Chapter 3 - THE SUITCASE
Vanessa Carlisle screamed at the first guard who tried to stop her from entering the garage.
“Take your hand off me!”
The guard immediately released her, but Matteo stepped between Vanessa and the restricted area.
“Nobody approaches the suitcase until it’s cleared.”
“It’s mine.”
“You just said it wasn’t.”
“The suitcase is mine. Whatever is inside it isn’t.”
Claire stood several feet away beside Adrian.
The underground garage beneath Villa Belladonna looked more like a luxury showroom than a place for cars. White stone walls. Soft recessed lighting. Six black vehicles parked with military precision.
Vanessa’s cream suitcase sat alone beside a concrete column.
Open.
Photographs covered the floor.
Claire could see Adrian entering his study.
Adrian standing on a terrace.
Adrian speaking to Matteo.
Adrian beside a vehicle.
Some images had been taken from considerable distance.
Others could only have been captured from inside the property.
That distinction mattered.
A technician photographed everything before touching it.
Vanessa’s mother arrived behind them.
She pressed one hand to her chest.
“My God.”
Vanessa turned toward Adrian.
“You know I didn’t do this.”
Adrian’s face revealed nothing.
“I know somebody used your suitcase.”
“I left it upstairs.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Where?”
“In my dressing room.”
Claire spoke.
“Was the room locked?”
Vanessa glared at her.
“No.”
“Who had access?”
“Half the house, apparently, since your security operation is such a disaster.”
Matteo took that without reacting.
Claire almost respected him for it.
“Your personal assistant?” Claire asked.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Sophie.”
“Stylist?”
“She left yesterday.”
“Housekeeping?”
“Obviously.”
“Your mother?”
Evelyn Carlisle looked offended.
“Why would I put surveillance photographs in my daughter’s luggage?”
“I’m establishing access, not accusing you.”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“Are you going to interrogate all twenty-three people?”
“If necessary.”
Adrian looked at Claire.
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Finish what you came here to do.”
Matteo turned.
“She’s compromised.”
“So is everyone else.”
“You want a consultant who spent eleven days undercover to keep operating after her cover was exposed?”
“I want somebody who notices things my security team missed.”
The words hit Matteo.
Adrian realized it.
“Matteo—”
“No,” Matteo said quietly. “He’s right.”
Adrian frowned.
Matteo looked toward Claire.
“I don’t like how this audit was handled.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“But someone penetrated my perimeter. Whether through negligence or help from inside, that belongs to me.”
Claire nodded.
“To both of us now.”
For the first time, they looked like allies.
Vanessa threw up her hands.
“This is insane. I’m supposed to marry Adrian in three days.”
Nobody answered.
Vanessa stared at him.
“Adrian?”
He looked at the photographs.
“We’re postponing.”
The silence afterward seemed louder than her scream.
“You’re what?”
“Until we understand what’s happening.”
“You cannot postpone our wedding because somebody put photographs in my suitcase.”
“I can postpone my wedding for any reason I choose.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Our guests flew from six countries.”
“I don’t care.”
“The press is already here.”
“I don’t care.”
“My father—”
“I don’t care.”
She froze.
Adrian’s voice became quieter.
“I care that somebody has been recording my private movements inside my own home.”
Vanessa’s eyes shone.
For one brief second she looked less like the cruel woman who had forced Claire to kneel and more like someone whose carefully constructed future had cracked beneath her feet.
Then anger returned.
She pointed at Claire.
“This started when she came here.”
Claire did not flinch.
“So perhaps she’s part of it.”
Matteo’s voice cut in.
“Enough.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You work for us.”
“I work for Mr. Moretti.”
The correction landed.
Vanessa turned and walked out.
Evelyn followed.
Claire watched them disappear.
“She genuinely didn’t know about the suitcase,” Claire said.
Adrian looked at her.
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
He gave her a dry look.
“But her reaction was consistent with surprise.”
“Which means?”
“She may still be lying about something else.”
Matteo’s technician approached.
“We found partial prints.”
“Whose?”
“Too early. But there’s another issue.”
He held up one photograph.
It showed Adrian standing in his study beside an open wall safe.
Claire leaned closer.
“When was this taken?”
Adrian stared.
“Last Thursday.”
Claire had been in the house last Thursday.
“Who knew the safe was open?”
“Nobody.”
Matteo looked at Adrian.
“Why was it open?”
“I retrieved personal documents.”
“How long?”
“Two minutes.”
Claire looked at the angle of the photograph.
It was taken through the study’s side window.
From the garden.
She mentally pictured that section of the villa.
The hedges.
The terrace.
The ornamental stone wall.
The blind spot.
One of the blind spots she had written in her notes three days earlier.
Her stomach tightened.
“When did the west garden camera move?”
Matteo looked at her.
“What?”
“The camera aimed toward the fountain. When did it change angle?”
He called a technician.
The answer arrived five minutes later.
Twelve days ago.
Claire had arrived eleven days ago.
Someone had prepared the weakness before she entered the house.
That eliminated one suspicion.
But it introduced another.
