Chapter 15
I stayed beside Lorenzo because moving away would have meant crossing the open doorway, and the darkness beyond it felt occupied.
Stefano appeared at the far end of the service hall, broad shoulders blocking the narrow passage. He looked toward Lorenzo, then toward me.
“Nothing,” he said. “The corridor is clear.”
A floorboard creaked behind the kitchen.
Lorenzo turned sharply. “That wasn't the corridor.”
He handed the evidence bag to Stefano. “Keep these with you. Don't let anyone touch them.”
Then he took my arm—not tightly, but firmly enough to guide me away from the dining room. Camila watched us go, her expression fixed and pale. She didn't call us back.
The sound from the kitchen came again.
Lorenzo pushed through the swinging door. I followed, though every instinct told me to stay behind him. The kitchen was empty except for abandoned serving trays and a row of silver pots cooling beneath the windows. Snow hissed against the glass.
A door stood open beside the pantry.
It led to the service entrance.
Cold air moved through the room, carrying the smell of wet wool and cigarettes. On the floor near the threshold, a dark thread clung to a patch of melted snow.
Lorenzo crouched without touching it.
“He came through here,” I said.
“Or wanted us to think he did.”
He looked at the snow, then at the door's brass latch. A small smear marked the metal, black and greasy.
Behind us, Camila entered the kitchen. She had followed without her coat, one hand gripping the edge of her red dress.
“Lorenzo,” she said, “this is becoming ridiculous.”
He stood. “Where is the document?”
“I told you, I don't know.”
“You knew enough to send Elara outside.”
“I expected her to find an earring.”
“The diamond was wired to the terrace railing.”
Her face changed—not much, only a pause before she breathed in.
I saw it because I had been watching for small things all night.
Lorenzo saw it too.
Camila looked at me. “You don't understand what you found.”
“Then explain it.”
Her mouth opened, but no answer came.
Footsteps sounded beyond the service door.
Stefano moved first, pulling it wide. Snow blew into the kitchen. For one second, a figure stood beyond the steps, black coat blending with the storm. Then he turned and ran toward the covered walkway.
Lorenzo followed.
I remained frozen until I saw something lying beside the threshold. It was a folded sheet of paper, damp at one corner. My name was written across it.
Elara.
I picked it up before anyone could stop me.
The message inside contained only one sentence:
The document is in the room where she keeps what she cannot show.
I read it twice. Then I looked toward Camila.
Her eyes went to the private dressing suite above the dining room.
Lorenzo returned alone, snow melting in his hair. “He got away.”
I held out the note. “He wants us to search her room.”
“No,” Camila said immediately.
That was the clearest answer she had given all night.
Lorenzo's gaze moved from her to the staircase. “You said the item was private. You didn't say it was yours.”
Camila stepped back. “You have no right.”
“This is my house.”
The words echoed the ones she had used before, but they no longer protected her. They only showed us where the boundary was.
We went upstairs together. Camila walked ahead, rigid and silent. In the dressing suite, she stopped beside a tall cabinet built into the wall. Her hand hovered near a concealed latch.
“I didn't take anything,” she said.
“Then open it,” Lorenzo replied.
She stared at him, then at me. Shame passed over her face before anger covered it.
At last, she pressed the latch.
A thin compartment opened behind the panel. Inside lay a sealed envelope, a black ledger, and a small metal key.
Lorenzo did not touch them.
“Stefano,” he said. “Call the authorities.”
Camila's shoulders lowered. “The document was a list.”
“Of what?”
“Payments. Names. Arrangements.”
“Your arrangements?”
She closed her eyes. “Some of them.”
It wasn't a confession large enough to explain everything, but it was enough to end the performance. The house, the guests, the locked terrace, the cruel errand—all of it had depended on people believing silence was the same as safety.
Lorenzo looked at me. “You can leave now. I'll make sure no one stops you.”
The offer hurt more than I expected. Leaving had been what I wanted when the storm began.
I looked at the black ledger, then at the sealed envelope with my name absent from it.
“I'll stay until they arrive,” I said. “I want my statement heard.”
His expression softened, careful and restrained. “Then I'll stay too.”
May you like
Outside, the blizzard still erased the estate grounds. Inside, Camila finally sat down, no longer at the head of anything.
I stood beside Lorenzo beneath the warm chandelier light, no longer holding a bottle, no longer waiting for permission to speak.
