Chapter 3 - The Man With the Red Ring
By noon, Alessandro Duca was officially “resting.”
That was the story Marco spread through the estate.
Mr. Duca had been feeling unwell.
He had canceled all meetings.
He had locked himself in his private suite.
No visitors.
No calls.
No exceptions.
The news traveled exactly as Alessandro expected it would.
Through the kitchen staff.
Through the guards.
Through the drivers.
Through the gardeners.
And eventually, through someone who believed they were passing information discreetly to Raffaele Conti.
Alessandro watched it unfold from a surveillance room hidden beneath the east wing.
The room had no windows and no decoration. Only screens. Dozens of them.
Cameras covered every hallway, every gate, every service entrance, every corridor that led toward the private family wing.
On one screen, Sophia sat in a small guest room with Emma. Two female guards remained outside the door—not to imprison them, but to protect them.
On another screen, Danny the cook sat in the security office, pale and sweating.
On a third, Marco questioned the overnight staff one by one.
“Do you think Danny did it?” Marco asked.
Alessandro stood behind him, arms crossed.
“I think Danny is afraid,” Alessandro said. “But afraid people are not always guilty.”
“Then who?”
Alessandro stared at the security feed.
“Someone who has never needed to be afraid in this house.”
A black sedan entered the front gates at 12:43.
Raffaele Conti stepped out.
He was sixty-four years old, silver-haired, elegant, and dressed in a navy suit that looked too expensive to wrinkle. On his right hand sat the ring Emma had described: a square ruby set in gold.
He had worn it for thirty years.
It had been a gift from Alessandro’s father.
“Tell me again,” Marco said. “You want him inside?”
“I want him comfortable,” Alessandro replied.
Raffaele entered the mansion with an expression of controlled concern.
He greeted the guards by name.
Asked after the housekeeper’s knee.
Complained about the heat.
Then he looked toward the staircase.
“How is Alessandro?” he asked.
Marco kept his expression neutral.
“Resting.”
“Can I see him?”
“The doctor said no.”
Raffaele smiled faintly.
“Marco, I have known that boy since he was twelve.”
“He is not a boy anymore.”
“No,” Raffaele said. “That is the problem.”
He walked toward the sitting room.
A maid brought him water.
Raffaele did not drink it.
Alessandro noticed.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Marco glanced at him. “What?”
“He does not trust anything prepared in this house.”
Raffaele remained in the sitting room for twenty minutes. He made two calls. Both were brief. Both were coded.
Then he asked to use the downstairs office.
Marco allowed it.
The office had been prepared.
A hidden camera captured everything.
Raffaele closed the door, waited three seconds, then walked behind Alessandro’s desk. He opened a drawer, removed a secure phone, and dialed a number from memory.
A man answered.
Raffaele spoke in a low voice.
“The coffee was delivered.”
A pause.
“No. I have not confirmed it.”
Another pause.
“He was already weak when I arrived.”
Alessandro’s face went cold.
Raffaele continued.
“Yes. Tonight may be the only window. The doctor will leave after dark. Marco will move his men to the outer gate if we create the right distraction.”
Marco’s hand moved toward his weapon.
Alessandro stopped him.
“Let him finish.”
Raffaele leaned closer to the phone.
“The girl is a complication.”
Alessandro’s eyes sharpened.
“What girl?” Marco whispered.
“The maid’s child,” Raffaele said. “She recognized the scent. I do not know how.”
The person on the other end spoke for several seconds.
Raffaele’s expression darkened.
“No,” he said. “We cannot leave witnesses.”
Alessandro’s stillness became dangerous.
Marco looked at him.
“Say the word.”
But Alessandro said nothing.
On the screen, Raffaele ended the call.
Then he opened another drawer.
Inside was a small framed photograph of Alessandro’s parents.
Raffaele stared at it for a long moment.
His expression shifted.
Not guilt.
Not regret.
Resentment.
“You had everything handed to you,” he whispered.
Alessandro heard every word through the hidden microphone.
Raffaele placed the photograph down and left the room.
When he was gone, Marco turned toward Alessandro.
“He ordered Sophia and Emma killed.”
“Yes.”
“And he is planning to take you tonight.”
“Yes.”
Marco’s face tightened with rage. “Then why are we waiting?”
Alessandro looked at the screen showing Sophia and Emma.
Emma was drawing with crayons on the small table. Her rabbit sat beside her.
She had drawn a house.
A sun.
A woman holding a little girl’s hand.
Sophia leaned over to kiss the top of her head.
“Because,” Alessandro said, “I need to know who Raffaele is working for.”
Marco looked at him.
“You think it is more than one man?”
“I think Raffaele is too careful to move alone.”
That evening, Alessandro entered the guest room where Sophia and Emma were staying.
Sophia stood immediately.
“Mr. Duca.”
“You may call me Alessandro when we are alone.”
She looked uncertain. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
Despite everything, he almost smiled.
Emma sat on the carpet, lining up crayons by color.
When Alessandro entered, she looked up.
“Did you drink the bad coffee?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She pointed at his shirt.
“You should wear blue tomorrow.”
Alessandro looked down. He was wearing black.
“Why blue?”
Emma shrugged.
“Blue is safe.”
Sophia gave him an apologetic look. “She says things like that sometimes.”
Alessandro crouched beside Emma.
“Do you remember the man with the red ring?”
Emma nodded.
“Did he ever talk to your father?”
Her small face became serious.
“He said Papa had to drive somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Near the boats.”
Sophia froze.
“Daniel worked one route near the docks,” she whispered. “He told me something strange was happening there. He said trucks were leaving empty and coming back heavy.”
Alessandro’s eyes met Marco’s through the open door.
Vittori Freight.
The docks.
Raffaele.
A hidden operation.
And a dead warehouse driver who had seen too much.
Alessandro’s voice softened as he looked back at Emma.
“You were very brave to tell me.”
Emma hugged her rabbit.
“Will the red-ring man hurt Mama?”
Alessandro looked at Sophia.
Then at the child.
“No,” he said.
And for the first time in years, Alessandro Duca made a promise that had nothing to do with business, revenge, or power.
May you like
“I will not let him.”
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