Chapter 5 - SARAH’S LAST NIGHT
Luca did not move when Sarah said his uncle’s name.
Vincent Moretti.
The man who had taught Luca to shoot.
The man who had stood beside him when his father was buried.
The man Lily called Uncle Vinny because when she was six, she had decided Great-Uncle Vincent sounded too old.
On the laptop screen, Sarah looked exhausted but determined.
“If Vincent tells you I was paranoid, remember that frightened people can still be right.”
The video jumped.
Sarah looked off-camera as if she had heard something in the hallway.
Then she leaned closer.
“Dominic found transfers out of Lily’s trust. Small amounts at first. Then larger. The money moved through Bellini Development, Mercy Ridge Consulting, and three shell companies Vincent controls through other people.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
Tomas whispered, “Jesus.”
Sarah continued.
“Vanessa began visiting me almost every evening after Lily went to sleep. Tea. Wine. Vitamins. I stopped drinking anything she brought me and the missing hours stopped.”
Dr. Warren went pale.
“I ran private blood tests. Adrian Vale handled them. I chose him because Vincent recommended him years ago.”
Sarah laughed once on-screen.
There was no humor in it.
“That was my mistake.”
Claire.
My own name sounded strange inside my head.
Because suddenly I could see Dr. Vale again.
Mercy Ridge.
White coat.
Perfect hair.
The kind of smile that always seemed to arrive before the rest of his face.
He had looked at me across a nurses’ station after the private patient died and said, You are confusing access with understanding, Miss Dawson.
I had been twenty-three.
Angry enough to believe telling the truth automatically gave it weight.
I knew better now.
On-screen, Sarah swallowed.
“If I die, the original ledger is under the chapel. Luca, do not send Lily for it. Do not bring Lily there. Vincent knows you take her to light candles for your mother.”
Luca’s eyes flicked toward the door where Lily had disappeared with Mrs. Garcia.
Sarah looked directly into the camera.
“And if Dominic seems guilty, make sure it is Dominic you are looking at. Someone has been using his credentials. He showed me access logs from nights he was in Chicago.”
The video glitched again.
Then the sound returned.
“I love you. I am furious with you. Both things can be true.”
Luca’s face cracked.
Sarah gave a tired smile.
“You keep thinking love is protection. Sometimes love is listening before the danger becomes obvious.”
Her eyes filled.
“Listen to Lily.”
The video ended.
Nobody spoke.
The silence afterward felt almost disrespectful, as if Sarah had just walked out of the room and might return if we waited long enough.
Luca shut the laptop.
“Tomas.”
“Yes.”
“Where is Vincent?”
Tomas checked his phone.
“Manhattan. His driver logged departure from his townhouse at nine-thirty this morning.”
“For here?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
Nothing says innocence like arriving uninvited at the exact house where your dead niece-in-law has accused you of financial theft and possible murder.
“How long?” Luca asked.
“Forty minutes.”
Luca looked at me.
“You and Lily stay upstairs.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
I pointed toward the closed laptop.
“Sarah said listen to Lily. She did not say lock Claire in a bedroom.”
“This has nothing to do with you now.”
I laughed.
“My apartment was torn apart. Someone shot at me in a bank. A dead woman’s medical records contain the name of the doctor who destroyed my career. We passed ‘nothing to do with you’ sometime around midnight.”
Tomas found something interesting on the ceiling.
Luca rubbed his jaw.
“You’re not meeting Vincent.”
“Fine.”
“That was easy.”
“I’m saving my energy for the next argument.”
He stared at me.
I smiled sweetly.
“I’m still employed, right?”
“Technically.”
“Then I’ll clean.”
His expression suggested he knew I was planning something and lacked the vocabulary to stop it without sounding ridiculous.
“Stay away from the west wing.”
“Of course, sir.”
“That tone means the opposite of the words.”
“Then perhaps I’m adapting to the household culture.”
Dr. Warren coughed to hide a laugh.
Luca pointed at me.
“Two guards.”
“I don’t need—”
“Not negotiable.”
“Fine.”
He leaned closer.
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Do not go near the chapel.”
I looked into his blue eyes.
“Fine.”
He did not believe me.
Smart man.
Vincent arrived thirty-two minutes later.
I watched from the upstairs gallery through the carved railing.
He looked nothing like Luca.
Where Luca was dark and sharp-edged, Vincent was silver-haired, elegant, and warm in the practiced way of men who had spent decades making danger feel like hospitality.
He entered Blackwood House carrying no visible weapon.
He did not need one.
Men like Vincent collected people who carried weapons for them.
“Luca.”
He opened his arms.
Luca did not hug him.
Vincent’s smile faded just enough to register disappointment.
“I heard about the bank.”
“How?”
“Everyone heard about the bank.”
“Not everyone heard I was there.”
Vincent paused.
Then smiled again.
“You think I don’t have friends in White Plains?”
Luca said nothing.
Vincent’s eyes moved around the foyer.
“Where is Lily?”
“Safe.”
“And Vanessa?”
“Gone.”
That seemed to surprise him.
Good.
“She left?”
“She escaped.”
Vincent’s concern arrived perfectly on schedule.
“Escaped from what?”
“She drugged my daughter.”
His face changed.
For half a second, I believed the shock.
Then I remembered Sarah’s video.
“She what?”
“We found a sedative injector in her luggage. Lily’s blood confirmed exposure.”
