Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO KILLED LUCIA
Vincent Caruso had been Alessandro’s closest friend.
That was the first thing I learned.
The second was worse.
He had also been Lucia’s godfather.
We sat in Alessandro’s library after Sophia fell asleep.
The estate had changed in less than twelve hours.
Security at every door.
Cars patrolling outside.
Curtains closed after sunset.
Two guards positioned outside the hallway containing my bedroom.
I hated all of it.
But I hated the photograph of Sophia more.
Alessandro stood near the fireplace.
“Vincent and I grew up together.”
His voice was quiet.
“Our fathers did business. We attended the same schools. Fought the same boys. Built half our lives side by side.”
“What happened?”
“Power.”
He gave a humorless smile.
“What else?”
According to Alessandro, Vincent began diverting money from several Moretti-controlled businesses eight years earlier.
Alessandro discovered it.
Vincent denied everything.
Then evidence appeared connecting him to a rival organization.
“I gave him a choice,” Alessandro said.
“Leave New York and never return, or face consequences.”
I did not ask what consequences meant.
“He left?”
“Yes.”
“And Lucia died?”
“Seven months later.”
I stared at him.
“The drunk driver?”
“Disappeared before trial.”
“That sounds impossible.”
“Not in my world.”
Alessandro walked to a locked cabinet.
Inside were police files.
Photographs.
Traffic reports.
Private investigator notes.
He had spent six years searching.
“The driver’s name was Samuel Price,” he said. “No history of alcohol abuse. No prior arrests. No reason to be in Manhattan that night.”
“What did police find?”
“A blood alcohol level almost four times the legal limit.”
I frowned.
“So he was drunk.”
“Maybe.”
“Why maybe?”
“Because the blood sample was destroyed two weeks later because of what they called a storage failure.”
My stomach tightened.
“And Samuel?”
“His apartment was empty by morning.”
He vanished.
No bank activity.
No relatives contacted.
Nothing.
Then Alessandro showed me something else.
A grainy traffic camera still.
Samuel’s sedan before the crash.
Another vehicle followed two cars behind.
Black SUV.
The plate was unreadable.
“But you think it was Vincent.”
“I think Vincent arranged it.”
“Why would he hurt your family instead of you?”
Alessandro looked at me.
“To leave me alive.”
The answer was colder than I expected.
“To make you suffer.”
“Yes.”
I thought about the locked room.
Six years frozen in time.
Maybe Vincent had succeeded more completely than he knew.
“Why hasn’t he come after you since?”
“He has.”
My skin prickled.
“Business attacks. Informants. Two attempted ambushes. Nothing he could be tied to.”
“And now Sophia.”
Alessandro’s expression darkened.
“I don’t know why.”
I thought about the dates.
“If someone followed us before she entered Lucia’s room, maybe this isn’t about her making you emotionally vulnerable.”
He nodded.
“That is what bothers me.”
“Then what?”
Before he could answer, a knock sounded.
Gabriel entered carrying a folder.
“We found something on Elena.”
I turned sharply.
“On me?”
Alessandro’s face hardened.
“What?”
Gabriel looked almost apologetic.
“Her employment records before Moretti House are clean. But someone altered the reference file used when she was hired.”
My mouth went dry.
“I applied through an agency.”
“I know.”
Gabriel opened the folder.
“The agency recommended you.”
“Yes.”
“They didn’t.”
I stared.
“What?”
“The recruiter listed on your application left the agency six months before you applied.”
My heart started pounding.
“That’s impossible.”
Gabriel continued.
“Someone inserted a recommendation directly into their system.”
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
“We traced the access to an outside consultant.”
“Name.”
“Michael Trent.”
I knew that name.
Barely.
“He helped me after my husband died.”
Both men looked at me.
Alessandro said, “You never mentioned a husband.”
“It wasn’t relevant.”
“It is now.”
My fingers tightened around the chair.
“Sophia’s father was Daniel Harper.”
I hated saying his name.
“He died before she was born.”
“How?”
“Construction accident.”
Alessandro’s expression changed.
“When?”
“Almost four years ago.”
“Where did he work?”
I tried to remember the company.
Daniel changed jobs often.
“Harbor Ridge Contracting.”
Gabriel immediately pulled out his phone.
Alessandro stared at me.
“What did Michael Trent do?”
“He was supposedly Daniel’s supervisor’s friend. He helped with paperwork after the accident. Insurance forms. Funeral arrangements. He found me a cheaper apartment.”
“And later the maid agency?”
I froze.
“Yes.”
Michael had emailed me the listing.
Said the Moretti estate paid well.
At the time, it had felt like kindness.
Now I could barely breathe.
Gabriel looked up from his phone.
“Boss.”
Alessandro turned.
“Harbor Ridge was owned through two holding companies.”
He paused.
“One connects to Vincent Caruso.”
Silence swallowed the room.
I stood too quickly.
“No.”
“Elena—”
“No.”
My husband had died when scaffolding collapsed at a renovation site in Brooklyn.
At least, that was what I had been told.
Daniel had been twenty-nine.
Funny.
Restless.
Sometimes irresponsible.
But he loved Sophia before she was born.
He used to talk to my stomach at night.
“I need the accident report.”
Gabriel hesitated.
“Tonight.”
“I’ll get it.”
“Now.”
Alessandro stepped toward me.
“Elena.”
I turned.
“What if Daniel wasn’t an accident?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if Vincent put me in your house?”
His expression sharpened.
“That possibility has occurred to me.”
My stomach twisted.
“Then why?”
No answer.
A terrible idea formed.
“Sophia.”
Alessandro went still.
“What about her?”
“What if they didn’t bring me here because of me?”
Gabriel’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face went white.
“What?”
Alessandro demanded.
Gabriel lowered the phone.
“We found Michael Trent.”
“Where?”
“Dead.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
The same day Sophia and I were photographed.
Gabriel continued.
“But before he died, he mailed something.”
“To whom?”
Gabriel looked directly at me.
“Elena.”
My knees weakened.
“A package is waiting at the Queens post office under your maiden name.”
“What’s inside?”
“We don’t know.”
Alessandro reached for his coat.
“We’re getting it.”
“No.”
He turned.
I stepped toward him.
“If someone is watching me, marching into Queens with ten armed men will announce exactly where I am.”
His jaw tightened.
“She’s right,” Gabriel said reluctantly.
Alessandro looked irritated by both of us.
We eventually arranged for a federal postal inspector trusted by Gabriel to secure the package and deliver it to a neutral location.
Two hours later, it arrived.
A padded envelope.
Inside were three things.
A photograph of Daniel.
A flash drive.
And a handwritten note.
Elena—
If you are reading this, Vincent knows I betrayed him.
Daniel’s death was not an accident.
He discovered what really happened to Lucia Moretti.
And before they killed him, he hid the proof somewhere only you can find.
My hands shook so badly the paper rattled.
At the bottom was one final line.
Do not trust anyone in Moretti’s house.
Not even the man standing closest to Alessandro.
May you like
I slowly looked up.
Gabriel was standing directly behind him.
