Chapter 4 - THE GUN WAS AIMED AT THE VEIL
Chaos erupted in the dining room.
Guests screamed and scrambled under the heavy mahogany table.
Luca’s security guards drew their weapons instantly.
But Carlo Bellini didn’t aim at Luca.
He aimed directly at Margaret Bennett.
Or rather, at the ivory wedding veil she was still clutching to her chest.
“Put the fabric down, Margaret,” Carlo ordered, his voice echoing in the grand room.
Vanessa was backed against the wall, her hands over her mouth.
“Uncle Carlo, what are you doing?” she shrieked.
“Fixing your mistakes, Vanessa,” he spat.
He looked at Luca.
“Tell your men to stand down, boy. Or the nurse dies right here.”
Luca didn’t blink.
He didn’t reach for a weapon.
He stood perfectly still, placing his body partially between Carlo and Margaret.
“You shoot her in my house, Carlo, and you won’t make it to the front gates.”
“I’m not leaving,” Carlo sneered.
He cocked the hammer of the gun.
“That veil has the account numbers sewn into it, doesn’t it?”
I froze.
Account numbers.
Margaret looked at Luca in sheer panic.
“Elena didn’t just leave you a message,” Margaret whispered frantically. “She drained the family’s offshore accounts before she died. She hid the money so the Bellinis couldn’t take it.”
Carlo stepped closer.
“And the location of the ledger is in the second envelope. The one my idiot niece just ruined.”
Vanessa stared at her uncle in horror.
“You told me it was just a love letter!”
“You’re a pawn, Vanessa,” Carlo snapped. “You always have been. You were just the pretty face we needed to get inside Luca’s house.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
He looked at the silver key he had pulled from the wet envelope.
“You don’t have the ledger, Carlo. And you don’t have the key.”
“No,” Carlo smiled. “But I have the upper hand.”
He suddenly shifted his aim.
Away from Margaret.
Away from Luca.
Directly at me.
My breath hitched in my throat.
“The maid,” Carlo said smoothly. “Emma, isn’t it?”
Luca’s posture completely changed.
His shoulders tensed.
“Don’t look at her,” Luca growled.
Carlo chuckled.
“Oh, I know about her, Luca. I know why you hired her.”
I stared at him, my hands shaking.
I applied for this job online. It was a standard interview.
But Carlo reached into his pocket with his free hand and tossed a crumpled photograph onto the dining table.
It landed face up.
I looked down.
It was a picture of me when I was seven years old.
But I wasn’t standing with my mother.
May you like
I was standing next to Elena Moretti.
And Elena was holding my hand.
