"Find out who did it."
Matteo nodded.
"And Vittorio?"
"Yes?"
"If Eleanor is connected to this, don't let her provoke you."
Vittorio's gaze returned to him.
"Do you believe I have become so easily provoked?"
"No," Matteo answered. "I believe she knows exactly where to place the knife."
Vittorio said nothing.
Because Matteo was right.
Eleanor Voss had been present on the night his wife died.
And she was one of the few people who knew what had happened before the official investigation began.
The ballroom doors opened again.
A young woman entered carrying a black leather folder.
She wore a simple dark dress, her hair tied into a low bun, and small silver earrings that barely caught the chandelier light.
Her name was Clara Bennett.
To the guests, she was merely a junior legal assistant working for the Saint Aurelia Foundation.
To Vittorio, she was a stranger.
To Eleanor, she was something considerably more dangerous.
Clara paused near the entrance.
She scanned the room, found the woman in burgundy, and tightened her grip on the folder.
Then she looked toward Vittorio.
Their eyes met briefly.
He noticed the fear in her expression.
Not fear of him.
Fear of what she was about to do.
"Who is that?" Vittorio asked.
Matteo followed his gaze.
"Clara Bennett. She joined the foundation's legal department six months ago."
"Why is she carrying documents?"
"She requested permission to attend the gala."
"Did she receive it?"
"Apparently."
Vittorio looked at Matteo.
"Apparently is not an answer."
"I'll find out."
But before Matteo could move, Clara began walking toward the staircase.
Eleanor saw her.
The smile disappeared from her face.
It lasted less than a second.
Most people would have missed it.
Vittorio did not.
He watched Eleanor excuse herself from the donors and approach Clara.
The two women spoke near a marble pillar.
Clara opened her folder.
Eleanor looked inside.
Then she closed it sharply.
"Not here," Eleanor whispered.
Clara shook her head.
"You said the records would be made public tonight."
"I said I would consider it."
"You promised."
Eleanor leaned closer.
"Lower your voice."
"My father died believing he had stolen money from the foundation. You knew he hadn't."
Eleanor's expression hardened.
"Your father made his choices."
"He was protecting Elena De Luca."
At the mention of his wife's name, Vittorio stopped speaking to the donor beside him.
Matteo noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
Vittorio did not answer.
He was watching the two women.
Clara continued.
"I have the original correspondence. I have the signatures. I have everything."
Eleanor's hand closed around Clara's wrist.
"Then you should understand how dangerous it is to carry those documents into this room."
Clara pulled free.
"Perhaps someone should have told you that eighteen years ago."
Eleanor's face changed.
For the first time, her composure appeared genuinely threatened.
She looked toward Vittorio.
Their eyes met across the ballroom.
Then she smiled again.
A moment later, she approached him.
And the confrontation began.
Now, as the evening's carefully arranged elegance dissolved around them, Vittorio stood only a few feet away from her.
His jacket had been removed.
His sleeves were neatly folded.
His expression was almost peaceful.
Eleanor looked at the guests surrounding them.
"You should control your people," she said. "One of your little employees has been making ridiculous accusations."
Vittorio glanced toward Clara.
She stood beside the marble pillar, holding her folder against her chest.
"Which accusations?"
Eleanor laughed.
"Don't pretend you haven't heard."
"I prefer hearing things directly."
"She claims your wife was murdered."
The room seemed to lose another degree of warmth.
Matteo moved closer.
Vittorio did not look away from Eleanor.
"Choose your next words carefully."
Eleanor raised her chin.
"Your wife was not the saint you remember."
A murmur passed through the guests.
Vittorio's voice remained low.
"You have no idea what I remember."
"I remember Elena rather well."
"Then you remember that she was kind to you."
Eleanor's smile vanished.
"Kindness was her greatest weakness."
Vittorio took one step forward.
"And what was yours?"
She looked at him.
For a brief moment, the confidence disappeared.
Then she raised her voice.
"Your father paid me to keep quiet. Your wife knew what the family was doing. She knew everything. And when she threatened to expose it, she put everyone in danger."
Vittorio's jaw tightened.
"That is a lie."
"Is it?"
Eleanor gestured toward Clara.
"Ask your little assistant what her father found in the archives."
Vittorio turned.
Clara's face had gone pale.
He walked toward her.
"Your name?"
"Clara Bennett."
"Your father's name?"
"Thomas Bennett."
Vittorio stopped.
He knew the name.
Thomas Bennett had been the foundation's chief financial auditor eighteen years earlier.
He had disappeared from the business world shortly after Elena's death.
Officially, he had resigned.
Unofficially, he had been accused of stealing several million dollars from the family charity.
Vittorio had never believed the accusation.
But he had never investigated it either.
His father had handled the matter personally.
And his father had forbidden anyone from mentioning it again.
"What did your father leave you?" Vittorio asked.
Clara opened the folder.
"Documents."
"About Elena?"
"About the night she died."
Vittorio's eyes moved to the papers.
"Why bring them here?"
"Because your family controls every office where I tried to report the truth."
She looked directly at him.
"And because I no longer believe you know what happened."
The words were not an accusation delivered with hatred.
They were worse.
They were delivered with disappointment.
Vittorio studied her.
For eighteen years, he had believed that his wife's death had been a tragic accident caused by a driver who had lost control on a rain-soaked road.
The driver had died before he could be questioned.
The investigation had been closed.
The family had paid for the funeral.
And Vittorio had buried himself in work.
Now a stranger was standing before him, claiming that everything he had accepted might have been constructed around a lie.
"Show me," he said.
Clara opened the folder.
But before she could remove the first document, Eleanor stepped forward.
"Vittorio, don't."
He looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because whatever is inside that folder is not going to bring your wife back."
"No."
His voice was quiet.
"But it may tell me who took her away."
Eleanor's face stiffened.
She turned toward the guests.