Chapter 3 - The Interrogation of the Heart
Within ten minutes, the grand hall had cleared. The twelve families were escorted out under heavy armed guard, their vehicles departing the estate in a hasty, paranoid convoy.
Alessandro did not return to his council room. Instead, he led us into his private study—a cavernous, windowless sanctuary lined with leather-bound books, ancient maps of Italy, and a massive mahogany desk.
I clutched Emma’s hand so tightly my knuckles turned white. My daughter, sensing the heavy tension in the air, hid her face against my apron, still clutching the blue rabbit.
“Sit,” Alessandro instructed, gesturing to a velvet sofa near the unlit fireplace.
I sat down, pulling Emma onto my lap. Alessandro poured a glass of amber whiskey from a crystal decanter, but he didn't drink it. He leaned against the edge of his desk, staring down at us with an expression that was impossible to read.
“Clara Bennett,” he said, reading my employment file from the corner of his desk. “You’ve worked as a housekeeper in this villa for four months. Highly recommended by the agency in Monza. No criminal record. Widowed three years ago.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, keeping my eyes cast downward. “My husband died in an industrial accident at the rail yards before Emma was born. I take any cleaning job I can find to pay for our rent and her milk.”
Alessandro walked over, kneeling down slowly until he was eye-level with Emma. My heart hammered against my ribs.
“Little one,” Alessandro said softly, his voice losing its terrifying edge. “What is your name?”
Emma peeked out from behind my arm, her amber eyes studying his stern face. “Emma. And this is Mr. Bunny.”
“Mr. Bunny,” Alessandro repeated, a faint, ghost-like shadow of a smile touching his lips. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers gently touching the rabbit’s blue ear where the black thread was stitched. “Where did you really get this, Emma? Did someone give it to you recently?”
Emma shook her head. “A nice lady with a red scarf gave it to me at the train station when we got off the bus from Turin. She said Mr. Bunny would keep me safe from the bad men who chased mommy.”
The air in the room suddenly grew thirty degrees colder. My breath hitched. I had never told Emma about the men who threatened us in Turin—the loan sharks who burned down our tiny apartment over my late husband’s debts. How did she know?
Alessandro’s head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto mine with lethal intensity.
“What bad men, Clara?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” I stammered, tears stinging my eyes. “Just local thugs in Turin. We paid them off, we ran away—we have nothing to do with your syndicate, Mr. Moretti! Please, just let us leave. Take your house back, take your rugs—we’ll pack our suitcase tonight and never come back to Milan.”
Alessandro stood up, walking slowly to the window, staring out into the dark, rainy night.
“You think you can just walk out of Villa Moretti, Mrs. Bennett?” he asked quietly. “You just brought a key into my house that unlocks a five-year-old murder mystery. That stitch isn't a child’s toy decoration. It’s the encrypted insignia of the Ghost Syndicate—a rogue faction that supposedly died out when my brother was killed.”
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He turned around, his expression hardened into absolute resolve.
“You and your daughter are staying right here in the east suite under heavy guard. Because if the Ghost Syndicate has found its way to Milan, you aren't just a housekeeper anymore, Clara. You’re the only witness who holds the thread.”