Vincent cursed in Italian.
“She should be buried under the east garden.”
Luca’s eyes stayed on him.
“Interesting suggestion.”
Vincent caught the tone.
“Do you think I knew?”
“I think everybody is going to tell me exactly what they knew.”
Vincent stared at him.
Then the older man’s expression softened.
“Your father used to look at me like that.”
“My father trusted you.”
“Yes.”
“Did Sarah?”
There it was.
Vincent’s face barely moved.
“Sarah was ill.”
My hands tightened around the dust cloth.
Exactly what Sarah said he would say.
Luca’s voice stayed calm.
“What illness?”
“She was frightened after Lily was born. Suspicious. She imagined people were taking things from her. You remember.”
“I remember being told that.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“Who are you listening to?”
Luca did not answer.
I stepped back from the railing before Vincent could look up.
One of my assigned guards stood at the far end of the hall.
The other, Mark Keene, stood beside me.
I had seen him around the estate for months. Early forties. Close-cropped hair. Former military, according to the kitchen gossip. Deputy head of security.
He smiled.
“Family meetings.”
“Always cheerful.”
“You should stay in your room until they’re done.”
“I was told to clean.”
“By who?”
“Me.”
His smile disappeared.
Interesting.
I moved toward the east corridor.
He followed.
“Miss Dawson.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“You’ve had a rough night. Maybe don’t make it worse by being curious.”
Every hair on my arms lifted.
I turned slowly.
“Was that advice?”
“Friendly advice.”
“I’m not sure we’re friends.”
He smiled again.
“No. Probably not.”
Then he walked away.
I watched him go.
At the end of the corridor, he turned not toward the security office but toward the service stairs.
I waited five seconds.
Then followed.
Yes, I know.
Bad idea.
But here is the problem with good ideas: they usually happen after someone survives the bad one.
Keene descended to the ground floor and crossed through the servants’ hall.
I stayed twenty feet behind him, using linen alcoves and doorways for cover.
He entered the old butler’s pantry.
I moved close enough to hear voices.
Vincent.
My blood went cold.
Keene spoke first.
“She’s here.”
“Who?”
“The girl from Mercy Ridge.”
Silence.
Then Vincent said, “Claire Dawson?”
My heart slammed.
He knew my name.
Keene said, “She found the phone.”
Vincent swore softly.
“How much does she remember?”
“Don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“And Luca?”
“Keep him away from the chapel until tonight.”
I stepped backward.
The floorboard creaked.
The pantry went silent.
I ran.
I made it six steps before the door opened behind me.
“Claire!” Keene shouted.
I sprinted up the service stairs.
My bruised eye throbbed. My neck burned. My lungs felt like they were trying to leave my body.
Footsteps followed.
Fast.
I reached the second floor and slammed through the linen-room door, locked it, then grabbed the rolling laundry cart and shoved it against the handle.
Keene hit the door once.
Hard.
The cart jumped.
“Claire.”
His voice was calm now.
That scared me more.
“You misunderstood.”
“Fantastic. Explain it through the door.”
Another hit.
The lock cracked.
I looked around.
No second exit.
One narrow dumbwaiter shaft.
Too small.
One window overlooking the courtyard.
Too high.
The door buckled.
I grabbed the nearest weapon.
A brass lamp.
The door burst open.
Keene came through.
I swung.
He caught my wrist.
The lamp hit the floor.
His other hand covered my mouth.
“You should have stayed invisible.”
I bit him.
Hard.
He cursed and released me.
I drove my knee upward.
He doubled enough for me to shove past him.
I reached the hallway.
Then his hand caught my hair.
Pain exploded across my scalp.
He dragged me backward.
A voice behind him said, very quietly,
“Take your hand off her.”
Keene froze.
Luca stood at the far end of the hall.
No jacket.
No expression.
Gun in his hand.
Vincent stood three steps behind him.
For one impossible second, nobody moved.
Then Keene released my hair.
Luca walked toward us.
“What happened?”
Keene opened his mouth.
I spoke first.
“He works for Vincent.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“That is absurd.”
“I heard them in the pantry.”
Keene stepped backward.
Luca raised the gun.
“Don’t.”
Keene stopped.
Vincent laughed softly.
“Luca, you are going to point a gun at your own security because a maid says she overheard something?”
Luca looked at him.
“No.”
Vincent relaxed.
Then Luca said, “I’m going to point a gun at my security because he was dragging her by the hair.”
Silence.
Tomas appeared at the opposite stairwell with two guards.
“Keene. Hands where I can see them.”
Keene looked at Vincent.
Just once.
Too quick for most people.
Not too quick for Luca.
Not too quick for me.
Luca’s voice went cold.
“Search him.”
Tomas did.
From Keene’s pocket he removed a small key card.
The evidence-room access card.
The one that could have retrieved Sarah’s phone.
Tomas stared at it.
“You son of a bitch.”
Keene said nothing.
Luca looked at Vincent.
His uncle smiled sadly.
“You are making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“Family should count for something.”
Luca’s eyes were ice.
“It does.”
Then he nodded toward Tomas.
“Take Keene downstairs.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“And me?”
Luca’s gaze never left him.
“You’re my guest.”
Vincent smiled.
They both knew what the word meant now.
Prisoner.
That night, Luca went to the chapel.
May you like
He told me not to come.
I went anyway.
