Chapter 4 - THE MISSING ELEVEN MINUTES
By sunrise, the grief that had haunted the Moretti estate for eight years had mutated into a shadow investigation. Alessandro played his part flawlessly. At the breakfast table, he was his usual cold, detached self, reading the morning paper while Victoria sat opposite him, sipping her Earl Grey.
I served the eggs Benedict, my hands steady through sheer force of will.
"Sandro," Victoria said lightly, not looking up from her tablet. "About yesterday. That piece of trash the maid's child found. I hope you threw it away. You know dwelling on the past isn't good for your blood pressure."
"I threw it in the fire," Alessandro lied smoothly, flipping a page of the Wall Street Journal. "It was just a blank tape. Probably left by the movers years ago."
I saw Victoria's shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. Relief. She believed him.
"Good," she murmured.
At 10:00 AM, Victoria left for the corporate offices in Manhattan. The moment her armored SUV cleared the main gates, I took my cleaning cart and headed straight for the East Wing.
Victoria's suite was a masterclass in aggressive luxury. Gilded mirrors, velvet drapes, and a massive mahogany bed. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird as I locked the heavy doors from the inside. Alessandro had told me exactly what to look for: a wall safe hidden behind the portrait of her late husband.
I moved the painting aside, revealing the digital keypad.
“She’s vain,” Alessandro had told me in the study. “She won't use a random number. Try the date she was appointed CFO.”
I typed in 09-14-98. A green light flashed, and the heavy steel door popped open.
Inside lay stacks of bearer bonds, a velvet box of diamonds, and what I was looking for: a sleek, silver external hard drive and a leather-bound ledger. I grabbed both, shoving them deep into the bottom of my cleaning cart beneath a pile of soiled towels.
Just as I slid the painting back into place, the brass doorknob rattled.
I froze. I had locked it.
"Housekeeping?" a deep, gravelly voice called out.
I recognized the voice. Dante. Victoria's personal bodyguard and the chief enforcer of the Moretti family. He was the man Isabella's tape accused of cutting her brake lines.
"Just a minute!" I called out, my voice squeaking. I scrambled away from the safe, grabbing a bottle of glass cleaner and frantically spraying the vanity mirror.
A key turned in the lock. Dante had a master key. The door swung open, and the massive, scarred man stepped into the room. His eyes swept the space, landing on me. He looked at the locked windows, then at the bed, and finally at the portrait I had just adjusted.
"Why was the door locked, Elena?" Dante asked, stepping closer. The smell of cheap cologne and stale smoke washed over me.
"Drafts," I lied, scrubbing the mirror furiously. "The wind kept blowing it open. It startled me."
He didn't smile. He walked slowly toward my cleaning cart. My blood ran cold. If he lifted those towels, if he saw the ledger... Sophia would be an orphan by noon.
Dante reached out, his thick, calloused fingers hovering over the pile of dirty linens.
"Dante!"
The voice echoed down the hallway. It was Alessandro. Dante withdrew his hand instantly, standing at attention as the boss walked into the doorway.
"Mr. Moretti," Dante said respectfully.
"I need my car brought around," Alessandro ordered, his eyes briefly flicking to me, reading my terrified posture, then back to Dante. "Now."
"Right away, Boss." Dante gave me one last, lingering look before pushing past Alessandro and down the hall.
Alessandro stepped into the room, closing the door. "Did you get it?"
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I collapsed against the vanity, gasping for air, and pointed a trembling finger at the dirty towels. Alessandro dug through them, pulling out the hard drive and the ledger. A dark, predatory smile touched his lips.
"You did well, Elena. Now, we find out exactly what happened during those eleven minutes."
