Chapter 6 - THE SHOTGUN AT THE GLASS DOOR
Arthur Bellini didn't look like a distinguished financial advisor anymore. His tailored tuxedo jacket was torn at the shoulder, his silver hair wild in the wind, and his eyes bloodshot with the frantic desperation of a cornered animal.
He didn't knock on the conservatory glass.
He raised the butt of the shotgun and smashed it straight through the center pane with a deafening crash of falling shards.
“Get away from her!” Arthur roared, stepping through the jagged window frame with his boots crunching on broken glass. He leveled the twin barrels straight at Luca’s chest.
I instinctively shrank back behind Luca’s shoulder, but Luca didn't flinch. He didn't even reach for his holster.
“Put the gun down, Arthur,” Luca said, his voice level and steady. “Your daughter’s little bomb didn't go off. And your driver is already in federal custody downtown.”
Arthur’s hands shook so violently the shotgun barrel wobbled two inches to the left. “Don’t lie to me, Luca! I saw the circuit drop from my car radio on Lake Shore Drive! I know she failed!”
He cast a wild, frantic look down at Vanessa, who was still kneeling on the damp greenhouse floor among the dirt and broken pottery.
“Get up, Vanessa,” Arthur hissed. “We’re walking out to the SUV right now. We still have the backup drives in the briefcase.”
Vanessa slowly scrambled to her feet, brushing dirt from the hem of her silk robe. But she didn't look at her father with relief. She looked at him with sudden, bitter realization.
“There are no backup drives, Dad, are there?” Vanessa whispered, her voice cracking. “You never had them. You used me to plant the bomb so the federal investigators would blame the whole thing on a dead-end arson case!”
Arthur’s face twitched. “Shut up, you fool! If we don't get to the federal building and hand over your fake affair photos to the prosecutor before dawn, the board of directors will vote to strip every cent of the trust fund to cover the deficit!”
“The trust fund was empty two years ago, Arthur,” Luca said quietly, taking one deliberate step forward. “I audited the overseas accounts last month. You didn't lose money on bad shipping investments. You lost it funding your gambling debts in Monaco.”
Arthur let out a ragged, desperate sound—half laugh, half sob. He tightened his finger on the front trigger of the shotgun.
“Then we all go down together,” Arthur snarled, his finger whitening against the metal.
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
An empty snap echoed off the glass roof.
Arthur blinked, staring down in disbelief at the breech of the gun. He had forgotten to load the second chamber in his panic.
Before he could fumble for shells in his coat pocket, Daniel and two armed security guards burst through the broken conservatory door from behind, tackling Arthur to the wet stone floor with crushing force.
The shotgun clattered across the tiles, coming to rest near my feet.
Luca didn't look down at the old man struggling against the zip-ties on the ground. He turned his eyes back to Vanessa, who stood frozen amidst the orchids, utterly alone.
“Daniel,” Luca said coldly. “Take them both to the holding cells in the basement. Keep them separated until the federal marshals arrive at sunrise.”
As the guards hauled Arthur and Vanessa away into the rainy night, the conservatory grew dead silent again, save for the patter of raindrops against the glass dome.
Luca exhaled slowly, running a hand through his damp dark hair. Then he turned around and looked straight at me.
“Are you alright, Sophie?”
“I’m… I’m shaking,” I admitted, looking down at my hands, which were indeed trembling violently. “I thought we were going to die in that kitchen.”
“So did I,” Luca said softly.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could smell the faint scent of rain and cedarwood on his jacket. He reached out, his warm fingers gently brushing against the small white bandage behind my left ear where Vanessa had torn my skin earlier that evening.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked.
“A little,” I whispered.
“You saved my life tonight, Sophie. And you saved this house.” He lowered his hand, but his dark eyes didn't leave mine. “The engagement dinner is over. The guests are gone. But there is one question I need answered before the sun comes up.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What question?”
“That cufflink you found in the guest suite,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register that made my breath catch. “You said it was mine. But that specific pair was custom-made in Milan five years ago. I only had two pairs made—and I lost the other one the night my first wife disappeared.”
I stared at him, the air leaving my lungs.
“What are you saying, sir?”
“I’m saying,” Luca whispered, “that the man who was in that room wearing my shirt wasn't a random double hired by Vanessa today.”
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He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a faded, water-damaged photograph—the picture of a man who looked so much like Luca he could have been his twin brother, standing on the deck of a yacht in Sicily ten years ago.
“That man,” Luca said, his voice breaking with a grief four years in the making, “was supposed to be dead.”
