Chapter 3 - The Woman in CreamBy nightfall, the Moretti estate was no longer a home.
It was a sealed crime scene pretending to be a palace.
No one left.
No one entered.
Every phone was taken except Alejandro’s private line, Clara’s phone, and Doctor Vale’s emergency pager.
Bruno stood in the main hall beneath the chandelier, issuing orders like a general after a coup.
“Kitchen staff downstairs. Drivers in the garage. Guards on rotation. No one speaks to the outside.”
Clara sat in a chair outside Alejandro’s bedroom with Emma asleep across her lap.
The little girl still clutched her rabbit backpack, even empty.
The last EpiPen was gone.
Clara kept staring at it.
That pen had been for Emma. Her daughter had nearly died twice before. Once from peanuts in a bakery cookie. Once from sauce at a birthday party where another mother had promised the food was safe.
Clara had spent rent money on that emergency pen.
And Emma had used it on Alejandro Moretti.
A man who paid Clara enough to survive, but never enough to breathe easily.
The bedroom door opened.
Doctor Vale stepped out.
“He’s stable,” he said quietly. “For now.”
Clara stood carefully, holding Emma. “Will he live?”
“He should. But whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”
Bruno came down the corridor. “Explain.”
Doctor Vale hesitated.
Bruno’s stare sharpened. “Doctor.”
“It appears to be almond derivative,” Vale said. “Concentrated. Enough to trigger a severe reaction.”
“Alejandro knows his allergy,” Bruno said. “He would have smelled it.”
“Not if it was disguised in wine strong enough to cover it.”
Sofia appeared at the far end of the corridor.
She had changed into black.
Widow’s color, Clara thought before she could stop herself.
But Alejandro was not dead.
Sofia’s eyes flicked to Emma, then to the backpack.
“Poor child,” she said softly. “She must have been terrified.”
Emma stirred in Clara’s arms but did not wake.
Clara looked at Sofia’s hands.
No gloves now.
On the inside of Sofia’s right wrist was a faint red mark, almost like spilled wine had been scrubbed too hard.
Sofia noticed Clara looking and folded her hands.
“You should take your daughter to bed,” Sofia said. “This is family business.”
Before Clara could answer, the bedroom door opened again.
Alejandro stood in the doorway.
He was pale. Barefoot. One hand gripped the doorframe. An oxygen tube ran beneath his nose. His shirt was open at the collar, and the man who could terrify a courtroom by walking into it now looked held together by rage alone.
“Family,” he rasped, “is the reason I’m still breathing.”
No one spoke.
Alejandro’s eyes settled on Emma.
The little girl blinked awake and shrank against her mother.
He lowered his voice.
“You saved me.”
Emma swallowed. “I used my last pen.”
“I know.”
“My mommy said it was only for me.”
Alejandro looked at Clara.
There was apology in his eyes, but apology was not a language he knew well.
“I owe you more than my life,” he said.
Bruno stepped forward. “Alejandro, you should be in bed.”
Alejandro’s gaze cut to him.
“And you should be finding who poisoned me.”
“I will.”
“No,” Alejandro said. “You won’t.”
The corridor went still.
Alejandro lifted one trembling hand and pointed toward the study.
“Bring me the recording from Kiara’s hidden camera.”
Bruno’s face turned to stone.
Sofia’s lips parted.
May you like
Clara felt Emma’s small fingers tighten around her neck.
The forgotten lens had not been forgotten by everyone.
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