Chapter 2 - THE MISSING RABBIT
Emergency lights flooded the corridor in a dim red glow.
Guests shouted.
Guards drew weapons.
A second gunshot struck the ceiling, sending chips of plaster across the marble.
Clara shielded Emma with her body.
“My bunny!”
Emma reached toward the empty floor.
Clara caught her wrist.
“Stay down.”
Alessandro’s voice rose above the panic.
“No one leaves this corridor.”
The guards spread outward.
One man secured the doors.
Another checked the balconies above them.
A third knelt beside the guard who had fired.
Blood ran from a shallow wound along his forearm.
“I didn’t shoot,” the injured guard said.
“My weapon was pulled from my holster.”
Alessandro turned toward the crowd.
“Whose hand was close enough to reach him?”
No one answered.
The emergency lights painted every face red.
The powerful men and women who had entered Villa Moretti with practiced arrogance now looked trapped.
Clara searched the floor.
The rabbit was gone.
Emma began to cry.
Not loudly.
Her small shoulders shook as she stared at the place where her father’s last gift had been.
“Mr. Bunny is scared.”
Clara gathered her into her arms.
“We’ll find him.”
Vivian stood near the console with one hand pressed to her throat.
Her crimson gown blended almost perfectly with the emergency lighting.
“This is your fault,” she said to Clara.
Alessandro turned toward her.
Vivian gestured at the chaos.
“She brought the symbol.”
“She also lost the object containing it.”
“That could be part of the performance.”
Clara rose with Emma in her arms.
“You think I arranged a blackout so someone could steal my daughter’s rabbit?”
“I think poor women become surprisingly creative when they want money.”
Clara took a step toward her.
Alessandro placed one hand between them.
“Enough.”
Vivian stared at Clara over his shoulder.
The satisfaction in her eyes made Clara’s stomach turn.
The rabbit had disappeared in total darkness.
Yet Vivian did not seem surprised.
She seemed relieved.
The main lights flickered back on.
Alessandro looked at the ceiling cameras.
None of the tiny red indicators had returned.
“Marco.”
A dark-haired guard approached.
He was in his early forties, with a narrow scar near his left ear.
Clara had seen him beside Alessandro every morning for nearly a year.
“Take six men.”
Alessandro glanced toward the guests.
“Search everyone.”
Cesare Bellandi’s face hardened.
“You will not put your hands on my wife.”
“Then you may search her yourself while my men watch.”
“This is an insult.”
“A man fired a weapon in my home during a blackout.”
Alessandro’s voice became colder.
“If wounded pride is your greatest concern, be grateful.”
The searches began.
Men emptied pockets onto silver trays.
Women opened purses and allowed female staff members to check the folds of their gowns.
Jewelry cases, phones, knives, pistols, cash, keys, and folded notes accumulated on the tables.
The rabbit did not appear.
Vivian extended her arms impatiently while an older maid checked her gown.
“This is degrading.”
The maid’s fingers trembled.
Vivian leaned close enough to whisper something.
The woman flinched.
Clara saw it.
“What did she say to you?”
The maid lowered her eyes.
“Nothing, Mrs. Bennett.”
Vivian smiled.
“You see threats everywhere.”
“I see one standing in front of me.”
Alessandro looked at the maid.
“What did she say?”
The maid swallowed.
“She asked whether my grandson still attends school on Via Dante.”
Vivian’s smile disappeared.
Alessandro stepped closer.
“Was that a threat?”
“No.”
Vivian spoke quickly.
“I was making conversation.”
“During a weapons search?”
“I know her family.”
“You know where her grandson goes to school.”
“So do half the people in Milan.”
Alessandro’s expression changed.
Clara had worked in the villa long enough to recognize the shift.
It was not anger.
It was the disappearance of restraint.
“Marco.”
The scarred guard moved closer.
“Escort Vivian to the blue salon.”
Vivian stared at Alessandro.
“You are confining me?”
“I am separating you from the people you enjoy frightening.”
“You cannot treat me like a prisoner.”
“You entered my home as a guest.”
Alessandro’s gaze hardened.
“You stopped being one when you struck a woman holding a tray and threatened a child’s family.”
Vivian’s face burned.
“My father will hear about this.”
“I hope he does.”
Marco reached toward her.
Vivian pulled away.
“Do not touch me.”
She turned toward Alessandro.
“You will regret choosing that woman over me.”
Clara heard several guests inhale.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“There was never a choice.”
Vivian’s humiliation became rage.
She swept past Marco and walked toward the blue salon.
Her crimson train slid over the marble like spilled blood.
Marco and two guards followed.
Don Ricci remained near the console.
He held the strip of paper beneath the chandelier.
“The numbers may identify a deposit box.”