“Who can remotely adjust those cameras?” she asked.
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“Four people.”
“Names?”
“Me. Deputy chief Marco Bellini. Systems administrator Leon Varga. And Adrian.”
Adrian shook his head.
“I didn’t.”
“Where are Bellini and Varga?”
“Bellini is on the property. Varga is in Milan.”
Claire looked at Matteo.
“Bring Bellini here.”
Matteo made the call.
They waited.
Two minutes.
Five.
Seven.
No Bellini.
A guard entered.
“He’s not answering.”
Matteo’s face changed.
“Find him.”
Within minutes, the mansion became a controlled storm.
Security personnel moved through corridors.
Vehicle exits closed.
Staff gathered in designated rooms.
Guests complained until they understood nobody cared.
Claire changed out of her maid’s uniform for the first time in eleven days.
She put on black trousers, a white shirt, and a dark jacket from the suitcase hidden beneath her bed.
When she returned downstairs, conversations stopped.
Mia stared.
“You look different.”
Claire smiled slightly.
“I feel different.”
Mia looked toward Claire’s neck.
“No bell.”
“No bell.”
Mia’s face reddened.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t put it there.”
“I handed it to her.”
“Because she ordered you to.”
“I could have refused.”
“And lost your job?”
Mia looked down.
Claire touched her arm gently.
“Blame belongs where the choice belongs.”
Mia nodded.
Then hesitated.
“Can I tell you something?”
Claire’s attention sharpened.
“Of course.”
“Mr. Bellini argued with somebody last night.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I heard voices near the service staircase.”
“What time?”
“A little after midnight.”
“What did they say?”
Mia looked nervous.
“One of them said, ‘You promised nobody would get hurt.’”
Claire went still.
“The other voice?”
“I couldn’t understand it.”
“Male or female?”
Mia thought.
“Female.”
Claire looked toward the main staircase.
“Did Bellini say anything else?”
“He said, ‘After Saturday, I’m done.’”
Saturday.
The wedding day.
Claire found Adrian and Matteo in the security room.
“We have a witness.”
She told them.
Matteo swore softly.
Adrian stared at the monitor wall.
“Bellini has been with me seven years.”
“That means he has seven years of access,” Claire said.
“And seven years of loyalty.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Adrian looked at her.
“You trust nobody, do you?”
“I trust evidence.”
The door opened.
A guard stepped inside.
“We found Bellini.”
Matteo turned.
“Where?”
“Boathouse.”
“Bring him.”
The guard hesitated.
“We can’t.”
Claire immediately understood.
“Is he dead?”
The guard shook his head.
“Unconscious.”
They ran.
The boathouse sat below the eastern gardens, accessible by a stone path descending toward the lake.
Bellini lay beside a workbench.
Blood marked his temple.
But he was breathing.
A shattered phone lay nearby.
Claire crouched without touching anything.
Matteo checked Bellini’s pulse.
“Call medical.”
Already done.
Claire looked around.
No signs of struggle beyond one overturned chair.
Bellini’s jacket pocket was inside out.
“Something was taken.”
Adrian stood in the doorway.
“What?”
Claire noticed Bellini’s security lanyard.
Badge present.
Keys present.
Wallet visible.
Then she saw his left wrist.
A pale band of skin where something had been removed.
“A watch?”
Matteo nodded.
“He wears one every day.”
“Smartwatch?”
“Yes.”
Claire stood.
“Then it may have contained authentication access.”
Matteo looked toward his team.
“Disable his credentials.”
A guard rushed away.
Bellini groaned.
His eyes opened slightly.
Matteo crouched.
“Marco. Can you hear me?”
Bellini’s gaze drifted.
Then found Adrian.
Fear filled his face.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Who did this?”
Bellini tried to speak.
Nothing came.
Claire leaned closer.
“Marco, who were you talking to last night?”
His eyes moved toward her.
“You.”
Claire froze.
“What?”
“You… called.”
“I didn’t.”
Bellini’s breathing became rough.
“You said… meet… boathouse.”
Claire looked at Matteo.
“Someone impersonated me.”
Bellini shook his head weakly.
“Not voice.”
“What?”
“Message.”
“From where?”
“My phone.”
Claire looked at the shattered device.
Bellini grabbed Adrian’s sleeve.
“Wedding.”
Adrian bent lower.
“What about it?”
Bellini struggled.
“Not you.”
“What?”
Bellini’s eyes fluttered.
“Target… isn’t you.”
Then he lost consciousness.
Adrian slowly stood.
Claire stared toward the lake.
Twenty-three guests.
A compromised villa.
Surveillance photographs.
A planted device.
A wedding scheduled three days away.
And the person everyone assumed was being targeted apparently wasn’t.
Matteo looked at Claire.
“If not Adrian, then who?”
Claire thought of the suitcase.
Vanessa’s suitcase.
She thought of the bell.
Vanessa’s cruelty.
Vanessa’s access.
Vanessa’s high-profile family.
And Vanessa standing beside Adrian in front of hundreds of wealthy guests at the wedding.
May you like
Claire turned.
“Find Vanessa.”
