your future father-in-law by locking us in like common criminals over a choked kitchen maid."
Luca slowly turned his head toward the politician, his gaze cold, detached, and utterly unyielding.
"Alderman Ross, you are currently drinking a forty-thousand-dollar bottle of vintage scotch paid for by my company," Luca said quietly.
"You sit in this chair because I permit you to sit here."
"If someone in this house is comfortable strangling an employee under my roof, they are comfortable putting strychnine in my glass."
"So sit back down, drink your scotch, and shut your mouth before I decide to review your city zoning permits."
The politician’s face drained of color, and he sank back into his leather chair without uttering another syllable.
Luca turned back to me, his presence overwhelming yet strangely shielding.
"Emily," he said, taking my ice-cold hand and leading me toward an empty chair at the head of the table.
"Sit."
The idea of a maid sitting among the elite guests was unheard of in the Moretti household, but nobody dared challenge him now.
I lowered myself into the leather chair, pulling my uniform cardigan tight against my chest to stop the shivers running through my limbs.
Vanessa was breathing heavily now, her composure deteriorating with every passing second.
"Luca, you are making a monstrous spectacle out of an absolute non-issue," she cried, attempting to rally her dignity.
"If you don't trust my word, ask Mrs. Carter!"
"Mrs. Carter was in the west wing all afternoon supervising the kitchen preparations."
Luca’s gaze shifted to the head housekeeper, who stood paralyzed near the pastry carts.
"Mrs. Carter," Luca began, his tone dripping with deceptive calm.
"You stated earlier that Emily dropped a bronze candelabra in the music room and ran out hysterical."
"Did you personally witness that incident?"
The older woman swallowed hard, her eyes darting frantically toward Vanessa, seeking guidance.
Vanessa gave an almost imperceptible nod, a silent order to hold the line of their shared lie.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti," Mrs. Carter lied, her voice shaking slightly under the weight of his stare.
"I heard the crash from the hallway and saw Emily fleeing through the double doors with tears streaming down her face."
"And when did you notice the velvet choker around her neck?" Luca asked casually.
"She... she was wearing it all day, sir," Mrs. Carter answered too quickly.
"She wears it because of a birthmark, she told me that weeks ago."
A quiet scoff escaped Marco from the doorway, knowing how thoroughly Luca investigated every staff member before hiring.
Luca reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a slim, gold-trimmed smartphone.
He tapped the screen twice and placed it directly in the center of the table, turning on the speakerphone.
"Frank," Luca addressed the voice on the line.
"I am in the dining hall with our guests."
"Pull up the surveillance feed from the second-floor gallery overlooking the entrance to the music room between two and five this afternoon."
At the mention of surveillance feeds, Vanessa’s manicured hand went limp against her wine glass.
"The music room corridor cameras have been offline for maintenance since Tuesday, Luca," Vanessa interjected, her voice sharp with sudden panic.
"My brother sent the technicians to repair the circuit boards, you know that!"
"Your brother sent technicians to rewire the south terrace, Vanessa," Luca corrected, never blinking.
"The internal security lines are hardwired into my private server in the basement vault."
"They don't go down unless I personally sever the master power grid."
Through the speakerphone, the estate’s security chief cleared his throat before speaking.
"Mr. Moretti, I have the footage queued up on my terminal right now," Frank reported.
"What timestamp are you looking for?"
"Start at three-fifteen," Luca commanded.
"Tell me who entered the east music room, and tell me who left."
The silence inside the dining room grew so dense that the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a countdown.
Vanessa took a half-step toward the doors, but Marco shifted his stance, blocking the corridor without raising a weapon.
"At three-twenty-two, Miss Bellini entered the music room accompanied by her private driver, Julian," Frank stated flatly.
"At three-thirty, Emily entered carrying a tray of piano tuning tools."
"At three-forty-one, Julian walked out into the corridor alone, checked both directions, and stood watch outside the double doors."
"At four-twelve, Emily staggered out of the room, collapsed against the wall, and remained on the floor for four minutes before standing."
"She was holding her throat with both hands, Mr. Moretti."
"There was no velvet choker on her neck when she collapsed."
"Miss Bellini exited three minutes later, carrying a manila envelope tucked inside her fur shawl."
Luca reached down and ended the call with a deliberate tap of his thumb.
He did not look surprised, nor did he look outraged; his expression settled into an eerie, terrifying calm.
He turned slowly toward the woman who was supposed to become his wife in less than thirty days.
"You said she had an anxiety attack, Vanessa," Luca whispered, his tone colder than the winter winds outside.
May you like
"You said she screamed at the top of her lungs and broke a bronze candelabra."
"Now explain to me why your personal driver was guarding the door while she was being choked unconscious inside."
