Chapter 1 – The Woman in the Monitor
The security monitor cast a pale blue glow across Adriano’s face as he stared at the screen. Fifty wealthy guests in the ballroom behind us held their collective breath.
On the screen, parked just beyond the wrought-iron gates of the east entrance, a black SUV idled in the shadows. The woman behind the wheel had her window rolled down. The streetlamp illuminated her sharp cheekbones, her dark hair, and the distinct silver pendant resting against her collarbone.
It was Elena.
The wife Adriano had buried four years ago. The mother whose grave Isabella laid flowers on every Sunday.
“Marco,” Adriano said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “Secure the perimeter. No one approaches that vehicle without my direct order.”
Before Marco could move, the SUV’s headlights flashed twice. The tires squealed against the wet asphalt, and the vehicle tore off into the night, vanishing down the tree-lined private road.
Isabella gripped my apron tightly, her small knuckles turning white. She couldn’t hear the screeching tires, but she could read the absolute terror radiating from Bianca.
“Adriano,” Bianca stammered, taking another step backward. Her designer heels clicked erratically against the marble floor. “I didn’t know she was alive. I swear to you, I thought it was a ghost when she first contacted me.”
Adriano turned away from the monitor. He walked slowly toward his fiancée, the forged airline tickets still crumpled in his fist. “When did she contact you, Bianca?”
“A month ago,” Bianca sobbed, her manicured hands shaking. “She said if I didn’t help her get Isabella out of the country, she would tell you what I did in Chicago. She was blackmailing me! The diamond bracelet… I only accused Grace so you’d be distracted while the driver took Isabella to the east gate.”
I pulled Isabella closer to my side. My heart hammered against my ribs. Bianca hadn’t just tried to frame me for theft; she had orchestrated a kidnapping right in front of us.
“Take her to the study,” Adriano ordered two of his guards. “Lock the door.”
As they dragged a screaming Bianca away, Adriano knelt in front of Isabella. He gently touched her cheek, signing carefully. “You are safe. I promise.”
Isabella nodded, but tears still spilled down her cheeks. She signed back, her movements small and hesitant. “Mommy looked angry.”
Adriano’s jaw tightened. He stood up and looked at me, his dark eyes searching my face. “Grace, take her to the west wing. Lock her bedroom door and do not leave her side.”
“I won’t,” I promised, my voice trembling.
Marco suddenly rushed back into the ballroom, holding Bianca’s white leather handbag. “Boss, we swept the bag for weapons. We didn’t find a gun, but we found this.”
He held up a cheap, prepaid burner phone. The screen was lit up with a new text message.
Adriano took the phone. He stared at the screen for a long time. The color completely drained from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost himself.
“What is it?” I asked, stepping forward despite myself.
Adriano turned the screen toward me. It was a message from an unknown number.
“Bianca failed. Kill him tonight, Marco.”
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