Chapter 9 - The Man Behind the Smile.
Vivian was gone for twenty-seven minutes.
In Villa Moretti, that was enough time to become guilty of almost anything.
When she reappeared, she walked into the grand hall by herself and raised both hands before the guards could touch her.
Her red gown was gone.
Her borrowed sweater was torn at one sleeve.
There was dust on her face.
Carlo was not with her.
Alessandro approached.
"Where is your uncle?"
"Trying to save his life."
"From whom?"
Vivian looked across the room.
Don Ricci sat near the fireplace speaking quietly with two family heads.
He looked calm.
He always looked calm.
"From him," she said.
Every conversation stopped.
One of the twelve family heads whispered that Vivian was trying to save herself.
Another said women under pressure often invent villains.
Vivian heard him.
So did I.
She turned toward the speaker.
"You watched me slap a woman last night and said nothing."
The man frowned.
"That is irrelevant."
"No."
Vivian's voice steadied.
"It tells me exactly how much your judgment is worth."
The room reacted with surprised silence.
I watched her carefully.
She was not becoming good.
People do not transform that neatly.
She was discovering that the rules she had used against others could be used against her.
That discovery can create empathy.
It can also create panic.
I did not yet know which one I was seeing.
Ricci slowly turned.
"Vivian."
His voice contained sadness.
That was somehow more threatening than anger.
"You have had a difficult night."
"Don't."
"Your judgment is compromised."
"You ordered Paolo to steal the rabbit."
Ricci sighed.
"Did I?"
"You used Carlo to threaten him."
"Proof?"
Vivian's mouth tightened.
Ricci smiled at Alessandro.
"This is what panic looks like when a spoiled woman realizes her engagement is ending."
A few guests shifted uncomfortably.
He was good.
Not loud.
Not defensive.
Reasonable.
That was what made him dangerous.
Vivian walked closer.
"You had Matteo taken after Lugano."
My throat closed.
Ricci looked at me with almost gentle sympathy.
"Mrs. Bennett, grief makes people vulnerable to cruel stories."
"Answer her."
"I have never met your husband."
Vivian laughed once.
"That's your lie?"
"It is not a lie."
"You met him at Porto Vecchio seven years ago."
Ricci's eyes sharpened.
Vivian continued.
"My father kept photographs."
"Your father kept many things."
"Including records of payments from you."
For the first time, Ricci's smile faded.
Alessandro noticed.
"Where are those records?"
Vivian looked at me.
"The brass key."
I held it inside my fist.
"Basement archive?"
She nodded.
Ricci stood.
"There is no basement archive."
Alessandro looked at him.
"You seem very certain about rooms in my house."
"I've been coming here since before you were born."
"That is becoming less comforting by the minute."
Ricci's expression hardened.
"You are humiliating an ally over the claims of a maid and a frightened fiancée."
There it was again.
A maid.
The word that was supposed to reduce me.
Vivian had used it as an insult.
Ricci used it as evidence that my voice should weigh less.
I stepped forward.
"My name is Clara Bennett."
Ricci looked at me.
"I know."
"Then use it."
Something moved behind his eyes.
"Very well, Mrs. Bennett."
"Clara."
"Clara."
He smiled.
"Your husband stole nearly nine million euros from the Moretti shipping accounts before he vanished."
The room erupted in whispers.
I stared at him.
"No."
"Marco can verify the transfer."
Ricci reached into his jacket slowly.
Several guards raised weapons.
He held up two fingers.
"Paper only."
He removed a folded document and handed it to Alessandro.
"I intended to spare you this because Luca cared for Matteo."
Alessandro read.
His expression became unreadable.
"What is it?" I demanded.
He gave me the page.
It was a bank authorization.
MATTEO SERRA.
Transfer amount: 8,940,000 euros.
Destination: numbered account in Luxembourg.
The signature looked like Daniel's.
My stomach turned.
Ricci spoke softly.
"Matteo discovered money was easier to steal than secrets."
"You're lying."
"The document says otherwise."
I stared at the signature.
Something was wrong.
Not obvious.
Small.
Daniel signed grocery receipts with a quick D and B.
But when he filled official forms, he had a habit.
He crossed the number seven.
Always.
The date beside the signature read 17/7.
Neither seven was crossed.
I looked at Ricci.
"Who forged this?"
His smile vanished.
"Excuse me?"
"Daniel crossed his sevens."
"That is your defense?"
"He crossed every seven."
I looked at Alessandro.
"Check the documents in Luca's archive."
Marco was already moving.
He pulled scanned records from his tablet.
Matteo Serra's old reports filled the screen.
Every handwritten seven had a horizontal line through it.
Alessandro looked at the bank authorization again.
The room went very quiet.
Ricci recovered.
"A forger might copy handwriting and miss a number."
"You just called it authentic," Alessandro said.
"I was told it was."
"By whom?"
Ricci paused.
One second.
Too long.
"My accountant."
"Name."
"Giorgio Lanza."
Marco looked up.
"Giorgio Lanza died five years ago."
Ricci's eyes hardened.
"Then ask his records."
Alessandro folded the document.
"We will."
Ricci turned toward the family heads.
"Look at what this house has become."
His voice rose just enough to carry.
"A dead traitor's widow arrives with a coded toy, and suddenly allies are prisoners."
Several men murmured agreement.
"Alessandro locks gates."
"He searches rooms."
"He accuses guests."
"Tomorrow, perhaps he will accuse all of you."
That was the move.
I saw it as clearly as if Daniel had whispered it beside me.
Ricci was not defending himself.
He was building fear around Alessandro.
Turning twelve families against the man who had trapped him.
One family head, Don Bellini, stood.
"He has a point."
Another nodded.
"We came as guests."
A third said,
"No man should detain family heads without proof."
Alessandro's face remained calm.
Ricci smiled.
He was winning.
Then Emma's voice came from the doorway.
"That old man took Daddy's picture."
Every head turned.
I spun around.
Rosa stood behind Emma, horrified that the child had escaped her hand again.
Emma pointed directly at Ricci.
"What picture?" I asked.
She held up the blue rabbit.
"The one inside Bunny."
My heart pounded.
"There was no picture inside Bunny."
"Daddy put it under the button."
She tugged at one black eye.
The button came loose.
Behind it, folded into a tiny cavity, was a strip of photographic film.
Marco took it carefully.
He held it toward the chandelier.
Even without developing it, a silhouette was visible.
Two men on a dock.
One was Daniel.
The other held a silver-topped cane.
May you like
Don Ricci's cane rested against his chair.
He stopped smiling.
