Chapter 3 - THE SCAR ON THE WRIST
I thrashed wildly in the dark, driving my elbow backward into my attacker’s ribs.
The man grunted, his grip loosening just enough for me to tear his hand away from my mouth.
“Let me go!” I screamed, twisting around in the wet grass.
I expected to see one of the estate’s security guards.
Instead, I was staring at a man in a soaking wet trench coat. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with sharp, weathered features and a long, jagged scar running across his right wrist.
“Quiet, you fool!” the man hissed, glancing nervously toward the mansion.
He wasn't armed, but there was a desperate, feral energy about him that terrified me.
“Who are you?” I demanded, backing away, my fingers clenching tight around the silver locket in my pocket. “Where is the little girl?”
The man’s eyes widened. “The girl is gone. Vanessa’s men took her ten minutes ago. I tried to stop them, but they had guns.”
“Vanessa’s men?” I repeated, my heart hammering. “Vanessa is inside the house! She didn't leave the dining room!”
“She didn't have to,” the man spat bitterly. “She sent a text message from the table. She has her own loyalists inside the Moretti security detail. They grabbed the kid and slipped her out through the service gate.”
I stared at him through the pouring rain. “How do you know that? Why were you watching a six-year-old girl in the dark?”
The man looked down at his scarred wrist, a profound, heavy sorrow passing over his face.
“Because I’m the one who pulled Julian Moretti’s body out of the water six years ago,” he whispered.
The breath left my lungs.
“You’re lying,” I said, stepping backward. “The police found Julian. The official report said—”
“The official report was bought and paid for by Vanessa Bellini,” the man interrupted, stepping closer. “My name is Arthur. I was a harbor master. I saw what really happened on that boat.”
He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a small, waterproof pouch.
“Julian didn't drown in an accident,” Arthur said, his voice trembling with anger. “Vanessa killed him. I saw her push him over the rail. I saw her watch him drown.”
I felt physically sick.
“Why didn't you go to the police?” I demanded.
“I tried!” Arthur cried. “But the detective who took my statement was on Vanessa’s payroll. That night, two men broke into my house. They tortured me. They gave me this scar as a warning to keep my mouth shut, or they would kill my family.”
He shoved the waterproof pouch into my hands.
“What is this?” I asked, staring at the plastic bag.
“It’s the logbook from the marina,” Arthur said. “It proves Vanessa’s private car was parked at the dock that night. It proves she was on the boat.”
“Why are you giving this to me?” I asked, completely overwhelmed. “Why are you here tonight?”
“Because I saw Vanessa’s engagement announcement in the paper,” Arthur said, wiping the rain from his face. “I knew she was finally making her move to take the entire Moretti empire. I came here tonight to give this to Luca. To warn him.”
He looked toward the massive, glowing windows of the mansion.
“But when I saw them take that little girl,” Arthur continued, his voice cracking, “I realized it’s too late. She’s cleaning house. If you don't get that logbook to Luca right now, Vanessa is going to murder Julian’s daughter just like she murdered him.”
Before I could process another word, the harsh beam of a security flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating us in the hedges.
“Hey! Who’s out there?” a guard shouted, drawing his weapon.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He turned and sprinted toward the back wall of the estate, disappearing into the dark woods.
“Stop!” the guard yelled, firing a warning shot into the air.
I hit the wet grass, covering my head as the deafening crack echoed over the grounds.
Within seconds, I was surrounded by three security guards, their flashlights blinding me.
“It’s the maid,” one of them grunted, grabbing my arm and hauling me roughly to my feet.
“Where is the man you were talking to?” another demanded.
“I don't know,” I stammered, my heart racing as I subtly shoved the waterproof pouch deep into my apron pocket, hiding it next to the silver locket. “He surprised me in the dark.”
The guard sneered, patting me down aggressively. He felt the bulge in my pocket.
“What’s this?” he demanded, reaching for my apron.
Before he could touch me, a terrifyingly calm voice echoed across the lawn.
“Take your hands off her.”
The guards froze.
Luca Moretti emerged from the rain, his black suit soaked, his dark eyes burning with a lethal fury.
He didn't walk. He stalked toward us like a predator.
“Mr. Moretti,” the guard stammered, stepping away from me instantly. “We found her in the bushes. She was talking to an intruder.”
Luca didn't look at the guard. He looked directly at me. He saw the mud on my uniform, the terror in my eyes.
“Emma,” Luca said softly, his voice cutting through the storm. “Where is the child?”
“She’s gone,” I whispered, tears mixing with the rain on my face. “Vanessa’s men took her.”
Luca’s jaw locked. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees.
He turned slowly to the guard who had grabbed my arm.
“Vanessa’s men,” Luca repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. “And you didn't see anything at the front gate?”
“No, sir!” the guard promised frantically. “I swear!”
Luca stared at the man for three agonizing seconds.
Then, Luca did something that shocked me to my core.
May you like
He reached into his jacket, pulled out his sidearm, and shot the guard point-blank in the knee.
TITLE: THE TRAITOR IN THE RANKS
