Chapter 3 - THE DEAD MAN WHO LEFT A WARNING
"Nobody leaves this house."
Marco Bellini's command stopped every employee in the main hallway.
Security guards sealed the entrances.
Dominic Russo ordered the garage locked.
Outside, thunder rolled across the estate as though the storm itself had returned to finish something.
Marco stood at the foot of the staircase holding the photograph of his father.
For three months, he had believed Vittorio Bellini died suddenly at home after complaining of chest pain.
He had signed the funeral documents.
He had carried the coffin.
He had stood beside his mother while she wept.
Now a photograph suggested that someone had lied about the final hour of his father's life.
And possibly about everything that followed.
Dominic approached.
"Luca isn't answering his phone."
"Find him."
"His driver says he left for the city an hour ago."
"Then find the driver."
Marco's voice remained controlled.
But Dominic had known him for twenty years.
He understood the danger in that stillness.
"There's something else," Dominic said.
Marco turned.
"The surveillance archive from the night your father died has been altered."
"Altered how?"
"Forty-three minutes are missing."
Marco looked toward the upper floor, where Anna was staying with Elena.
"Who had access?"
"Me. Two senior technicians. And anyone with your father's old administrator credentials."
"Who still has those credentials?"
Dominic hesitated.
"Your cousin Luca."
Marco closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them.
"Bring Marianne Cole to the security room."
Marianne entered fifteen minutes later, looking as if she had aged ten years.
Her perfect hair had begun to loosen.
Her hands shook.
Marco placed the amber medication bottle on the desk.
"Explain."
"I already told you."
"No. You told me what Dr. Heller supposedly ordered. I want the truth."
Marianne looked toward Dominic.
"Can we speak privately?"
"You can speak here."
She pressed her lips together.
Marco slid the photograph of his father across the desk.
Marianne stared at it.
Her face went white.
"Where did you get that?"
"Does it look familiar?"
She shook her head too quickly.
Marco leaned forward.
"Marianne, I have known you for fifteen years. You were at my mother's bedside when she broke her hip. You arranged my father's medications. You helped me choose flowers for his funeral."
Tears filled her eyes.
"Mr. Bellini..."
"I trusted you."
She started crying.
"I'm sorry."
Marco's expression hardened.
"Sorry for what?"
Marianne covered her mouth.
"It wasn't supposed to go this far."
Dominic stepped closer.
"What wasn't?"
Marianne looked desperately toward the door.
"They told me Mrs. Bellini needed help staying calm."
"Who told you?"
"Dr. Heller."
"And Luca?"
She didn't answer.
Marco's voice dropped.
"Did my cousin order you to drug my mother?"
Marianne sobbed.
"Yes."
The room fell silent.
"He said she was having episodes. Remembering things incorrectly. He told me the medication would keep her from upsetting herself."
"Did you know it was affecting her appetite?"
"Not at first."
"And when you realized?"
Marianne stared at her trembling hands.
"I was afraid to stop."
Marco felt something inside him break.
His mother had sat upstairs starving while the people entrusted with her care kept her sedated.
And he had mistaken her suffering for grief.
He stepped away from the desk.
"Dominic, arrange for Marianne to speak with the authorities. Preserve every recording and document."
Marianne suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
"Wait."
Marco looked down.
"There's one more thing."
"What?"
"The night your father died, I heard him arguing with Luca."
"About what?"
"A shipping company."
Marco went still.
"Which company?"
"Bellini Coastal Freight."
That was the legitimate transportation business Vittorio had spent thirty years building.
Marco had inherited it after the funeral.
Marianne continued.
"Your father said something was moving through the warehouses that shouldn't have been there."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"Then what do you know?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"He said he was going to tell you everything."
Marco stared.
"When?"
"The next morning."
There had been no next morning.
Anna found Marco in the kitchen after midnight.
He stood beside the stainless-steel counter, staring at a cup of untouched coffee.
The powerful man she had met three weeks earlier looked different.
Not weaker.
Simply exhausted in a way money could not repair.
"Your mother is asleep," Anna said.
Marco didn't answer.
"I made sure she had water. Nothing else."
He nodded.
Anna moved toward the sink.
"Miss Brooks."
She stopped.
"Yes?"
"How long have you known Teresa Ricci?"
"Since I was eleven."
"How?"
"She owned the bakery near our apartment. My mother cleaned offices at night, so I spent a lot of afternoons there."
Marco looked up.
"Your mother?"
"She died when I was sixteen."
"I'm sorry."
Anna shrugged, although the memory still hurt.
