Chapter 3: The Name She Never Mentioned
Lorenzo read the message twice.
Then he looked at Marco.
"Who sent this?"
"Burner phone.
Untraceable so far." Marco kept his voice flat.
"But it was sent from within two kilometers of the estate."
Lorenzo pocketed his phone and walked toward the main staircase.
"Bring Valentina to the library."
"And if she refuses?"
"She won't."
He was right.
When Marco appeared at her door five minutes later, Valentina came without argument.
That told Lorenzo something.
Refusal would have been normal.
Compliance meant she was calculating.
She entered the library still dressed in her ivory.
She had fixed her hair.
Her hands were steady.
Lorenzo was standing at the window with his back to her.
"Sit down," he said.
"I'd rather stand."
"Sit down, Valentina."
She sat.
He turned.
"Who introduced us?"
She blinked.
Whatever question she had been preparing for, it wasn't that one.
"What?"
"Two years ago.
The Ferraro dinner.
You were seated beside me.
Someone arranged that seating." He walked toward her slowly.
"Who?"
Valentina's jaw tightened.
"I don't remember who arranged the seating."
"You remember everything."
"It was two years ago, Lorenzo."
"You told me once it was the most important night of your life." He stopped in front of her.
"So I'll ask again.
Who put you at that table?"
A long pause.
"Dante suggested I attend."
The room went very quiet.
"Dante," Lorenzo repeated.
"He knew the Ferraros.
He said it would be good for my business contacts." She spread her hands.
"That's all it was."
"And when did Dante suggest this?"
"I don't know.
A week before, perhaps."
"You'd met Dante before that night?"
Her eyes moved left.
Just slightly.
Just for a moment.
"We had mutual friends."
"Names."
"Lorenzo, this is—"
"Names, Valentina."
She stood up.
"I'm not being interrogated in my own—"
"This is my house." His voice didn't rise.
It dropped.
"Sit down."
She sat.
Marco appeared in the doorway.
He held a manila folder.
He crossed the room and placed it on the desk without a word.
Lorenzo opened it.
Inside were printed phone records.
Forty-seven calls between Valentina's personal number and a prepaid phone registered to no one.
The calls began fourteen months ago.
They ended three days before the mountain-road att@ck.
Then they started again six weeks later.
After Lorenzo had survived.
He turned the top page toward her.
Valentina looked at it.
Her face didn't change.
But her right hand moved to her lap and pressed flat against her thigh.
"Forty-seven calls," Lorenzo said.
"To a phone we've now linked to a man named Caruso.
Enzo Caruso." He watched her.
"Do you know that name?"
"No."
"He was found in a drainage canal outside Naples eight weeks ago." Lorenzo closed the folder.
"He was the driver of the vehicle that forced my car off the mountain road."
Valentina said nothing.
"He's de@d, Valentina.
Which means whoever hired him decided he knew too much." Lorenzo leaned forward.
"Was that decision made before or after you realized I had survived?"
She stood again.
This time her voice shook, but not with fear.
With something sharper.
"You have phone records connecting me to a number.
That's all.
I don't know who that number belonged to.
I don't know any Caruso.
And I will not sit here and be accused of something monstrous based on a piece of paper."
"Then explain the calls."
"I can't explain calls to a number I don't recognize."
"Forty-seven times."
"Lorenzo—"
"Forty-seven."
She picked up her bag from the chair.
"I want to speak to my attorney."
Lorenzo stepped aside.
"Marco will show you to a room where you can make that call." He paused.
"You won't be leaving the estate until I say otherwise."
Valentina walked to the door.
She stopped with her hand on the frame.
"You're going to regret this," she said quietly.
"Whatever you think you know, you're missing something."
"I usually am," Lorenzo said.
"That's why I keep looking."
She left.
Marco watched her go, then turned back to Lorenzo.
"She's not wrong," Marco said.
"Forty-seven calls is evidence of contact.
It's not proof of what was discussed."
"I know." Lorenzo looked at the folder.
"But she recognized Caruso's name.
She just didn't react the way an innocent person would."
"How did she react?"
Lorenzo picked up the folder and set it back down.
"She didn't ask how he d*ed."
Marco was quiet for a moment.
"I'll keep looking for Dante."
"Do that." Lorenzo moved toward the door.
"And Marco — find out when Dante first met Valentina.
Not what either of them says.
What the records show."
He stepped into the corridor.
Sophia was at the far end, standing near the window with Lena beside her.
The little girl was holding a glass of water with both hands, very carefully, as though she had been asked to carry something important.
Lorenzo walked toward them.
Sophia straightened when she saw him coming.
"Mr.
Moretti.
I want to apologize for the trouble I've caused—"
"You caused no trouble." He crouched to Lena's level.
"How are you feeling?"
Lena considered this seriously.
"My tummy hurts a little."
"That happens when we're scared." He looked at her.
"You were very brave today."
Lena shook her head.
"I was crying."
"Brave people cry.
They just don't stop moving."
She thought about that.
Then she held the glass of water out toward him.
"Do you want some?
It helps."
Lorenzo almost smiled.
He shook his head gently.
"Save it for yourself."
He stood and looked at Sophia.
"You're both staying here tonight.
I'll have a room prepared."
"That isn't necessary—"
"It is." His voice was quiet.
"Until I understand what's happening in this house, you and Lena are safer inside it than outside."
Sophia looked at him for a moment.
Something shifted in her expression.
Not gratitude exactly.
Something older than that.
Something that looked like a person who had stopped expecting to be protected finally being surprised.
"Thank you," she said.
Lorenzo nodded and turned back toward the library.
His phone buzzed again.
Same unknown number.
May you like
*"Dante didn't plan this alone.
Ask him about the will."*
