Luca tried to stand.
His knees weakened.
He caught the edge of the table.
A fork fell.
Someone asked if he was all right.
He tried to speak.
The room tilted.
For one brief moment, he saw Salvatore watching him.
Not surprised.
Not frightened.
Almost disappointed.
Then Luca collapsed.
His shoulder struck the sofa.
The chandelier dissolved into a blur of gold.
The last thing he heard was a woman screaming.
***
When the paramedics arrived, Vincent had already ordered the ballroom cleared.
The guests were being escorted outside.
Two men blocked the service corridor.
Another stood beside the entrance, speaking quietly into his phone.
Elena remained beside Luca until the emergency team took over.
"Are you family?" one paramedic asked.
"No."
"Then please step back."
Elena moved away.
Vincent immediately stepped forward.
"I'm his security chief."
The paramedic nodded.
"He's alive, but his condition is critical. We need to transport him now."
"Which hospital?"
"The nearest trauma center."
"That won't happen."
The paramedic looked at him.
"Excuse me?"
Vincent's voice remained calm.
"Take him to Saint Raphael's."
"We don't choose hospitals based on your preference."
Vincent leaned closer.
"You will tonight."
Elena heard the exchange.
She approached.
"Saint Raphael's emergency department is understaffed at night."
Vincent turned.
"What?"
"I know the hospital. Their overnight emergency team is smaller. The central trauma center is better equipped."
The paramedic nodded.
"She's right."
Vincent looked at her for a long moment.
Then he gave a short nod.
"Central trauma center."
The stretcher was prepared.
Luca was transferred carefully.
As the paramedics moved him toward the exit, his hand slipped from the edge of the blanket.
Elena noticed something.
A thin gold ring.
Not the signet ring she had seen in the photographs.
A simple band with a small engraving on the inside.
She recognized the pattern.
Her father had worn one exactly like it.
She stared.
The paramedics continued moving.
"Wait."
Vincent immediately turned.
"What now?"
Elena pointed toward the ring.
"Where did he get that?"
Vincent glanced down.
His expression became unreadable.
"Why?"
"Nothing."
"Then stop asking questions."
The stretcher disappeared through the doors.
Elena stood alone beneath the chandelier.
The envelope in her pocket felt heavier than it should have.
She reached inside and pulled it out.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
She had seen it on birthday cards, old letters, and the notes her father used to leave beside her breakfast plate.
The same narrow letters.
The same unusually long capital M.
Her father's handwriting.
Marco Vale had been dead for eleven years.
At least, that was what she had been told.
***
The central trauma center stood on the opposite side of the river.
By midnight, the Moretti family's private security had taken control of the entrance.
No journalists.
No visitors.
No unnecessary staff.
Vincent Rinaldi stood outside the intensive care unit with his jacket folded over one arm.
A doctor approached.
"Mr. Rinaldi?"
Vincent turned.
"How is he?"
"His condition is serious, but stable. We believe he was exposed to a substance that affected his nervous system. We need further tests."
"Was he poisoned?"
"We cannot confirm that yet."
"Can you save him?"
The doctor paused.
"We are doing everything possible."
Vincent looked through the glass.
Luca lay beneath white sheets, connected to monitors. His face had lost its usual color.
For the first time in years, Vincent felt something close to helplessness.
He had served the Moretti family since Luca was fourteen.
He had watched the boy grow into a man.
He had taught him how to recognize a tail, how to read a room, and how to understand that a promise made in anger was often more dangerous than a threat made calmly.
He had also made one promise to Luca's father.
Protect my son.
Vincent had never forgotten it.
Now he had failed.
"Find everyone who touched his glass," he told his men.
"Already working on it."
"The staff. The caterers. The kitchen. Everyone."
"Understood."
"And find the waitress."
The younger guard frowned.
"Which one?"
"The woman who was with him."
"Elena?"
Vincent looked at him.
"How do you know her name?"
"Her badge."
Vincent stared through the glass.
"Bring her to me."
***
Elena was sitting in the staff changing room when the first security guard arrived.
She had removed her vest and was washing her hands.
The guard stood in the doorway.
"Miss Vale."
She froze.
Nobody at the hotel knew that surname.
Her employee records listed her as Elena Moretti.
She had changed her name after her father's death.
Slowly, she turned.
"Who are you?"
"Mr. Rinaldi wants to speak with you."
"About what?"
"Mr. Moretti."
"I'm not going anywhere."
The guard stepped inside.
"That wasn't a request."
Elena looked toward the door behind him.
Then she looked at the small emergency alarm mounted beside the lockers.
"Touch me, and I'll make enough noise to bring the entire hotel down here."
The guard studied her.
He was young, perhaps twenty-eight.
He had probably expected fear.
Instead, he found a woman who looked exhausted rather than frightened.
He stepped back.
"Please."
That single word changed something.
Elena picked up her coat.
"Where?"
"Hospital."
She followed him.