Chapter 11 - THE UNINVITED GUESTS
The black sedan rolled to a stop near the front porch. The engine idled quietly.
I stood frozen on the wooden steps, my hand gripping the crumpled photograph in my pocket. I looked toward the barn. The heavy wooden doors were shut. Luca and Leo were inside, unaware of the threat sitting in our driveway.
The driver's side door opened.
A man stepped out. He was tall, wearing a sharp charcoal suit that looked entirely out of place in farm country. He wore dark sunglasses, but the rigid posture and the slight bulge under his jacket gave away his profession immediately.
He wasn't Bellini muscle. He moved with too much discipline.
The passenger door opened next.
My breath caught.
It wasn't Vanessa.
It was a woman in her late sixties, dressed impeccably in a navy wool coat. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant twist, and her eyes—sharp, assessing, and familiar—locked onto me immediately.
"Are you Rachel Cole?" the woman asked, her voice carrying the unmistakable authority of old money.
"Who's asking?" I replied, holding my ground, refusing to let my fear show.
The woman stepped closer to the porch. "My name is Eleanor Vance. I believe you knew my daughter. Her name was Vanessa Bellini."
Answer one: This wasn't Vanessa coming for revenge. This was Vanessa's mother.
Open one: Why did she say she "knew" her daughter in the past tense?
Open two: Why was she here?
"I know Vanessa," I said carefully. "She just called me ten minutes ago."
Eleanor Vance stopped at the bottom of the steps. She removed her leather gloves slowly. "That is impossible, Miss Cole. My daughter was found dead in her Chicago penthouse early this morning. The authorities believe it was a hit ordered from inside the prison by Antonio Moretti. Retaliation for her testimony."
The world tilted slightly on its axis. Vanessa was dead. The phone call... the photograph in the mailbox... if Vanessa was dead, who had left it?
Reversal: The threat wasn't Vanessa. Someone else was hunting us.
Before I could process the shock, the barn doors swung open. Luca stepped out, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. He saw the black sedan and froze, instantly dropping the rag and reaching for the small pistol he now kept tucked in the back of his waistband.
He sprinted toward the porch, placing himself squarely in front of me.
"Get off my property," Luca snarled, his hand resting on the grip of his gun.
Eleanor Vance didn't flinch. She looked at Luca with a mixture of pity and resolve.
"I am not here for violence, Mr. Moretti," Eleanor said calmly. "I am here to honor a debt. My daughter was a deeply flawed woman. But before she died, she sent a package to my attorney. It contained documents detailing a final contingency plan orchestrated by your father, Antonio."
Eleanor reached into her expensive handbag and pulled out a thick manila folder.
"Antonio knew Vanessa would testify," Eleanor continued. "He knew he would go to prison. But he left an open bounty on your nephew, Leo. Ten million dollars to any freelancer who finishes the job. The photograph in your mailbox? That wasn't Vanessa. That was a scout. They found you."
Luca took the folder, his face turning to stone as he read the top page.
May you like
"They're coming tonight," Eleanor said softly. "I have a private plane waiting at the county airstrip. It can take you and the boy to Europe. Safely. It is the least my family can do to atone for the sins of my daughter."
Luca looked at the folder, then at me. "Pack a bag. We have five minutes."
