Chapter 10 - The Black Knight
I stood frozen in the center of the kitchen, staring at the black wooden knight in my palm.
Checkmate.
The house was completely silent. The security system was armed. Two armed guards were patrolling the perimeter of the estate.
Yet, someone had slipped this into my pocket.
My mind raced back to the events of the evening. After my shower, I had left my pajamas on the bed for a few moments while I searched the bathroom for a hairdryer. The window in my bedroom had been cracked open slightly to let in the cool night breeze.
Someone had been on the balcony.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Luca’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Emily? Is everything okay?” His voice was groggy, thick with sleep.
“Luca, come to the kitchen. Right now.”
Two minutes later, Luca strode into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, his handgun gripped loosely at his side. He saw my pale face and immediately raised the weapon, sweeping the room with a tactical gaze.
“Who’s here?” he demanded quietly.
“No one,” I whispered, opening my palm to show him the wooden chess piece. “I found this in my pocket. Someone put it there after we got home. And they sent me this text message while I was walking up the stairs.”
I handed him my phone.
Luca read the text message. Did you really think Thomas Moretti only had one secret?
His jaw tightened. He picked up the black knight, examining the carved word on the bottom.
“Checkmate,” Luca read aloud, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.
“Silvio is in jail,” I said, crossing my arms to stop my hands from shaking. “Vanessa is in jail. Who else would do this?”
Luca set the chess piece on the marble counter and leaned forward, rubbing his temples.
“My father had a lot of enemies, Emily. Silvio was the loudest, but he wasn’t the smartest. Silvio was a brute. This...” Luca tapped the wooden knight. “This is a game. A very old game.”
“Do you recognize the chess piece?” I asked.
Luca nodded slowly. “When I was ten years old, my father used to play chess with a man in his private study. A man who never spoke. My father called him Il Fantasma. The Ghost. I never knew his real name.”
“Why would a ghost from twenty years ago care about me?”
“Because you’re the proof that Thomas Moretti could be outsmarted,” Luca said softly. “You’re the loose end.”
Suddenly, the kitchen lights flickered and died.
The entire mansion plunged into pitch black darkness.
I gasped, stumbling backward.
“Stay behind me!” Luca hissed, his hand grabbing my arm and pulling me behind his broad frame.
I heard the distinct metallic click of his gun safety being flipped off.
A moment later, the red emergency backup lights kicked on, bathing the kitchen in a sinister, bloody glow.
The security alarm panel on the wall began to beep rhythmically.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“Perimeter breach,” Luca muttered. “They cut the main power.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial. “Marcus. Report.”
Silence on the other end.
“Marcus!” Luca barked into the phone.
A crackle of static, and then a calm, heavily accented voice spoke through the speaker.
“Marcus is currently taking a nap in the rose garden, Mr. Moretti.”
Luca froze.
“Who is this?” Luca demanded.
“I think Emily knows,” the voice replied smoothly. “Tell her I liked her grandmother’s necklace. It looks much better on her than it did in Silvio’s vault.”
My breath hitched. The man on the phone... it was the same voice I had heard on the phone with Vanessa weeks ago. The intermediary.
“What do you want?” Luca growled.
“I don’t want anything from you, Luca. You’re just a thug in a nice suit. I want the girl.”
“If you touch her, I will tear you apart,” Luca promised, his voice devoid of emotion, a pure, lethal threat.
“Oh, I’m not going to touch her,” the voice laughed softly. “I’m going to make her come to me. Emily, ask your uncle where his brother is right now.”
Luca’s head snapped toward the hallway.
“Michael,” Luca whispered.
He didn’t wait. Luca bolted out of the kitchen, sprinting down the hallway toward the guest wing where Michael and his family were sleeping. I chased after him, my bare feet slapping against the cold hardwood floors.
We burst through the double doors of Michael’s suite.
The bed was empty.
Anna was sitting on the floor, clutching her two children, sobbing hysterically in the red emergency light.
“Anna!” Luca yelled, dropping to his knees beside her. “Where is Mike?”
Anna looked up, her face streaked with tears and terror.
“He took him, Luca,” Anna choked out. “A man in a mask came through the balcony window. He put a gun to Michael’s head and told him to walk quietly, or he would shoot the kids.”
Luca punched the floor, a guttural scream of rage tearing from his throat.
I stood in the doorway, staring at the empty bed.
Resting on the center of Michael’s pillow was a pristine white envelope.
I walked over and picked it up. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely open the flap.
Inside was a single, vintage photograph.
It wasn’t a picture of my grandmother. It was a picture of a young Thomas Moretti, standing next to a man I didn’t recognize.
May you like
But I recognized the object the unknown man was holding in his hands.
It was a black wooden chess knight.
