Chapter 8 - THE ENEMY INSIDE THE HOTEL
The wedding began at five o'clock.
Four hundred ninety-eight guests gathered beneath the Drake Hotel's chandeliers, unaware that the woman responsible for every perfect detail had just received a death threat.
Rosie stood behind the ballroom doors holding her service tablet.
Her hands were shaking.
Her assistant, Emily, approached.
"Are you okay?"
Rosie forced a smile.
"Just tired."
Emily frowned.
"You've been working for sixteen hours."
"Welcome to hospitality."
But when Rosie turned away, her smile vanished.
She forwarded the threatening message to the investigator working with Lorenzo.
Then she called her grandmother.
"Nonna, are you safe?"
Antonella sounded offended.
"Of course I'm safe. I'm making lasagna."
"Please don't open the door for anyone."
"Rosalina, what happened?"
Rosie hesitated.
"Someone found Dad."
A long silence followed.
Then Antonella whispered, "Oh, sweetheart."
Rosie's eyes filled.
"He's alive."
"I know."
Rosie froze.
"What?"
Antonella began crying.
"Your father called me three months ago."
Rosie gripped the wall.
"Three months?"
"He said he was trying to come home."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because he begged me not to."
Rosie felt betrayed.
"Everyone keeps deciding what I should know."
Antonella sobbed.
"I thought I was protecting you."
"That's what everybody says."
Before her grandmother could answer, Emily rushed toward her.
"Rosie, emergency."
Rosie closed her eyes.
"What now?"
"The bride's father wants to speak with you."
She hurried toward the ballroom.
At the head table stood a distinguished man with silver hair and an expensive tuxedo.
Richard Prescott.
The bride's father.
Rosie had dealt with him for nearly a year.
He was demanding, wealthy, and exceptionally concerned about privacy.
"Miss Hastings," he said smoothly. "A word?"
Rosie approached.
"Of course, Mr. Prescott."
He led her toward a quiet corridor.
Then his expression changed.
The warmth disappeared.
"I understand you've been asking questions."
Rosie's stomach tightened.
"About the wedding?"
"About Michael Hastings."
She stopped.
"How do you know that name?"
Prescott smiled.
"Your father has been very difficult to manage."
Rosie stepped backward.
He moved closer.
"Don't make the same mistake."
Her pulse hammered.
"Who are you?"
Prescott adjusted his cufflinks.
"Someone who invested a great deal of money in keeping your family quiet."
Rosie reached discreetly for the emergency alert button on her service tablet.
Prescott noticed.
"Don't."
She pressed it anyway.
A silent security notification went directly to the hotel command center.
Prescott's eyes narrowed.
"That was unwise."
Footsteps sounded behind them.
Rosie turned.
Two hotel security officers approached.
For one moment, relief washed through her.
Then one of the guards looked at Prescott and asked, "Sir, should we take her downstairs?"
Rosie's blood ran cold.
Prescott smiled.
May you like
"Yes."
And Rosie realized the men assigned to protect the wedding had been working for him all along.
