Chapter 2 - The Housekeeper’s Confession
The estate chapel sat on the eastern edge of the grounds, built from weathered grey stone that pre-dated my grandfather’s era. Stained-glass windows cast long, eerie shadows of blue and violet across the empty wooden pews.
Renata was kneeling near the altar, a rosary wrapped tightly around her knuckles, her lips moving in frantic, silent prayer.
She didn't hear my footsteps until I stood directly behind her.
"Praying for forgiveness, Renata?" I asked smoothly.
She gasped, stumbling backward out of the pew, her hands shaking violently as she pressed herself against the altar railing. "Sir! Mr. Duca! You... you scared me. I was just praying for the house... after the terrible scene in the hall tonight."
I didn't answer. I walked slowly up the aisle, running my fingers along the polished wood of the pews.
"You know, Renata," I mused softly, "when I was twelve years old, after the fire, I used to sit in this exact pew and ask God why I was left behind. Why my father, my mother, and my little brother were slaughtered while I survived."
"It... it was a tragic night, sir," she stammered, her face pale under the dim candlelight. "A terrible tragedy."
"And for fifteen years, I believed it was an outside job," I continued, stopping two feet in front of her. I towered over her, my shadow completely swallowing her fragile frame. "I thought the Moretti family simply bypassed our security with heavy firepower. But a house as strong as the Duca estate doesn't fall from the outside, Renata. It falls from within."
She tried to laugh, a shrill, nervous sound. "Sir, I don't understand what you're saying—"
I reached out with terrifying speed, my hand locking around her throat. I didn't crush her windpipe, but I held her firmly enough that her heels lifted an inch off the stone floor.
From my pocket, I pulled out a burner phone that Marco’s team had retrieved from behind a loose brick near the altar five minutes prior.
"This phone logged four outgoing calls tonight," I whispered into her ear. "All four went to Senator Victor Moretti's private line. The first call was placed thirty seconds after you planted the jeweled clock in Elena’s locker."
Renata’s eyes bulged with pure horror. Her rosary clattered to the floor, rolling against my polished leather shoes.
"Lorenzo... please," she choked out, tears bursting from her eyes. "They... they threatened my son! Fifteen years ago, Don Moretti told me if I didn't unlock the side gates, they would send my boy back to me in pieces! I had no choice!"
"We always have a choice, Renata," I said, my voice dropping into a register so dark it made the candles flicker. "You chose to trade my family’s lives for your son's. And then you stayed in my house for fifteen years, eating my food, taking my money, watching me mourn."
"I saved you!" she sobbed. "I told them not to touch the boy's quarters!"
"You didn't save me," I growled, bringing my face inches from hers. "Elena Vance saved me. You sold us out. And tonight, you tried to hand her and her child over to the butchers."
I released her throat. She crumpled to the cold stone floor, gasping for air and weeping hysterically.
Marco stepped out from the darkness of the vestibule, two armed enforcers right behind him.
"Lock her in the wine cellar basement," I ordered without looking back. "The same cellar where Elena hid me while my family died. Strip her of all devices. If she utters a single sound, gag her."
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"What about Senator Moretti, boss?" Marco asked, seizing Renata by the arms as she whimpered.
"He thinks Elena is about to be thrown out of my gates," I said, pulling a handkerchief from my breast pocket and slowly wiping my hands. "Let's make sure he keeps believing he's in control. Call our legal team and tell them to freeze every asset connected to the Moretti foundation. The war didn't end fifteen years ago, Marco. It just waited for me to grow up."
