Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO WANTED HER SILENCED|
Ettore caught Donatella by the arm and pulled her behind the marble reception counter just as a second gunshot shattered a glass cabinet. Marco drew his weapon, moving toward the kitchen entrance while the remaining guard ushered the employees toward the emergency exit.
"Stay down," Ettore ordered.
Donatella pressed a hand over her injured shoulder. Her body trembled, but she forced herself to look around. She had spent two years learning the restaurant's routines. She knew the kitchen had a rear delivery corridor, a wine cellar entrance, and a narrow service staircase leading to the alley.
"They're coming through the delivery entrance," she whispered.
Ettore glanced at her. "How do you know?"
"The alarm panel is beside the kitchen. If the front doors had been forced, it would have triggered the silent alert. Someone opened the delivery entrance with a staff code."
A shadow moved beyond the doorway.
Marco fired once. A man cursed and retreated.
Ettore looked at Donatella with new interest.
"Can you get us to the office without crossing the dining room?"
She nodded and led him through a service passage behind the reception area. They reached a narrow corridor just as another shot struck the wall. Ettore pushed her into the office and locked the door.
Within minutes, his security team secured the building. Two intruders escaped, but one was captured in the alley. He carried no identification, and the serial number had been removed from his weapon.
Ettore stood over him in the parking lot.
"Who sent you?"
The man spat at his shoes.
"You think everyone fears you, Moretti. Someone wants your empire buried."
"Someone?"
The prisoner smiled.
"Ask your bookkeeper about the ledger."
Then he lunged toward a guard, forcing Marco to restrain him. During the struggle, the man swallowed a small capsule hidden inside his cheek. By the time an ambulance arrived, he was unconscious and could not be revived.
Donatella watched from the office window, feeling the world she knew disintegrate.
Ettore returned carrying a tablet displaying security footage. The intruders had bypassed the alarm using an access code belonging to a senior manager.
Gavin's code.
"He's involved," Donatella said.
"Almost certainly. But he may not be the one directing this."
Ettore placed the tablet on the desk.
"I need you to tell me everything you found in the financial records."
Donatella hesitated. She had copied the suspicious invoices onto an encrypted drive, but she had not disclosed the most disturbing discovery: several payments were connected to a dormant account registered under the name Isabella Mancini.
"My mother had an account connected to this restaurant," she admitted. "It received payments for years, even after she died."
Ettore went completely still.
"How much?"
"Nearly four million dollars."
"That account should not exist."
"Then perhaps you should ask the people who maintained your books."
He stared at her, realizing she was not simply a frightened employee. She had uncovered a financial trail that might lead directly into his own organization.
"Where is the evidence?"
"Safe."
"Where?"
"Somewhere you can't take it from me."
For the first time that day, Ettore almost smiled.
"Good. Never trust a powerful man simply because he speaks gently."
"Is that advice or a confession?"
"Both."
He explained that Isabella had once served as the trusted financial adviser to the Moretti family. She discovered that money was being diverted through shell companies, but before she could expose the scheme, she vanished. Ettore had been told she stole millions and fled.
Donatella shook her head.
"My mother worked three jobs to keep our apartment. She repaired old clothes instead of buying new ones. She would never have stolen millions."
"I believe you."
"Why?"
"Because she once returned a diamond necklace worth more than a house after finding it in a taxi. She said money could replace jewelry, but it couldn't replace a person's conscience."
The memory softened his face.
Then his tablet chimed.
A message appeared from an unknown number, accompanied by a photograph of Donatella leaving her apartment that morning.
SEND US THE LEDGER, OR THE NEXT WHIP WON'T BE LEATHER.
Ettore's expression became merciless.
Donatella looked at the message, then at the man standing beside her.
For the first time, she understood that the attack in the restaurant had not been an isolated act of cruelty.
May you like
Someone had been hunting her.
And whoever it was knew exactly where she lived.
