Chapter 4 – [THE TRAITOR IN THE WINGS]

Answer one: The traitor in Luca’s security detail wasn’t a low-level guard. It was Arthur, the man Luca trusted with his life.

Open two: Why would Arthur betray the Moretti family after thirty years of loyal service? And where were my mother and Sofia?

Luca didn’t flinch. Slowly, deliberately, he placed his suppressed pistol on the velvet railing of the opera box.

“Arthur,” Luca said, not looking back. “You held my brother as he died. You taught me how to shoot. Why?”

Arthur stepped fully into the box, keeping the gun pressed hard against my spine. His face was pale, lined with exhaustion.

“I didn’t have a choice, Boss,” Arthur said, his voice breaking. “Richard found out about my gambling debts years ago. He owns my house. He owns my pension. When he told me to let him out of the cellar tonight, he said if I didn’t, my grandchildren would pay the price.”

Vanessa clucked her tongue, slipping Marco’s journal into her designer purse. “Such a touching story. But we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Where is my mother?” I demanded, the tracker necklace heavy against my collarbone.

Vanessa smiled. “Oh, she’s safe. My father is keeping her and Sofia company downstairs in the prop basement. It’s remarkably soundproof down there.”

Luca’s eyes darted to me for a fraction of a second. I knew what he was thinking. The microphone in my necklace. If his men outside were listening, they now knew the location.

“You have the journal, Vanessa,” Luca said calmly. “Let Emily go. This is between our families.”

“Not anymore,” Vanessa sneered. “You humiliated me tonight, Luca. You broke our engagement for a maid. You really think I’m going to let you walk out of here and rebuild your reputation?”

She nodded at Arthur. “Kill the girl. Then shoot him.”

My stomach plummeted. I closed my eyes, waiting for the crack of the gun.

But it never came.

Instead, the booming crescendo of the opera’s climax filled the theater—and in that exact moment, Luca moved.

He didn’t grab his gun. He grabbed his champagne flute from the table and smashed it backward over Arthur’s hand.

Arthur screamed, dropping the weapon.

I dove to the floor. Luca tackled Arthur against the heavy velvet curtain, wrestling him to the ground.

Vanessa shrieked, reaching into her purse for her own small pistol.

But before she could aim, I grabbed the heavy brass leg of a chair and swung it hard into her shin.

Vanessa collapsed with a cry, her gun skittering across the carpet.

Luca knocked Arthur unconscious with a swift punch to the jaw. He quickly retrieved his weapon and pointed it at Vanessa’s chest.

“Get up,” Luca commanded.

Vanessa sobbed, clutching her leg. “You’re too late, Luca. My father is already dealing with the women downstairs.”

Luca grabbed her by the arm, hauling her to her feet. He looked at me. “Stay behind me.”

We rushed out of the box and down the grand, carpeted staircase. The music from the stage masked our hurried footsteps. We reached the service doors leading to the basement.

It was dark, smelling of dust and old paint. Racks of costumes and massive wooden stage props created a maze in the dim light.

We moved silently. Then, I heard it.

A cough. My mother’s cough.

We crept around a large canvas backdrop.

There, in a clearing of props, were two chairs. My mother was tied to one, looking pale but conscious. Tied to the other was a beautiful woman with dark hair—Sofia.

Standing in front of them was Richard Bellini. He held a lighter in one hand and a can of industrial solvent in the other.

“I’m sorry, Sofia,” Richard was saying smoothly. “But the past needs to stay buried.”

He tipped the can, pouring the highly flammable liquid in a circle around the two women.

“Stop!” I screamed, stepping out from behind the backdrop.

Richard froze. He looked at me, then at Luca, who had his gun aimed squarely at Richard’s head.

“Drop the lighter, Richard,” Luca said.

Richard grinned, a manic, desperate look in his eyes. “Shoot me, Luca. My thumb slips, the lighter drops, and they both burn.”

My heart hammered in my chest.

Then, Sofia looked up. Her eyes met Luca’s for the first time in twelve years.

“Luca,” she whispered, her voice rough. “Don’t negotiate. Look at his left pocket.”

Richard flinched.

Luca’s eyes narrowed. Bulging out of Richard’s left suit pocket was a heavy, silver pocket watch.

Marco’s watch.

Share