Chapter 3
The old butler pantry was spotless.
Too spotless.
Vittorio stood in the doorway with Mauro DeSantis, his security chief.
Nothing smelled wrong.
No powder.
No stains.
No residue.
That was the problem.
A room used for household storage should have dust.
Boxes.
Marks.
Something.
Instead, every shelf gleamed.
Mauro ran one finger along the floorboard.
“Bleach.”
Vittorio looked at him.
“Strong.”
“Recent?”
“Very.”
Anna’s hands made sense now.
Celeste hadn’t simply forced her to clean a spill.
She had forced her to erase it.
Mauro opened a lower cabinet.
Empty.
Then another.
Empty.
Vittorio examined the wall.
One section looked newer.
Not new wood.
New scratches.
Something heavy had been moved repeatedly.
“Pull it.”
Two guards shifted the freestanding cupboard.
Behind it sat a narrow door.
Locked.
Mauro glanced at Vittorio.
“You know about this?”
“No.”
That mattered.
Vittorio owned the estate.
His father had owned it before him.
He knew every public room.
Most private ones.
Not this.
Mauro forced the lock.
The room behind it was barely eight feet deep.
No windows.
One metal shelf.
One sink.
Three crystal decanters.
A box of blue disposable cloths.
And powder.
Tiny traces.
Blue.
Caught in the corner where wall met floor.
Mauro crouched.
“Same color?”
Vittorio looked at the residue.
“Yes.”
One decanter had been washed.
The second was dry.
The third still held a faint blue ring around the bottom.
Vittorio’s face hardened.
A servant entered behind them.
Old Peter Shaw.
Head butler.
Sixty-four.
Twenty-seven years in the Romano house.
He stopped.
His face changed.
Vittorio noticed.
“You knew.”
Peter swallowed.
“Boss—”
“You knew this room existed.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since your father.”
Vittorio stared.
“What was it?”
“Medicine storage.”
“For whom?”
“Your grandmother.”
That surprised him.
“She had heart problems.”
Vittorio remembered.
The room had been hidden because the older Romano generation disliked servants seeing weakness.
That explained the room.
Not the powder.
“Who has the key?”
Peter looked uncomfortable.
“You.”
“I didn’t.”
“Your father’s master ring.”
Vittorio wore the ring now.
But several keys had been duplicated over decades.
“Who else?”
Peter looked toward the hallway.
“House hostess.”
Celeste.
Of course.
“And?”
“Head butler.”
Peter touched his pocket.
Vittorio looked at him.
Peter immediately removed an old brass key.
Placed it in Vittorio’s hand.
“When did you last open this room?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why?”
“Celeste told me to.”
“What was inside?”
“Cleaning supplies.”
“Blue powder?”
“No.”
Peter’s answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
Mauro noticed.
“So you saw something.”
Peter looked down.
Vittorio stepped closer.
“What?”
“A wooden case.”
“What kind?”
“Medical.”
“Contents?”
“I never opened it.”
“Who removed it?”
Peter’s face tightened.
“Marco.”
Mauro swore quietly.
Vittorio asked:
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Three weeks.
Around the same time Anna had first tasted blue residue.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Peter’s eyes lifted.
“Marco said it was family business.”
Vittorio’s voice became colder.
“And you decided family business mattered more than my house?”
Peter looked ashamed.
Then said something unexpected.
“He said you ordered it.”
Silence.
Vittorio watched him.
Peter continued.
“He used your exact phrase.”
“What phrase?”
Peter swallowed.
“‘If I want you involved, I’ll involve you.’”
Vittorio had said that before.
Many times.
Marco had heard it.
That wasn't proof.
But it was imitation.
Authority borrowed through familiarity.
Mauro opened the lower shelf.
Something clicked.
A false panel.
Inside sat a small cloth pouch.
Not powder.
A ring.
Silver.
Black stone.
Mauro frowned.
“Not Romano.”
Vittorio knew it.
He had seen that ring twice before.
Both times on men from the Ferrara crew.
A rival Queens faction that had spent the last year pretending peace benefited everyone.
Vittorio picked it up.
Peter stepped backward.
“No.”
Vittorio looked at him.
“What?”
Peter stared at the ring.
“That wasn’t there before.”
“How do you know?”
“Because…”
He stopped.
Too late.
Vittorio waited.
Peter’s face went pale.
“Because Marco made me check the compartment yesterday.”
Mauro turned.
Vittorio didn’t move.
“Why?”
Peter whispered:
“To make sure it was empty.”
The ring had appeared after that.
Which meant someone wanted Vittorio to find it.
The blue powder was real.
The hidden room was real.
But the rival-family ring might be a lie.
A trail deliberately placed under his feet.
Vittorio closed his fist around it.
May you like
Someone wasn't just trying to poison him.
They were trying to decide who he blamed.
