Chapter 5 - THE RED CORD
Valentino crossed the room before Marco could take another breath.
He did not hit him.
That somehow made the moment more frightening.
He simply removed Marco’s service weapon, set it on the mantel and said, “Explain.”
Marco stared at the red cord.
“This isn’t mine.”
Thomas gave a bitter laugh.
“It’s on your wrist.”
“My daughter tied it there this morning.”
Valentino’s face did not move.
Marco reached slowly into his wallet.
A photograph showed a teenage girl in a soccer uniform wearing several identical red friendship cords.
“She makes them constantly.”
Valentino looked at the photograph.
The explanation was possible.
Again.
That was becoming the worst part.
Becca crouched beside Gia’s drawing.
“Sweetheart, is this Marco?”
Gia studied him.
Then shook her head.
Marco’s shoulders dropped.
Becca pointed to the red wrist.
“Did Snake wear red?”
Mia nodded.
“Always?”
“No.”
“When?”
The child struggled.
Her forehead tightened.
Becca stopped immediately.
“You don’t have to remember.”
Valentino looked grateful.
That surprised her.
Then Lila walked toward Marco.
She touched his cord.
“Pretty.”
Marco closed his eyes.
Whatever suspicion had filled the room softened, but did not disappear.
Thomas leaned back.
“Elena told me the Trident was built around access. The person she feared wouldn’t necessarily be muscle. It could be accountants, assistants, drivers. Anyone who knew where people would be.”
“Who had access to her car?” Becca asked.
Valentino answered.
“Half my security team.”
“Who specifically could take it from the Belvedere?”
Marco looked toward him.
“I could.”
Nobody breathed.
“So could Mr. Vale,” Marco continued. “Thomas. Mrs. Duca herself. Two drivers. Your former chief of staff.”
“Former?”
“Daniel Pike.”
Becca recognized that name too.
Daniel Pike had disappeared from Duca’s companies eighteen months earlier after what newspapers called a quiet retirement.
Valentino looked at Marco.
“You told me Daniel moved to Arizona.”
“He did.”
“Who verified it?”
Marco hesitated.
“Adrian.”
Thomas cursed under his breath.
Valentino turned away.
His entire life seemed to have been built from people verifying one another.
Becca understood the system now.
Trust had become circular.
Nobody stood outside it.
Except her.
Maybe that was why Elena had failed.
She had been searching inside a closed room.
The next morning, they returned to the Onyx Room.
Not because Becca wanted to.
Because Gia had drawn another triangle during breakfast.
Inside it she had written three crooked numbers.
The coat-check ticket.
Valentino closed the restaurant for two hours.
Philippe was furious until Valentino reminded him that the building lease belonged to a Duca subsidiary.
Becca almost smiled.
They examined storage lockers, wine cages and the old coat-check wall.
There was no number 317.
“Renovated last year,” Philippe said.
“Original lockers were removed.”
“Where did they go?” Becca asked.
“Basement auction. Some were sold. Some went upstairs for décor.”
One narrow brass cabinet now stood behind the bar.
Numbers 301 through 320.
Locker 317 remained locked.
Philippe searched for the key.
Nothing.
Valentino looked ready to break it.
Becca stopped him.
“Wait.”
The lock had three small scratches.
One vertical.
Two angled.
A triangle.
She pressed them in sequence.
The door opened.
Inside was a child’s mitten.
Yellow.
A rosary.
And an old restaurant receipt.
Valentino picked up the mitten.
“That was Gia’s.”
Gia stood behind him.
“My yellow.”
Her voice was stronger today.
Still small.
But stronger.
Valentino knelt.
“How did it get here?”
Gia pointed at the rosary.
“Mama.”
The rosary belonged to Elena.
Thomas recognized it immediately.
“She never took that off.”
Valentino’s eyes turned red.
Becca examined the receipt.
The purchase had been made at the Onyx Room two days before Elena’s death.
Three children’s lemonades.
Coffee.
No food.
The server number belonged to Philippe.
Everyone looked at him.
Philippe went pale.
“I don’t remember.”
Valentino said nothing.
Philippe rubbed his forehead.
“It was two years ago.”
Becca turned the receipt over.
Writing.
Not Elena’s.
LOOK AT THE CAMERA ABOVE THE PIANO.
Philippe stared.
“I wrote that.”
Valentino stepped closer.
“Why?”
His manager’s face collapsed.
“Because Mrs. Duca asked if the security cameras worked.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her most belonged to your security company.”
“Most?”
Philippe pointed toward an old decorative brass camera above the piano.
“That one belonged to the restaurant’s previous owner. It stored locally.”
Marco climbed up.
The camera still existed.
So did its memory unit.
Most footage had overwritten itself countless times.
But one folder had been manually protected.
Thursday, March 14.
Two years earlier.
Elena appeared onscreen with the triplets.
She entered carrying the cream coat.
She sat at table twelve.
Five minutes later, Adrian joined her.
The girls stiffened.
Becca glanced at them.
But they were watching the screen, not Adrian.
Adrian and Elena spoke for six minutes.
No audio.
Then Thomas arrived.
Another conversation.
So far, both men had told partial truths.
Then Elena handed Thomas the watch.
He left.
Adrian left next.
Elena remained with the girls.
At 10:52, a fourth person entered.
The camera captured only his back.
Dark coat.
Gray shoes.
A red cord around his wrist.
The girls recoiled from the screen.
“Snake,” all three whispered.
Valentino leaned forward.
The man sat opposite Elena.
She did not look frightened.
She looked furious.
Then she removed her rosary and placed it on the table between them.
The man reached for it.
His sleeve lifted.
Becca saw a watch.
Large.
Square-faced.
Unusual.
Valentino inhaled sharply.
He knew it.
“Whose watch?” Becca asked.
He did not answer.
The figure turned slightly.
Not enough for a face.
Enough for a ring.
A heavy gold signet ring engraved with the Duca family crest.
Only five such rings had ever been made.
Valentino wore one.
Thomas’s father had worn another.
And a third had belonged to Valentino’s godfather.
A man who had helped raise him after his parents died.
A man everyone believed had retired to Sicily years ago.
Valentino whispered his name.
“Raffaele.”
Thomas stared at the screen.
“That’s impossible.”
The girls began crying.
Because on screen, the man finally leaned toward Elena.
And even without audio, Gia remembered exactly what he had said.
May you like
She whispered it into the silent restaurant.
“Daddy can’t save you.”
