Chapter 3 - THE SHADOW IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM
I screamed against the heavy, calloused hand, my fingers clawing desperately at the arm wrapped around my throat.
The brass key dug painfully into my palm.
“Don’t make a sound, Claire,” a harsh whisper hissed in my ear.
I recognized the voice immediately.
Marco Moretti. Luca’s younger brother.
He spun me around, slamming my back against the washing machine. He didn't have a gun drawn, but the wild, panicked look in his dark eyes was terrifying enough. His tuxedo was completely soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead. He had clearly just come in from the rain.
He grabbed my wrist, prying my fingers open to reveal the brass key.
“Where did you find this?” Marco demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and terror.
“Under… under Walter’s bowl,” I choked out, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Marco cursed violently, snatching the key from my hand. He looked at the faded blue ribbon attached to it, his face draining of color.
“That stupid old woman,” Marco muttered, pacing the small laundry room. “She actually hid it.”
“Mrs. Moretti didn't hide that,” I said, finding a shred of courage. “She was upstairs getting dressed when Walter disappeared. Vanessa sent him away.”
Marco stopped pacing. He looked at me, a cruel, mocking smile twisting his lips.
“Vanessa is an idiot,” Marco sneered. “She thought she was being clever getting rid of the dog. She didn't realize my mother had slipped this key onto Walter’s collar this morning.”
I stared at him, completely confused.
“Why would she put a key on the dog’s collar?”
“Because,” Marco stepped closer, invading my space, “my mother is a lot smarter than anyone gives her credit for. She knew Carlo Bellini was coming tonight. She knew the engagement dinner was a trap.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“A trap?”
Marco laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “You think Carlo Bellini wanted a wedding? He wanted Luca distracted. While everyone was drinking champagne, Carlo’s men were supposed to breach the patriarch’s vault. The vault that requires this key.”
He held the brass key up to the harsh fluorescent light.
“My father’s private ledger,” Marco whispered reverently. “The book that proves Carlo Bellini has been stealing from the Commission for ten years. My mother found it yesterday. She hid the key on the one thing nobody would ever search.”
“Walter,” I breathed.
“Yes. Walter,” Marco confirmed. “But then Vanessa, in her infinite stupidity, decided to ship the dog off to a kennel. When I realized the dog was gone, I panicked. I searched the laundry room, but I couldn't find the key.”
He looked at me, his eyes darkening.
“You found it. Which means you’re a liability.”
He reached inside his soaked tuxedo jacket.
I didn't wait to see the gun.
I grabbed the heavy bottle of laundry detergent from the shelf above me and swung it as hard as I could.
The heavy plastic jug slammed into the side of Marco’s head.
He grunted in pain, stumbling backward and dropping the key.
I didn't stop to pick it up. I shoved past him, sprinting out of the laundry room and into the back hallway.
“Luca!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the marble floors. “Mr. Moretti!”
I heard heavy footsteps thundering from the foyer.
I rounded the corner and collided hard with a solid wall of muscle.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the floor.
It was Luca.
He was out of his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a pistol already drawn in his right hand.
“Claire, what’s wrong?” Luca demanded, pulling me behind him.
“Marco!” I gasped, pointing toward the back hallway. “He’s in the laundry room! He was looking for a key!”
Luca’s eyes hardened. He didn't ask questions. He moved with lethal, terrifying speed, stalking down the hallway toward the laundry room.
I followed cautiously behind him.
Luca kicked the laundry room door wide open, his gun raised.
The room was empty.
The back door leading to the garden was swung wide open, rain blowing in onto the linoleum floor.
Marco had run.
But as Luca lowered his weapon, I saw something glittering on the floor near the washing machine.
It wasn't the brass key. Marco had taken that.
It was a silver tie clip.
Luca walked over and picked it up. He stared at it for a long time, the muscles in his jaw ticking dangerously.
“Mr. Moretti?” I asked softly.
He didn't look at me. He just held up the tie clip.
Engraved on the silver metal wasn't Marco’s initials.
It was the Bellini family crest.
“Marco didn't come here to steal the key for himself, Claire,” Luca whispered, the betrayal carving deep lines into his face. “He was working for Carlo.”
My stomach dropped.
Luca’s own brother was a traitor.
“We have to tell your mother,” I said, panic rising. “If Marco knows she found the ledger, she’s not safe here!”
“She’s not here,” a voice echoed from the hallway.
We both spun around.
Daniel, the head of security, was standing in the doorway. His face was pale, his usually immaculate suit rumpled.
“What do you mean she’s not here?” Luca demanded, stepping toward him.
“I went upstairs to check on her, boss,” Daniel said, his voice trembling. “The bathroom was empty. The water was still running. And the window leading out to the balcony was wide open.”
Luca pushed past him, sprinting up the grand staircase.
I ran after him, my heart in my throat.
We burst into the west wing master suite.
The room was a disaster. The dressing table chair was knocked over. The heavy velvet curtains were torn.
Teresa was gone.
And lying in the center of the Persian rug, whining softly, was Walter.
He was unhurt, but his gray muzzle was resting on something left behind on the floor.
Luca knelt beside the dog, his hands shaking as he picked the object up.
It was a Polaroid photograph.
It was a picture of a young woman, sitting in a dark, concrete room, holding a newspaper with today’s date.
I gasped, covering my mouth in sheer horror.
The woman in the photo wasn't Teresa.
It was my younger sister, Emily.
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And written on the back of the photo in thick black marker were four words:
Bring the ledger, maid.