Alessandro examined the brass key.
“It is too small for a bank vault.”
“It could be for a railway locker.”
“Daniel hated trains,” Clara said.
Both men looked at her.
She shifted Emma higher against her hip.
“He traveled by car even when flights were cheaper.”
“Why?”
“He said stations made him nervous.”
Don Ricci studied her.
“Did he ever explain why?”
“No.”
Clara thought back.
Daniel had always arrived early at airports.
He had checked hotel exits.
He had chosen restaurant tables facing the door.
She had mistaken caution for habit.
Now each memory carried a darker shape.
Alessandro looked toward Marco’s empty position near the arch.
“Who installed the camera system?”
“Your security team,” Don Ricci said.
“Under whose supervision?”
“Marco’s.”
Clara turned toward the corridor leading to the blue salon.
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“You trust him?” she asked.
“I trusted everyone in this house until tonight.”
The answer frightened her more than denial would have.
A guard approached carrying a torn strip of blue wool.
“We found this near the service stairs.”
Emma reached for it.
“That’s his paw.”
Clara took the fabric.
The edge had been cut cleanly.
Not torn.
Someone was opening the rabbit.
Alessandro handed the brass key to Don Ricci.
“Take Mrs. Bennett and the child to the east library.”
Clara stiffened.
“I’m not going anywhere without Emma’s rabbit.”
“You will be safer behind a locked door.”
“You just said this house was opened from the inside.”
His gaze held hers.
“That is why I am choosing the lock.”
Clara wanted to argue.
Then she looked at Emma’s frightened face.
“Who will guard us?”
“I will.”
Don Ricci lifted an eyebrow.
Alessandro ignored him.
He escorted Clara and Emma through a side corridor.
Two guards walked ahead.
Two followed behind.
The villa seemed different now.
Its marble statues looked like silent witnesses.
Its shadowed doorways felt occupied even when empty.
They reached the east library.
Alessandro checked the room himself.
He opened the balcony curtains.
He inspected the adjoining washroom.
He tested the windows and examined the fireplace.
Only then did he allow Clara inside.
Emma sat on the leather sofa and held the torn piece of wool.
“Can we fix him?”
Clara knelt.
“Yes.”
“Even if his stuffing comes out?”
“Yes.”
“Even if the bad lady hurts him?”
Clara looked toward Alessandro.
“Yes.”
Emma nodded as though a contract had been signed.
Alessandro closed the library door.
“I need to know everything Daniel said during the week before his death.”
Clara sat across from him.
“He was nervous.”
“How nervous?”
“He checked the street every morning.”
“What else?”
“He burned papers in our kitchen sink.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I did.”
Her voice sharpened.
“He told me they were old tax records.”
“And you believed him.”
“Yes.”
Clara hated the accusation she heard in the simple statement.
“I was his wife.”
“That does not mean he told you the truth.”
“I know that now.”
Alessandro’s expression softened slightly.
Clara looked away.
“The night before the accident, Daniel sat beside Emma’s crib for almost two hours.”
“What did he say?”
“I couldn’t hear everything.”
She closed her eyes.
“He kept telling her he was sorry.”
Alessandro glanced toward Emma.
The child had begun wrapping the strip of blue wool around her fingers.
“Did he give her the rabbit that night?”
“No.”
“She already had it.”
“He repaired the ear?”
Clara opened her eyes.
“I thought I had repaired it.”
Alessandro waited.
Clara’s breathing slowed.
“I stitched it shut after it tore.”
“When?”
“Two months before he died.”
“Did it tear again?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said the thread was yours.”
“It was the same color.”
“Not the same question.”
Clara stared at him.
Daniel must have opened the seam.
He must have hidden the key and paper inside.
Then he had sewn it closed with thread almost identical to hers.
Emma suddenly looked toward the tall bookcases.
“Daddy talked to Mr. Bunny.”
Clara turned.
“When?”
“In the kitchen.”
“What did he say?”
Emma frowned, struggling to remember something from two years earlier.
“He said Mr. Bunny had to be brave.”
Alessandro crouched in front of her.
“Did your father put anything inside him?”
Emma nodded.
Clara’s pulse accelerated.
“What did he put inside?”
“A song.”
Alessandro and Clara looked at each other.
A faint scraping sound came from behind the bookcase.
Alessandro drew his pistol.
“Get behind the desk.”
Clara pulled Emma down.
The scraping came again.
One of the center shelves moved forward by half an inch.
Alessandro approached slowly.
He pressed the barrel of his pistol against the edge and pulled.
A hidden door swung open.
The missing rabbit lay on the floor of the dark passage.
Its chest had been cut open.
May you like
Its stuffing was scattered around it.
Beside the rabbit was Marco’s blood-covered security badge.
