Chapter 8
The false caterer lasted nine minutes.
His name was Owen Price.
Not Ferrara.
Not Romano.
Hired muscle.
No family loyalty.
That made him easier.
Vittorio sat across from him in the wine room.
Mauro stood behind.
No shouting.
No beating.
Just questions.
“Who paid you?”
Owen stared at the table.
“Don't know.”
“Who gave you the rings?”
“A man.”
Mauro almost laughed.
“Remarkable detail.”
Owen said nothing.
Vittorio placed one ring in front of him.
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Drop them.”
“Where?”
“Service halls.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
“Before or after midnight?”
Owen’s eyes lifted.
There.
Vittorio leaned forward.
“What happens at midnight?”
Owen looked away.
Mauro answered for him.
“He knows.”
Vittorio waited.
Owen finally spoke.
“Lights go out.”
“How?”
“No idea.”
“Then?”
“Men come through the east loading gate.”
“How many?”
“Ten.”
Mauro looked at Vittorio.
Ten armed men entering a dark estate after a secret vote.
Ferrara rings scattered throughout.
Chaos.
Perfect.
“Target?”
Owen swallowed.
“Council room.”
“Who dies?”
“No names.”
“Who gave the order?”
“No names.”
Vittorio leaned back.
Owen continued quickly.
“I only knew one thing.”
“What?”
“The maid survives.”
Mauro’s eyes narrowed.
Vittorio became very still.
“Why?”
Owen shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Anna Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They said she had to be found.”
Silence.
Mauro understood first.
“Blame.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
The maid who tasted Vittorio’s drinks.
The maid whose hands had chemical burns.
The maid with access to service corridors.
After an attack, she would be alive.
Conveniently alive.
Covered in residue.
Perfect scapegoat.
“Where was she supposed to be found?”
“Blue room.”
Vittorio stood.
Celeste had spent weeks placing Anna inside the story.
Forced tastings.
Cleaning residue.
Missing meals.
Fear.
Everything that made her easy to control also made her easy to frame.
Mauro looked disgusted.
“They were building her guilt.”
Vittorio turned toward Owen.
“And Mia?”
Owen said nothing.
That silence frightened him more than anything else.
“Where is the child supposed to be?”
“I don't know.”
“Lie.”
“I swear.”
“Then why did you hesitate?”
Owen’s face tightened.
“Because I heard them argue.”
“Who?”
“A woman and a man.”
“Celeste and Marco?”
“No idea.”
“What did they say?”
He swallowed.
“The woman said the kid talks too much.”
Vittorio’s face went empty.
Mauro stepped forward.
Owen continued.
“The man said children forget.”
Vittorio’s voice dropped.
“And the woman?”
Owen hesitated.
“She said this one remembers.”
Silence.
Mia.
A three-year-old who noticed blue dust.
A three-year-old who overheard midnight.
A three-year-old who found seat number twelve.
Too observant.
Too dangerous.
Vittorio stood.
Owen immediately said:
“I never agreed to hurt a kid.”
Vittorio looked at him.
“That sentence means someone asked.”
Owen closed his eyes.
There.
Vittorio moved toward the door.
“Who?”
No answer.
Mauro grabbed the handle.
Owen finally broke.
“Marco.”
Vittorio stopped.
Owen continued.
“He said if the girl was still in the service wing at midnight, take her with the maid.”
“Take her where?”
“Outside.”
“Then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
Owen shook his head.
“Marco said…”
He swallowed.
“He said nobody looks for servants until morning.”
Vittorio stared at him.
“And the child?”
Owen looked away.
“Same.”
Vittorio left the room.
No rush.
No visible rage.
That frightened Mauro more than shouting would have.
They walked in silence until the elevator doors closed.
Then Vittorio said:
“Move Anna and Mia.”
“Where?”
“Not the suite.”
Mauro looked at him.
“Where?”
Vittorio adjusted his cuffs.
“Somewhere Celeste thinks she can reach them.”
Mauro understood.
A trap.
Vittorio looked at the clock.
11:02.
May you like
Fifty-eight minutes until the house went dark.
This time, Vittorio intended to be waiting.
