Chapter 3 - Room 417
Enzo did not allow Senator Ashford or Camilla to leave.
He moved everyone to his private study and locked the doors.
The mansion had changed in less than an hour.
The chandeliers still glowed.
The champagne still waited on abandoned tables.
But the house no longer felt like the site of an engagement celebration.
It felt like a crime scene.
Enzo stood behind his desk.
“Explain the number.”
Camilla sat in a leather chair with her arms crossed.
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Where did the glass come from?”
“The staff gave it to me.”
Adeline shook her head.
“No.”
Camilla glared at her.
“You’re calling me a liar?”
“Yes.”
The answer came so calmly that Enzo almost looked amused.
Camilla rose.
Marco stepped forward.
She stopped.
Adeline continued.
“I saw you take the glass from a black case your father carried into the east salon.”
Charles Ashford looked at Enzo.
“You are going to believe her?”
Enzo rested both hands on his desk.
“For the moment, she is the only person in this room who has not lied to me.”
The senator’s face darkened.
Camilla turned toward her father.
“What was in the case?”
“Nothing relevant.”
“Then why was my champagne glass inside it?”
Charles did not answer.
Enzo walked to a built-in cabinet.
He opened it.
Behind rows of antique books was a steel security panel.
He entered a code.
A section of shelving released with a quiet click.
Camilla stared.
Adeline did not.
That caught Enzo’s attention.
“You knew that was there?”
“No.”
“You didn’t look surprised.”
“I grew up around people who hid things behind walls.”
Enzo held her gaze for a moment.
Then he opened the hidden compartment.
Inside were ledgers, property documents, several passports, and old photographs.
He removed a thin black book.
“What are you doing?” Charles asked.
“Checking whether 417 means anything to me.”
He turned pages.
Then stopped.
A notation appeared beside a payment from April 2008.
ROOM 417.
ASHFORD.
VALE.
MARCHETTI.
Enzo read it twice.
Adeline moved closer.
“That date.”
“What about it?”
“My father died three days later.”
No one spoke.
Enzo checked another page.
Another reference.
Hotel Bellweather.
Room 417.
The Bellweather had been demolished nine years earlier.
But Enzo remembered it.
His uncle Vittorio had used the hotel for private meetings.
Back then, Enzo had been twenty-one years old and barely trusted with restaurant collections.
His father had died when he was sixteen.
Vittorio had taken control of the family.
And Vittorio had taught him one lesson repeatedly.
Never keep records.
Yet someone had.
Enzo closed the ledger.
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
“Call Luca.”
Camilla scoffed.
“Your lawyer?”
“My investigator.”
Charles Ashford stepped forward.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
Enzo looked at him.
“Thomas Vale died three days after a meeting involving my uncle and you.”
“It proves nothing.”
“No.”
Enzo’s voice went colder.
“But your face proves you remember it.”
Charles lowered his voice.
“You are digging into matters that were buried for good reason.”
Adeline’s hand tightened around Enzo’s jacket.
“My father was not a matter.”
The senator looked at her.
“He was reckless.”
“He was honest.”
“He was going to destroy powerful people who would never allow themselves to be destroyed.”
Adeline stared at him.
“So you helped them kill him?”
Camilla gasped.
Charles said nothing.
That silence answered more than words could have.
Enzo came around the desk.
“You have ten seconds to tell me everything you know.”
Charles looked at the closed doors.
Then at Marco.
Then at Enzo.
“You think because people fear you, you understand power.”
“I understand enough.”
“No.”
The senator smiled faintly.
“You understand the version your uncle permitted you to inherit.”
Enzo went still.
Charles leaned toward him.
“Vittorio Marchetti did not build the empire you took over.”
“He stole it.”
Adeline’s face changed.
Charles noticed.
“So your father never told you?”
Enzo’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“Told me what?”
Charles looked at Adeline.
“Thomas Vale was not investigating the Marchetti family.”
He turned back to Enzo.
“He was working with your father.”
For the first time that night, Enzo lost control of his expression.
Only for a second.
But Charles saw it.
“Your father and Thomas Vale were trying to bring Vittorio down together.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Enzo remembered his father’s funeral.
The rain.
The black umbrellas.
His uncle’s hand on his shoulder.
The promise that he would protect Enzo like a son.
Charles delivered the final blow calmly.
May you like
“Your uncle didn’t save your family after your father died.”
“He murdered your father and took it.”
