Chapter 14 - Ask the Little GirlMarcus moved Lucia and Marisol to the safest room in the mansion.
Not the master suite.
Not the guest wing.
The old wine cellar.
It was underground, windowless, climate-controlled, and built behind a false wall beneath the library. His father had used it to hide ledgers and men. Marcus had once hated that room.
Now he placed a bassinet there.
Dana Ellis approved reluctantly after inspecting the ventilation, temperature, exits, and emergency access.
“This is insane,” she said.
“Yes,” Marcus replied.
“But safer than upstairs.”
“Yes.”
Dana looked at him for a long moment.
“At least you know that.”
Matteo slept under warm blankets while Lucia sat on an old leather chair eating toast. Marisol paced. She had reached the stage of fear where obedience began turning into anger.
“My daughter cannot be the center of this,” she said.
“She already is,” Marcus answered. “Because the person who wrote that message believes she saw something important.”
“She is eight.”
“I know.”
“No, you do not.” Marisol stepped closer, her voice shaking. “You know enemies. You know guards. You know money. You do not know what it is to be a child in a house where every adult is taller, richer, louder, and able to ruin your mother with one sentence.”
Marcus took the words without defense.
Marisol continued.
“She has spent her life being told to stay quiet because people like us keep jobs by disappearing. Last night she did not disappear. And now someone is hunting her memory.”
Lucia looked down at her toast.
Marcus turned to the child.
“Lucia.”
She looked up.
“You do not have to be brave every minute.”
Her eyes filled instantly, which proved she had been trying.
“I don’t want the baby to go back to the trash,” she whispered.
Marisol broke.
She crossed the room and pulled Lucia into her arms.
Marcus turned away.
Not because emotion embarrassed him.
Because he had no right to watch what his house had caused.
Owen entered quietly.
“We have the photo from Helena Park’s car.”
Marcus took the tablet.
The windshield message had been written in lipstick.
ASK THE LITTLE GIRL WHAT SHE SAW.
Red letters streaked across glass.
Lucia stared at it from across the room.
Her face changed.
Not fear this time.
Recognition.
Marcus saw it.
“What did you remember?”
Marisol tightened her arms around her.
Lucia whispered, “The red lady.”
Marcus crouched in front of her.
“Who is the red lady?”
“At the kitchen door. Before Miss Cross came. I thought it was a shadow because the rain made the lights funny. But there was a lady wearing red gloves.”
Marcus looked at Owen.
“Red gloves?”
Owen typed quickly.
“No staff uniform includes red gloves.”
Lucia squeezed her mother’s hand.
“She had a bracelet too. Gold. Like a snake.”
Marisol’s face drained.
“What?” Marcus asked.
Marisol whispered, “I saw that bracelet once.”
“When?”
“At Mrs. Falcone’s baby shower. A woman came late. She argued with Miss Cross in the garden. Miss Cross told me never to mention her.”
“Name?”
“I don’t know.”
Renato, who had been allowed into the cellar under guard, spoke from near the doorway.
“I do.”
Marcus turned.
Renato looked as though confession had become the only thing holding him upright.
“Celeste Moretti.”
The name stilled the room.
Alessandro Moretti’s sister.
Beautiful. Ruthless. Educated in London. Known in public as a philanthropist. Known in private as the woman who cleaned up Moretti family disasters before they reached court.
Marcus looked at Renato.
“Why would Celeste Moretti argue with Isabella at my wife’s baby shower?”
Renato swallowed.
“Because Isabella promised the Morettis access to Valentina’s evidence.”
Marcus’s eyes sharpened.
“You knew this?”
“I suspected.”
Lucia looked at him sadly.
“That means yes.”
Renato closed his eyes.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Explain.”
Renato’s voice lowered.
“Your father and Moretti’s father built part of their fortunes together before they became enemies. Old accounts. Shared crimes. If Valentina exposed your father’s records, Moretti would fall too. Isabella saw opportunity. She offered to control the evidence if they helped her secure the estate.”
“And my son?”
“The child complicated succession. With him alive, Valentina’s amended trust locked everything away.”
“So they needed him dead.”
Renato did not answer.
He did not need to.
Marcus looked at Matteo sleeping in the bassinet.
A newborn had become the lock on secrets grown men would kill to keep closed.
Lucia whispered, “The red lady came from the pantry.”
Marcus turned back to her.
“She was carrying something?”
Lucia nodded.
“A black bag. But when she left, it was flat.”
The cellar went silent.
The baby had arrived in a bag.
Not as a child.
As a problem.
Marcus straightened.
“Find Celeste Moretti.”
Owen nodded.
“And Isabella?”
May you like
Marcus looked toward the ceiling, toward the room where Isabella waited.
“Bring her downstairs.”
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