"Teresa made sure I finished high school. She taught me to cook. Helped me get my first restaurant job."
"Why didn't you tell me she encouraged you to apply here?"
"Because she asked me not to."
"Why?"
Anna hesitated.
"She said people in this house had hurt your mother, and she didn't know whom to trust."
Marco studied her.
"Did she send you to investigate?"
"No."
"Anna."
The sound of her first name surprised them both.
She set down the towel.
"She told me your mother was lonely. That she'd stopped eating after her husband died. She wanted somebody to take care of her."
"Anything else?"
Anna lowered her eyes.
"She was frightened."
"Of whom?"
"She wouldn't say."
Marco took a slow breath.
"Someone attacked her tonight."
Anna gripped the counter.
"What?"
"She called me. Someone interrupted the call."
"Where is she?"
"We're looking."
Anna turned toward the doorway.
Marco caught her arm gently.
"Where are you going?"
"To find her."
"Not alone."
"She's the closest thing I have to a mother."
Her voice cracked.
For the first time, Marco saw something beneath her stubborn composure.
Fear.
Not of him.
Of losing another person she loved.
His grip loosened.
"I'll find her."
Anna shook her head.
"You don't understand. Teresa doesn't have money or bodyguards. If someone comes after her, nobody notices."
Marco held her gaze.
"I notice."
She looked away before he could see her cry.
At 2:30 a.m., the preliminary toxicology report arrived.
The tea contained a prescription sedative at a concentration inconsistent with the treatment plan the family had been given.
Marco read the report twice.
Then he called Elena's nutritionist, who confirmed that she had never approved sedatives as part of the dietary plan.
Dr. Heller still could not be reached.
Dominic entered with more bad news.
"Teresa's bakery is empty."
"What about her apartment?"
"Door was open. Nobody inside."
"Signs of a struggle?"
"A broken lamp. Blood on the kitchen floor."
Marco glanced toward Anna, who was sitting near the security monitors.
She had insisted on remaining downstairs.
He wished she hadn't heard.
But she had.
"Is it hers?" Anna whispered.
"We don't know."
She pressed both hands against her mouth.
Dominic continued.
"We found something under the counter at the bakery."
He placed a small notebook on the desk.
It was black leather.
Old.
Water-damaged around the edges.
Marco recognized it immediately.
His father had carried a notebook like that for years.
He opened it.
The first pages contained ordinary business figures.
Shipping invoices.
Warehouse expenses.
Names of vendors.
Then the entries changed.
Numbers appeared beside unfamiliar initials.
Large transfers.
Dates.
Containers identified only by letters.
Marco's eyes narrowed.
"What is this?"
Dominic examined one page.
"Looks like someone was keeping a second set of freight records."
Marco turned another page.
A folded photograph fell out.
It showed Vittorio Bellini standing beside a woman Marco recognized from television.
Special Agent Leah Shaw.
The FBI agent who had spent years investigating organized crime along the East Coast.
Marco stared at the photograph.
His father had been meeting with federal authorities.
Without telling him.
At the bottom of the page, Vittorio had written:
If anything happens to me, give Shaw the originals. Do not trust the copies.
Anna leaned closer.
"What's that mean?"
Marco didn't answer.
He was already searching the final pages.
There was another note.
Written in his father's unmistakable handwriting.
Marco must never inherit this without knowing what Luca has done.
Marco's chest tightened.
His father had been trying to warn him.
But about what?
A sharp sound interrupted them.
Anna's phone vibrated.
A message from Teresa's number.
There was a photograph attached.
Teresa Ricci sat tied to a chair in a dark room.
Her face was bruised.
Behind her hung a faded red sign.
Anna recognized it.
The sign had once been displayed above the ovens in Teresa's bakery.
Beneath the photograph appeared a message.
BRING THE BLACK NOTEBOOK TO THE OLD BAKERY AT 6 A.M. COME ALONE.
Anna's hands began shaking.
Another message appeared.
AND DON'T TELL MARCO BELLINI. HIS FATHER RUINED TERESA'S LIFE. HE WILL RUIN YOURS.
Anna slowly raised her eyes.
Marco was watching her.
"What does it say?"
For the first time since entering the Bellini estate, Anna considered lying to him.
Because the next message contained a photograph neither of them had ever seen.
It showed a young Vittorio Bellini standing outside Teresa's bakery.
Beside him was Anna's mother.
May you like
And across the back, someone had written:
ASK MARCO WHAT HIS FATHER DID TO YOUR FAMILY.
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