Chapter 15 - The Portrait Leaves the House
Security sealed the gates.
Nobody left.
At least that was the idea.
The portrait had vanished during forty-three seconds of darkness.
Vittorio had disappeared from the dining room.
Anthony remained seated.
Too calm.
Dominic looked at him.
“Where is your father?”
Anthony sipped wine.
“My father is seventy-two.”
“He probably went to the bathroom.”
“Without his cane?”
Anthony glanced toward the empty chair.
The cane remained leaning against it.
His expression changed.
Marco entered.
“North service door opened during the outage.”
“Authorized code?”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
Marco looked at Anthony.
“Yours.”
Every head in the room turned.
Anthony slowly set down his glass.
“That’s impossible.”
Dominic said nothing.
Anthony reached into his pocket.
His access card was gone.
For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely surprised.
Marco’s team searched the estate.
Vittorio was found in the old greenhouse.
Unconscious but alive.
The portrait was missing.
When Vittorio woke, he claimed someone had struck him from behind.
Anthony accused Dominic of staging everything.
Dominic ignored him.
I returned to Maria’s hidden room.
The wall looked naked without the portrait.
Something bothered me.
If someone wanted to destroy Maria’s evidence, why steal the painting after we had already removed the microfilm?
Unless they did not know we had found it.
Or unless there was something else in the frame.
I examined photographs I had taken during restoration.
Front.
Back.
Frame.
Canvas.
Repair stitching.
Then I saw it.
A tiny metal shape inside the upper frame corner.
Not decorative.
A magnetic strip.
I enlarged the photograph.
There were numbers engraved on it.
I ran downstairs.
“Dominic.”
He was arguing with Anthony.
Both stopped.
“There was another piece inside the frame.”
Anthony’s eyes flickered.
Tiny.
Quick.
But I saw it.
So did Dominic.
“What piece?” Dominic asked.
I deliberately lied.
“A brass plate.”
Anthony relaxed slightly.
Dominic understood immediately.
“Where?”
“I removed it before dinner.”
Another lie.
Anthony’s hand moved toward his jacket.
Marco stepped closer.
Dominic’s voice became quiet.
“What did you think was in the painting, Anthony?”
Anthony smiled.
“Nothing.”
“You reacted.”
“To what?”
“The brass plate.”
Anthony leaned back.
“Maybe I am tired of watching a stranger wander through this family’s house acting like she belongs here.”
Dominic’s expression became cold.
“She belongs here more than anyone who steals from me.”
The room went still.
Anthony looked at Vittorio.
For the first time, father and son did not appear united.
Vittorio stared back at him.
Suspicion.
Fear.
Maybe hatred.
Then my phone rang.
Samuel Price.
I answered.
His voice was urgent.
“Claire, listen carefully.”
“How do you have my number?”
“Rosa gave it to me.”
“What happened?”
“A woman called me.”
“What woman?”
Samuel inhaled.
“She said Maria sent her.”
Every person in the room watched me.
Samuel continued.
“She knows Dominic found the room.”
My heart hammered.
“Who is she?”
May you like
Samuel answered.
“Elena.”
