Chapter 2 - THE SERVICE TUNNELS
Matteo stared at the tablet in Marco’s hands, the cold reality of the timestamp anchoring itself in his chest. Midnight.
Someone had weaponized a photograph while his bride was weeping in a guest room.
“Lock down the estate,” Matteo ordered, his voice dropping to the terrifying register his enemies knew well. “No one leaves. Not the caterers, not the guests, and absolutely not my mother.”
Marco nodded, tapping his earpiece. “And Elena?”
“Find out exactly how she got past the perimeter.”
Matteo left the study, his strides long and urgent, eating up the distance down the marble corridor. He bypassed the grand staircase, where the florist was still arguing about white roses, and took the private stairs down to the security hub.
The room was a wall of monitors displaying every angle of the Lake Forest property. The overnight supervisor, a veteran named Rossi, was already rewinding the feeds.
“Show me the guest suite,” Matteo demanded.
Rossi pulled up the hallway camera. At 1:14 AM, the heavy oak door of Elena’s room opened. She stepped out, wearing a long wool coat over her clothes, carrying a small leather duffel bag.
Matteo felt a sharp twist in his gut. She hadn't just packed; she had dressed for the freezing cold. She had known exactly what she was doing.
He watched her walk deliberately past the main staircase, avoiding the motion sensors she had spent eighteen months learning to live around.
“Track her,” Matteo said.
Rossi switched cameras. They watched Elena move through the kitchens, slipping past the overnight prep crew while they were in the walk-in freezers. Then, she opened a heavy iron door that led to the old service tunnels—a Prohibition-era escape route beneath the estate that only family members and top security knew existed.
“How did she get the access code for the tunnels?” Marco asked, stepping into the hub behind Matteo. “That keypad changes every twelve hours.”
Matteo stared at the screen. “Keep playing.”
On the grainy night-vision feed of the tunnel, Elena walked steadily. But halfway down the narrow concrete corridor, a shadow separated from the wall.
Matteo’s breath hitched.
Someone was waiting for her.
The figure stepped into the dim overhead light. It wasn't a guard. It wasn't an assassin.
It was his younger sister, Gianna.
On the screen, Gianna handed Elena a set of car keys and a thick manila envelope. They hugged—a desperate, tight embrace—before Elena disappeared up the stairs toward the exterior grounds.
Matteo turned on his heel.
He found Gianna in the conservatory, staring out at the frost-covered lawns. She didn't flinch when he slammed the glass doors shut behind him.
“You gave her the tunnel code,” Matteo said, the betrayal burning in his throat. “You helped her leave me.”
Gianna finally turned. Her eyes were red, but her jaw was set with the same stubborn Bellini pride Matteo possessed.
“I helped her survive,” Gianna countered.
“Survive what? An argument? A photograph?” Matteo closed the distance between them. “She is my fiancée, Gianna. She belonged upstairs, with me.”
“She didn't feel like she belonged to you last night, Matteo! She felt like a pawn.” Gianna reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, heavy object. She slammed it onto the glass conservatory table.
Matteo stared at it.
It was Elena’s engagement ring. The one she had taken off at dinner.
“She asked me to give this to you,” Gianna said softly. “She told me she couldn't marry a man who would let another woman wear his family’s honor while she was forced to watch.”
Matteo reached out, his fingers brushing the cold diamond. “It was one picture to keep Antonio Moretti calm. I was going to fix it today.”
“You always fix it today,” Gianna snapped. “But last night, after the dinner, Francesca followed Elena to the guest suite. I saw them in the hallway.”
Matteo’s head snapped up. “Francesca spoke to her?”
“Francesca didn't just speak to her,” Gianna’s voice shook. “She showed Elena a document. I don't know what it was, but when Elena saw it, she stopped crying. She just went completely pale. Ten minutes later, she called me and asked for the tunnel code.”
Matteo felt the blood roar in his ears. Francesca.
He looked back at the ring on the table. Beside it, Gianna had placed something else—a small, silver pocket watch.
Matteo recognized it instantly. It belonged to Elena’s father. She had brought it to the estate to be polished for the ceremony.
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“Why do you have this?” Matteo asked, dread pooling in his stomach.
“Elena didn't give it to me,” Gianna whispered. “I found it this morning. On Francesca’s vanity upstairs.”
