Chapter 6 - THE RECEIPT AND THE HOST
Marcus pushed me hard against the wooden paneling of the mudroom.
The heavy thud rattled my teeth.
His hand was clamped so tightly over my mouth I could taste the leather of his glove. The cold steel of his combat knife pressed against my throat.
“Give me the paper, Emily,” Marcus hissed, his breath smelling of peppermint and expensive bourbon.
Tears prickled my eyes, but I didn't let go. I clenched my fist around the grease-stained receipt. This was the only thing that could save Luca and Isabella.
“Stupid girl,” Marcus sneered.
He ripped my hand open, prying my fingers back until I gasped in pain. He snatched the receipt.
“You think you can play hero?” he whispered, pressing the blade harder. A tiny bead of blood welled up on my skin. “Nobody is going to miss a twenty-five-year-old maid who slipped out the back door.”
He raised the knife.
I closed my eyes.
CRACK.
The sound of shattering glass exploded in the small room.
The pressure on my throat vanished instantly.
I opened my eyes and collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
Marcus was on his knees, clutching the back of his head. Blood poured through his fingers.
Standing behind him, holding the jagged neck of a broken champagne bottle, was Vanessa Bellini.
I stared at her, completely paralyzed in shock.
The evil fiancée. The woman who had humiliated me in front of fifty guests. The woman who hated Isabella.
She had just saved my life.
Vanessa was breathing heavily, her red silk dress stained with champagne. Her perfectly styled hair was a mess.
Marcus groaned and tried to stand.
Vanessa didn't hesitate. She kicked him squarely in the face with her sharp stiletto heel. Marcus hit the floor, completely unconscious.
Vanessa dropped the broken bottle. Her hands were shaking violently.
She looked at me, sitting on the floor.
“Get up,” she ordered, her voice trembling.
I scrambled to my feet, pressing a hand to the shallow cut on my neck. “You... you saved me.”
Vanessa let out a bitter, terrified laugh.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Emily. I didn’t do it for you.”
She reached down, pried the grease-stained receipt from Marcus’s limp hand, and shoved it into my apron pocket.
“My father is a monster,” Vanessa whispered, tears finally breaking through her cold exterior. “I knew he was stealing money. I knew he wanted me to marry Luca to control the family. But I didn’t know he murdered Elena.”
I stared at her. “You really didn't know?”
“No!” Vanessa cried quietly. “I’m a thief, Emily, not a killer! When I saw the guards drag me out, I heard my father talking to Marcus in the hallway. They were planning to kill Luca tonight. And Isabella.”
She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I may hate playing stepmother, but I won't let a child be murdered so my father can buy another yacht.”
I looked at this woman, realizing for the first time how trapped she was in her own family’s web of violence.
“We have to get the receipt to Luca,” I said urgently.
“It’s too late,” Vanessa said, her eyes wide with panic. “The dining room doors are locked. My father’s men have secured the exits. The string quartet stopped playing five minutes ago. They’re holding everyone hostage.”
My blood ran cold. “Luca and Isabella are upstairs with Roberto.”
Vanessa grabbed my arm. “Then we have to get them out before my father’s men go up there. But we need a distraction.”
Suddenly, the PA system in the kitchen crackled to life.
It was the intercom system that connected to the main dining room.
A voice echoed through the speakers.
But it wasn't Vincent Bellini.
It was a child.
“Excuse me? Mr. Bellini?”
My heart stopped.
It was Isabella.
Vanessa and I stared at the speaker on the wall in sheer horror.
“My Daddy says you’re a very bad man,” Isabella’s voice echoed through the mansion. “And he told me to tell you that you’re sitting in the wrong chair.”
Vanessa gasped. “Oh my god. She’s in the security room.”
Before I could even process how Isabella had slipped away from Luca, the sound of massive, heavy doors being kicked open echoed through the intercom.
May you like
Then came the sound of Luca Moretti’s voice, amplified through the microphones in the dining room, filled with terrifying, lethal authority.
“Hello, Vincent.”
