Chapter 3 - A House Full of Heirs
By noon, Villa Ramos had become a theater.
Everybody had a role.
Cecilia played the grieving fiancée.
Claudio played the burdened brother.
Attorney Lorenzo Valli played the cautious adviser.
Dr. Fausto played the physician carrying a terrible secret.
And Diego played the broken man around whom everyone performed.
Sofia was the only person who knew the stage was false.
That made her the most dangerous person in the house.
Diego spent the afternoon listening to a family meeting from his wheelchair near the library windows.
They had positioned him there because Cecilia insisted he should be “included.”
It was almost funny.
Included meant displayed.
Claudio stood near the fireplace with a glass of whiskey.
Lorenzo Valli opened a leather folder.
Cecilia sat on the sofa scrolling through her phone whenever anyone stopped looking at her.
Diego's cousin Marco had arrived from Milan that morning.
His aunt Teresa came from Bologna.
People who had visited twice in five years suddenly seemed deeply concerned about Diego's future.
Valli cleared his throat.
“We need to discuss temporary management of Ramos Holdings.”
Claudio sighed theatrically.
“I don't want this.”
Diego nearly smiled.
His brother wanted it so badly that he could barely remain seated.
Valli continued.
“Until Diego's legal capacity is formally evaluated, existing corporate procedures remain in place. However, operational authority can be delegated.”
“To whom?” Teresa asked.
“Claudio is the obvious choice.”
Of course.
Cecilia looked up.
“What about me?”
Valli hesitated.
“You are not yet Diego's spouse.”
The room became uncomfortable.
Diego noticed.
Cecilia put down her phone.
“We were supposed to be married next month.”
“I understand.”
“He would have wanted me involved.”
Claudio stared into his whiskey.
There.
A crack.
Small, but visible even through Diego's cloudy lenses.
His brother did not like Cecilia claiming power.
Interesting.
If Claudio and Cecilia had worked together, the alliance was already unstable.
Good.
Greed was strongest when shared and most useful when divided.
Teresa leaned toward Diego.
“Poor darling.”
She touched his shoulder.
He remained motionless.
Then she asked Valli whether the villa itself belonged to Diego personally or to the family trust.
Diego mentally crossed her off the list of people he would ever invite to Christmas again.
The meeting continued.
Bank accounts.
Voting rights.
Property titles.
The family spoke around him as though he were furniture.
Eventually Marco asked the question Diego had been waiting for.
“What happens if Diego dies?”
Silence.
Cecilia's face changed.
Claudio answered too quickly.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because everyone is thinking it.”
Valli adjusted his glasses.
“The estate plan is complex.”
“Who inherits?”
“Several trusts distribute assets differently. The company shares are the primary issue.”
Claudio stepped closer.
“And?”
Valli glanced at Diego.
A performance.
“He has no children. Some holdings pass to Claudio. Certain charitable trusts activate. Personal assets are divided according to Diego's current testament.”
Cecilia's voice sharpened.
“Current?”
Valli looked at her.
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“He amended it last year.”
Diego heard Cecilia's bracelet tap against the table.
She had not known.
That mattered.
“What changed?” she asked.
“Confidential.”
“I'm his fiancée.”
“You are not the beneficiary of attorney-client privilege.”
Claudio almost smiled.
The alliance cracked wider.
Diego stored the moment.
By evening, Sofia brought him upstairs.
She wheeled him through the master suite and closed the door.
Then she checked the hall.
“All clear.”
Diego removed the blindfold.
His eyes were red from the medical lenses.
“Take those things out,” Sofia said.
“No.”
“You've worn them for ten hours.”
“I need them.”
“You'll damage your eyes.”
“I've survived worse.”
“That doesn't make stupidity impressive.”
Diego looked at her.
Most employees apologized when they disagreed.
Sofia simply stared back.
Finally, he removed the lenses.
Relief was immediate.
The room sharpened.
Sofia handed him a small case.
“You're welcome.”
“I didn't say thank you.”
“You were about to.”
“I wasn't.”
“You should work on that.”
Despite himself, Diego smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
“Lock the main door.”
Sofia did.
He pushed away the blanket.
Then placed both feet on the floor.
His injured knee protested instantly.
He gripped the armrests and stood.
