Chapter 1 - The Trap Beneath the Floorboards
The steady, rhythmic sound of the camera shutter—click, turn, click, turn—echoed through the quiet expanse of my study. I stood frozen in the shadowy hallway outside, my hand resting silently on the cool frame of the door.
Inside, Vivien Rossi, the woman I was scheduled to marry in less than two weeks, moved with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned operative. She didn't look like a spy. She looked like the future mistress of Ravenwood Estate, dressed in the custom white silk dress I’d bought her in Milan, her blonde hair pinned up with a diamond comb.
She turned a page in the blue folder—a ledger containing the private financial assets, offshore accounts, and shell corporations supporting the entire Moretti syndicate.
Click.
My mind raced through the twelve-digit passcode to the safe: 10-28-19-84-05-12. It was a sequence of dates representing critical milestones in my life. Only three people knew those numbers. My late father, my right-hand man Lorenzo, and the memory of my mother.
Or so I had believed.
I took half a step backward, my handmade Italian leather soles noiseless against the polished marble floor. I looked down the long corridor. Three-year-old Emma Carter was still standing where I had left her, clutching her battered gray rabbit against her chest, watching me with wide, serious hazel eyes. Her mother, Clara, had been our head housekeeper for six years, a quiet woman who had served my family with quiet loyalty after her husband died.
I raised one finger to my lips once more, giving Emma a small nod of unspoken gratitude. She pressed herself flatter against the wall and nodded back.
Instead of bursting through the door to confront Vivien with a drawn firearm, I relied on the cold, calculating discipline that had kept me alive in the underworld for two decades. Confronting her now would only net me a pawn. I needed to know who was holding the leash.
I retreated down the hallway, stepping silently into the grand foyer, and made a point of heavying my footsteps as I swung the front door open and slammed it shut with a loud, metallic thud.
"Clara!" I called out, my voice booming through the high-arched ceilings of the estate, carrying the relaxed tone of a man returning home without a care in the world. "I'm back early! Is Vivien around?"
Through the crack of the study door down the hall, I heard a sudden, sharp intake of breath, followed by the soft, hurried clack of a heavy steel safe door swinging shut, followed by the quiet glide of the Rothko painting sliding back into place.
Within twenty seconds, Vivien emerged from the study hallway. Her expression was serene, her smile glowing with well-rehearsed affection as she walked toward me, smoothing the front of her silk dress.
"Dominic, darling!" she said, stepping into my space to rest her hands gently on my chest. Her perfume—sweet jasmine and expensive amber—drifted into my nose. "You're back so early! I thought your meeting with the Valenti family was going to run until evening."
"It wrapped up sooner than expected," I lied smoothly, looking down into her bright blue eyes. I didn't flinch. I didn't let my pulse spike. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, feeling the slight, almost imperceptible warmth of fresh sweat near her hairline. "The Valentis were unusually agreeable today."
"That's wonderful news," she beamed, sliding her hand into mine. "I was just in your study looking for the guest list for the rehearsal dinner. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not," I said softly, stroking her thumb with mine. "Everything I have is yours, Vivien. You know that."
She smiled, but for the first time in two years, I noticed the microscopic delay in her expression—the subtle, calculated pause of a woman playing a role.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clara step into the foyer, looking nervous. She held a tray of afternoon tea, her eyes flitting between me, Vivien, and her little girl, Emma, who was now quietly sneaking behind her mother's skirts.
"Mr. Moretti," Clara said, her voice slightly trembling. "I didn't realize you were coming home so soon. I'll prepare lunch right away."
"Take your time, Clara," I said warmly, looking directly at the young mother. "And Clara... make sure Emma gets a treat today. She's been a very good girl."
Clara looked surprised, but nodded quickly. "Thank you, sir."
Vivien glanced at Emma with a flicker of mild annoyance that she quickly masked with a smile. "She's always playing around your study, Dominic. I've told Clara a dozen times that the child shouldn't be wandering near your private quarters. It's distracting."
"She's three years old, Vivien," I replied, my voice smooth as ice. "She doesn't harm anything. In fact, she notices things most adults miss."
Vivien’s eyes tightened for a fraction of a second before she smoothed her expression again. "I suppose so. Come, let's go to the drawing room. I want to show you the flower arrangements I chose for the altar."
May you like
As I followed my fiancée down the corridor, my mind was already executing a counter-offensive. She thought she was taking photographs of my private accounts. What she didn't know was that the blue folder she had just documented contained fake ledger entries I had staged three weeks ago to track internal leaks.
And now, the bait had been taken.
