Chapter 1 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO SAW TOO MUCH
"She put the bird on a white paper," Sophia said.
Dante Moretti stopped breathing for half a second.
Across the kitchen table, the three-year-old carefully placed another blueberry on her pancake.
"What kind of paper, sweetheart?"
Sophia wrinkled her nose.
"Big paper. With red lines."
Dante leaned forward.
"And then?"
"She made the bird dirty."
Elena Vasquez stood beside the stove, gripping the handle of a skillet so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
"Dirty how?" Dante asked.
"Black stuff." Sophia held up her little fingers. "She rubbed it on the bird, then went squish."
Dante understood immediately.
Ink.
Isabella had coated the Moretti family seal with ink and pressed it onto a document.
But that made no sense.
The bronze seal was not a stamp.
It was an authentication device used for agreements that could transfer control of properties, offshore holdings, and family trusts worth hundreds of millions.
A genuine impression could authorize transactions that even Dante's signature could not complete alone.
Someone had taught Isabella how to use it.
Someone had given her a document.
And someone expected Dante to remain ignorant until it was too late.
"Did she take the paper with her?" he asked.
Sophia shook her head.
"She gave it to the angry man."
Elena dropped the skillet.
It struck the tile with a deafening crash.
Dante did not turn around.
"What angry man?"
Sophia lowered her voice.
"The one who says bad words."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"Where did you see him?"
"By the flowers. Outside."
"The garden?"
She nodded.
"He had a black umbrella. The pretty lady said, 'Daddy, hurry.'"
Dante felt the first genuine surge of anger.
Victor Costa.
His future father-in-law.
The man who had spent eleven months pretending to welcome Dante into his family.
"Did the angry man say anything?"
Sophia looked toward her mother.
"Can I say the bad word?"
Elena's expression became desperate.
"Sophia, honey—"
"It's all right," Dante said.
The little girl leaned closer.
"He said, 'That bastard won't know until Friday.'"
The kitchen fell silent.
Friday.
Tomorrow.
Dante glanced at the clock.
7:18 a.m.
He had less than forty-one hours to discover what Isabella and Victor were planning.
He stood.
"Elena, take the rest of the week off."
Her face crumpled.
"Mr. Moretti, please. I need this job. I know Sophia shouldn't have been upstairs, but—"
"You're not being fired."
"Then why?"
"Because your daughter just told me something people have been murdered for knowing."
Elena went completely still.
Dante regretted the words the moment he saw her expression.
He softened his voice.
"Listen carefully. I want you and Sophia in the guesthouse. My security team will protect you. Nobody leaves without my permission."
Elena stepped backward.
"Are we prisoners?"
"No."
"Then why can't we leave?"
"Because somebody may already know what Sophia saw."
Before Elena could answer, Dante's phone vibrated.
His head of security, Marco Bellini.
Dante answered.
"Talk."
"Boss, we checked the garden cameras like you asked."
"And?"
"The footage from yesterday afternoon is gone."
"How much?"
"Forty-seven minutes."
Dante's expression hardened.
"Find out who erased it."
Marco hesitated.
"That's the problem, boss."
"What problem?"
"The deletion was authorized from your private security terminal."
Dante looked toward the kitchen doorway.
Only three people possessed that terminal's access code.
Himself.
Marco.
And his younger brother, Luca.
Then Marco spoke again.
"There's something else. Your brother left the estate at four this morning."
"Where did he go?"
"We traced his car to a private airfield."
Dante's stomach tightened.
"Why?"
May you like
"Because, boss, Luca boarded Victor Costa's jet."
And for the first time in fifteen years, Dante wondered whether the greatest threat to his empire shared his last name.