Sofia instinctively reached for him.
“I can manage.”
“You nearly fell.”
“I shifted.”
“You shifted toward the floor.”
Diego glared.
She put his arm around her shoulder.
“Your pride weighs more than you do.”
They moved carefully toward the dressing room.
Every step hurt.
The accident had not paralyzed him, but it had done enough real damage to make the performance easier.
The dressing room smelled faintly of cedar and leather.
His grandfather's portrait hung above a low cabinet.
Sofia pointed.
“There.”
Scratches marked the floorboards.
Diego knelt with difficulty.
One narrow plank lifted after pressure was applied to a hidden catch.
The compartment underneath appeared empty.
Diego stared.
“What's missing?” Sofia whispered.
“Two paper ledgers.”
“What were they?”
“Records.”
“Of?”
“Company transactions.”
“Illegal ones?”
Diego looked at her.
Sofia raised her eyebrows.
“You are a mafia boss.”
“I run several legitimate companies.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No,” Diego admitted. “It wasn't.”
He reached deeper.
His fingers found something.
A small black memory card.
He frowned.
“That isn't mine.”
Sofia crouched beside him.
“Then whose is it?”
Diego examined it.
Someone had taken his ledgers and left this behind.
Perhaps accidentally.
Perhaps deliberately.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Sofia froze.
Diego moved fast despite the pain.
She helped him stand.
The steps approached the master suite.
“Wheelchair,” Diego whispered.
Too far.
They would never reach it in time.
Sofia looked around.
A narrow linen closet stood beside the dressing room.
“Inside.”
Diego stared at it.
“Absolutely not.”
The doorknob to the suite moved.
Sofia shoved him toward the closet.
The most feared man in several Italian boardrooms found himself pressed between folded sheets and winter blankets.
Sofia closed the door.
She barely reached the dressing-room entrance before Cecilia entered.
“What are you doing?”
Sofia turned.
“Changing the linens.”
Cecilia looked around.
“At midnight?”
“You asked me to finish the room.”
Cecilia's gaze became suspicious.
She stepped closer.
“Where is Diego?”
“In the bedroom.”
“You left him alone?”
“For two minutes.”
Cecilia moved toward the bedroom.
Then stopped.
Her eyes landed on the raised floorboard.
Sofia's heart hammered.
Cecilia approached it.
“You opened this?”
“It was loose.”
“What did you find?”
“Dust.”
Cecilia looked directly into Sofia's face.
For several seconds, neither woman moved.
Then Cecilia smiled.
It was not kind.
“You work very hard, Sofia.”
“I try.”
“My fiancé always liked loyal employees.”
“He still has loyal employees.”
Cecilia's smile disappeared.
“Does he?”
She turned and walked toward the bedroom.
Sofia followed.
Diego's wheelchair was empty.
Her stomach dropped.
Cecilia stopped.
She stared at it.
“Where is he?”
Sofia's mind went blank for half a second.
Then she heard a soft mechanical sound.
The bathroom.
Diego rolled out in a second wheelchair normally stored beside the shower.
His blindfold was back in place.
Sofia nearly forgot how to breathe.
Cecilia stared.
Diego's head lolled slightly.
The performance was perfect.
“You said he was in bed.”
“I said bedroom.”
Cecilia looked annoyed.
She walked to Diego.
“Darling?”
Nothing.
She waved a hand before his face.
Nothing.
Then she leaned down.
“You really can't see anything, can you?”
Diego did not react.
Cecilia straightened.
“Pathetic.”
The word was quiet.
But Diego heard it.
So did Sofia.
Cecilia left.
The door closed.
Sofia waited ten seconds.
Then twenty.
Diego reached up and removed the blindfold.
“How did you get there?”
“Another door from the linen closet.”
“You knew?”
“My grandfather built the wing.”
Sofia stared at him.
“You let me push you into a cupboard when there was another exit?”
“You seemed committed.”
She almost threw a towel at him.
Instead she remembered the memory card.
Diego held it between two fingers.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “we find out what's on this.”
Neither of them noticed the tiny red light glowing beneath the antique clock in the dressing room.
Someone had recorded the entire conversation.
May you like
And by morning, the person watching would know Sofia Bellini was no ordinary maid.
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