Two warehouses had been searched by authorities.
A confidential financial account had been exposed.
Three trusted employees had disappeared.
Someone was providing information to the Bellandi family.
Alessandro suspected a traitor.
He simply did not know which one.
"You're staring at the wrong people."
The voice came from behind him.
Alessandro turned.
His younger brother, Matteo, stood with a glass of whiskey in one hand.
At thirty-one, Matteo possessed the charm Alessandro lacked. He could make strangers laugh, convince investors to sign impossible agreements, and turn a hostile conversation into a friendly one.
Their differences had once made them an effective team.
Recently, they had become a problem.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Alessandro asked.
"Your guests."
"I know my guests."
"Then perhaps you should smile."
Alessandro glanced toward the ballroom.
"Why?"
Matteo laughed.
"Because half of them are terrified of you."
"Only half?"
"You're improving."
For a moment, the brothers shared a smile.
Then Matteo's attention shifted toward the entrance.
A young woman had appeared beside the service corridor.
She was wearing a burgundy jacket, black trousers, and a small silver name badge. Her dark hair was tied loosely behind her head. She carried a tray of champagne glasses and moved with the careful efficiency of someone who did not want to attract attention.
Her name was Sofia Romano.
She was twenty-four years old.
She had been working at the estate for eleven days.
And she had already learned that the safest way to survive among wealthy people was to become invisible.
Sofia had grown up in a small apartment outside Milan. Her mother had worked as a seamstress, and her father had repaired electrical equipment until a workplace accident left him unable to work.
When Sofia was seventeen, her mother died.
When she was twenty-one, her father disappeared.
The official explanation had been that he had abandoned the family.
Sofia had never believed it.
Her father, Enzo Romano, had been a careful man. He paid bills before their due dates, repaired broken furniture instead of replacing it, and never left the house without telling her where he was going.
He would not have disappeared without a word.
Six months before his disappearance, he had worked as an accountant for a company connected to the Bellandi family.
Then he had discovered something.
Something he had been too frightened to discuss over the telephone.
The last message he sent Sofia contained only nine words.
If anything happens to me, find the room beneath the old chapel.
She had spent three years trying to understand what he meant.
Eleven days ago, she had finally found a clue.
It was hidden inside a box of her father's old documents, beneath a photograph of the two of them standing beside a fountain.
A small silver key.
On its handle was an engraved symbol.
A black rose.
Sofia recognized the symbol from an old photograph of the Moretti estate.
It had belonged to Lorenzo Moretti.
She had applied for temporary work at the mansion because she believed the key might lead her to the truth.
She had not expected to meet the most dangerous man in northern Italy.
And she certainly had not expected him to notice her.
***
At 8:15 p.m., Sofia entered the east corridor carrying a tray of drinks.
The corridor was quieter than the ballroom. Dark wooden panels covered the walls, and old family portraits watched from gold frames.
She had been instructed to deliver champagne to the private dining room.
As she approached the door, she heard two men arguing.
"That is not what we agreed."
The first voice belonged to Vittorio Bellandi.
The second was unfamiliar.
"You promised the documents would be destroyed."
"They will be."
"When?"
"When I decide."
Sofia stopped.
She knew she should leave.
Instead, she remained still, one hand resting against the tray.
A chair scraped across the floor.
Then Vittorio spoke again.
"The girl has the key."
Sofia's heart missed a beat.
"What girl?"
"The accountant's daughter."
There was a pause.
"Enzo Romano's daughter?"
"Yes."
"How did she get here?"
"She applied for a job. Apparently, the dead have a sense of humor."
Sofia stepped backward.
Her shoe touched a loose section of carpet.
The sound was barely audible.
But the conversation inside stopped.
"Who's there?"
Sofia turned.
A man in a dark suit emerged from the doorway.
He was broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a pale scar running from his ear toward his chin.
She recognized him.
His name was Raffaele Conti.
He worked for Vittorio.
And she had seen him in one of the photographs inside her father's documents.
"You're the new waitress," he said.
Sofia forced a polite smile.
"Yes, sir. I was asked to bring these drinks."
"Come inside."
"I need to deliver them to the dining room."
"Now."
His tone removed any possibility of pretending not to understand.
Sofia entered.
Vittorio sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. He wore a dark suit and a gold watch. His silver hair was perfectly arranged.
He looked at her with the expression of a man examining a damaged object.
"Your name?"
"Sofia."
"Your full name."
"Romano."
The old man's eyes narrowed.
"Interesting."
Sofia placed the tray on the desk.
"Would you like anything else?"
Raffaele moved behind her.
Vittorio slowly stood.
"Your father was a very intelligent man."
Sofia's fingers tightened around the edge of the tray.