Chapter 2 - THE RED SILK WARNING
The dining room went completely still. I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, the cold metal of the device a stark contrast to the sudden, rushing heat in my blood.
“Mom?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What do you mean? Why does it matter what Vanessa is wearing?”
Across the long mahogany table, Vanessa Bellini’s face drained of all color. The arrogant, untouchable smirk she had worn all evening dissolved into pure, raw panic. She took a step backward, the heels of her expensive shoes catching on the edge of the Persian rug.
On the other end of the line, my mother let out a jagged, terrifying sob.
“Anna, listen to me very carefully,” my mother said. Her voice was no longer the soft, gentle tone of the woman who had baked cookies with me in our tiny Baton Rouge apartment. It was the hardened, desperate voice of a survivor. “The Bellini family has a tradition. A sick, twisted tradition. When they are about to execute a hostile takeover, when they are about to steal something that doesn’t belong to them and erase the witnesses… their women wear Cartier red silk.”
I looked at Vanessa.
Her stunning red silk gown suddenly didn’t look like a fashion statement. It looked like a declaration of war.
“Mom, how do you know that?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Because the night I was taken from my crib,” my mother wept, “the woman who carried me out of the Romano estate was Vincent Bellini’s wife. And she was wearing a red silk dress. Anna, you need to get out of that house right now.”
Before I could respond, my mother screamed.
The sound shattered the quiet of the dining room. I heard the splintering crack of wood on the other end of the line. I heard heavy footsteps, a man’s gruff shout, and the shattering of glass.
“Mom! Mom, what’s happening?!” I cried, stepping forward.
“They’re here!” she shrieked. “Vincent’s men are—”
The line went dead.
“Mom?!” I screamed, staring at the black screen of my phone.
Thirty-four elite guests murmured in shock. Eleanor Romano, the eighty-two-year-old matriarch, clutched her pearl necklace, her eyes wide with terror.
Dominic Romano didn’t hesitate. The thirty-nine-year-old mafia boss moved with terrifying speed. He crossed the dining room in three massive strides, snatching the phone from my trembling hand. He looked at the disconnected call, his jaw set so tight the muscles twitched beneath his skin.
He turned his dark, lethal gaze onto his fiancée.
“Vanessa,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register that sent shivers down my spine. “What did your father just do?”
Vanessa swallowed hard, backing toward the arched doorway leading to the foyer.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dominic,” she stammered, her hands shaking as she clutched her diamond-studded handbag. “That maid is crazy. Her mother is probably just some delusional old woman looking for a payout.”
“Do not insult her,” Eleanor said, her voice ringing out with sudden, fierce authority. The elderly woman pushed her chair back and stood up. “That is my daughter she is talking about. And if your father has laid a hand on her, the Bellini family will cease to exist by morning.”
Vanessa let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “This is insane. I’m leaving.”
She turned to run.
“Marco,” Dominic said calmly.
The head of security didn’t even blink. Marco stepped into the doorway, his massive frame completely blocking Vanessa’s escape. He didn’t draw a weapon, but the look in his eyes made Vanessa freeze in her tracks.
“You aren’t going anywhere, Vanessa,” Dominic said, walking slowly toward her. He pulled out his own phone and dialed a number. “Enzo? It’s Dominic. I need a strike team at a Baton Rouge address immediately. Vincent Bellini’s men just breached the house. If they hurt the woman inside, I want every Bellini operation in Louisiana burned to the ground.”
Dominic hung up and stopped inches from Vanessa.
“My father left my sister the controlling shares of the Romano shipping empire,” Dominic stated, piecing the puzzle together in real-time. “The Bellinis are bankrupt. Your father owes the Mexican cartels forty million dollars by the end of the month. He didn’t arrange this marriage because you loved me. He arranged it so he could get inside this house, find my sister’s shares, and use my family’s ports to traffic cartel weapons.”
Vanessa’s lower lip trembled. “Dominic, please—”
“Give me the bag,” Dominic demanded, pointing at her purse.
“No! It’s my private property!”
Marco reached out, effortlessly prying the designer handbag from Vanessa’s fingers. He handed it to Dominic.
Dominic upended the bag over the mahogany dining table. Lipstick, compacts, and a wallet tumbled out, clattering against the fine china. But right in the center of the mess fell a heavy, antique brass key.
And something else.
A folded, faded piece of paper.
I felt the breath leave my lungs. I walked slowly toward the table, my eyes locked on the paper.
“Anna, don’t touch it!” Vanessa shrieked.
I ignored her. I reached out and unfolded the paper.
It was a child’s drawing. Done in cheap, colorful crayons, it depicted a little girl with blonde hair holding hands with a taller woman. But in the background of the drawing, hiding behind a crudely drawn tree, was a man with a jagged black scar across his hand.
“I know this drawing,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “I found it in my mother’s memory box when I was a teenager. She told me she drew it when she was in the orphanage. She said it was the only memory she had of the man who took her away.”
Eleanor let out a sharp gasp, stumbling forward.
“Let me see that,” the old woman cried.
I handed her the drawing. Eleanor touched the crayon marks, her tears falling freely onto the paper.
“This was drawn on Romano estate stationery,” Eleanor whispered. “Look at the watermark in the corner. Elizabeth drew this before she was taken.”
Dominic picked up the heavy brass key from the table. He inspected it, his eyes narrowing.
“This is a safety deposit key,” Dominic said, looking at Vanessa. “For the First National Bank of New Orleans. What does my father’s stolen property have to do with this key, Vanessa?”
Vanessa clamped her mouth shut, lifting her chin defiantly.
“Make her speak,” Eleanor demanded.
But before Dominic could apply any pressure, Marco’s radio crackled.
“Boss,” a guard’s voice sounded over the earpiece, loud enough for those of us standing close to hear. “A vehicle just breached the front gates. We have a situation.”
Dominic frowned. “Who is it?”
“It’s an armored SUV, sir. And Vincent Bellini just stepped out.”
Vanessa’s eyes lit up with sudden, victorious hope.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
Dominic turned toward the grand windows facing the driveway. “Tell the perimeter guards to draw their weapons. If he takes one step toward the front door, shoot him in the legs.”
“Sir,” the guard replied, his voice trembling slightly. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Dominic barked.
May you like
Because of the answer that followed, every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.
“Because, sir,” the guard said, “Vincent Bellini isn’t alone. He has a woman with him. She’s zip-tied, and he has a gun pressed to the back of her head. And sir… the woman looks exactly like the housemaid.”
