Chapter 2 - THE VIDEO THEY TRIED TO ERASEBy midnight, the wedding had officially ended.
No vows.
No photographs.
No cake.
No bride leaving beneath rose petals.
The Bellini ballroom was instead filled with security men, attorneys, angry relatives, and enough fear to silence the most powerful families in New York.
Veronica sat inside a private lounge with her arms crossed.
“I have already admitted pulling the chair.”
Valerio stood across from her.
“That is not the only thing we’re discussing.”
“Then what?”
Enzo placed a tablet on the table.
The video played.
Alessia approached the wedding table.
Veronica looked over.
Waited.
Then, exactly as Alessia lowered herself, Veronica yanked the chair backward.
Alessia hit the marble.
Even without sound, the violence of the impact was obvious.
Veronica looked away.
“You have your proof. Are we finished?”
“No.”
Enzo rewound.
Twenty-three minutes earlier.
A server approached the same chair.
Black jacket.
White gloves.
Silver tray.
He placed the tray down.
Bent.
His hand disappeared beneath the chair.
Five seconds.
Then he stood and walked away.
Veronica leaned toward the screen.
“So?”
Enzo zoomed in.
The man had loosened the metal reinforcement beneath the seat using a small tool hidden in his palm.
“He wasn’t one of the hotel staff,” Enzo said.
Veronica’s expression changed.
“How do you know?”
“Because every server had facial registration at employee check-in.”
“And?”
“This man never checked in.”
Valerio watched her.
“Know him?”
“No.”
“Look again.”
“I said no.”
Enzo froze the frame.
The man’s face was partially visible.
Veronica stared too long.
Valerio noticed.
“You’ve seen him.”
“No.”
“Veronica.”
She stood.
“Stop interrogating me like I’m some criminal.”
“You intentionally caused Alessia to fall.”
“That was childish.”
“That was assault.”
Her face hardened.
“You care more about her than you should.”
There it was again.
Valerio said nothing.
Veronica smiled bitterly.
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“That she matters.”
“This isn’t about that.”
“It’s always about that.”
She moved toward him.
“For three years, our families have discussed us.”
“Discussed what?”
“Marriage.”
Valerio laughed once.
Cold.
“No. Your father discussed it.”
“You never refused.”
“I never agreed.”
“You let everyone believe—”
“I let no one believe anything.”
Veronica stared at him.
“You embarrassed me.”
“You pulled a chair out from under an injured woman at your sister’s wedding.”
“You embarrassed yourself.”
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the lounge.
Enzo stepped forward.
Valerio raised one hand.
Don’t.
Veronica’s breathing shook.
Then she whispered:
“She was supposed to leave.”
Valerio’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
Veronica realized what she had said.
“Nothing.”
“What did you mean?”
“She was supposed to leave after dinner.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who told you?”
Silence.
Valerio moved closer.
“Who told you Alessia was supposed to leave?”
Veronica looked toward the door.
Too late.
Enzo blocked it.
Finally she said:
“My father.”
The room went still.
Don Salvatore Romano.
Veronica and Bianca’s father.
Alessia’s uncle.
One of the oldest allies of the Moretti family.
Valerio’s voice lowered.
“What exactly did Salvatore say?”
“That Alessia would be leaving early.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“Anything else?”
“He told me not to interfere.”
Valerio almost laughed at the irony.
“You ignored him.”
“I thought he was keeping her away from you.”
Valerio stared at her.
That was plausible.
Petty enough to be true.
“What did you do besides pull the chair?”
“Nothing.”
“If you’re lying…”
“I’m not.”
For the first time all night, she looked frightened.
“Valerio, I hated seeing her near you. I wanted to humiliate her. I did not try to break her leg.”
He believed that part.
Which made the rest worse.
At the hospital, Alessia received the diagnosis shortly after one in the morning.
Fracture.
Nerve compression.
Possible temporary neuropraxia.
Surgery might be avoidable.
But she would need a brace, crutches, physical therapy, and monitoring.
The numbness could resolve in days.
Or weeks.
No one promised.
Alessia stared at the ceiling after the orthopedic surgeon left.
Dr. Cole sat beside her.
“You’ll walk.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough not to lie to you.”
She turned toward him.
“Then tell me.”
“The odds are good.”
“But?”
“The nerve took a significant hit.”
She swallowed.
Her entire career depended on mobility far less than most things.
Still, the possibility of losing normal movement terrified her.
The door opened.
Valerio entered.
Alessia immediately studied his face.
“You found something.”
He shut the door.
“You always do that.”
“What?”
“Read me before I speak.”
“You’re not difficult.”
“Most people disagree.”
She tried to smile.
Failed.
“What did you find?”
He told her.
Not everything.
Only enough.
Someone had tampered with the chair first.
Alessia became completely still.
“So Veronica wasn’t the only one.”
“No.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“You have video.”
“Partial.”
“Face?”
“Not enough.”
She looked down at her braced leg.
“What was the point?”
Valerio didn’t answer.
She did.
“Delay me.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Whoever loosened that chair didn’t need me dead.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they could have done something worse.”
“Like?”
“Stairs. Balcony. Car.”
Valerio hated how calmly she listed possibilities.
She continued.
“They wanted me unable to move normally. Or unable to leave.”
“Leave where?”
Alessia looked toward the small overnight bag her assistant had brought.
Then at him.
“I was supposed to fly to Switzerland tomorrow morning.”
Valerio’s expression changed.
“For what?”
“A bank meeting.”
“What bank?”
“Helvetia Private.”
Now it was his turn to go still.
“What were you doing there?”
“Verifying an account.”
“Whose?”
Alessia hesitated.
Then reached toward the bedside table.
Her phone.
She unlocked it.
Opened a file.
And handed it to him.
A transfer history.
Millions.
Offshore structures.
Shell companies.
Payments.
Valerio scrolled.
His face hardened.
At the center of the web sat one name.
SALVATORE ROMANO.
Veronica’s father.
Alessia’s uncle.
“I found it three weeks ago,” Alessia said.
“What is it?”
“Money disappearing from Romano Holdings.”
“How much?”
“Forty-eight million.”
Valerio stared at her.
“And tomorrow you were supposed to confirm who controlled the receiving account.”
“Yes.”
“You told Salvatore?”
“No.”
“Veronica?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“My assistant.”
“Who?”
“Camille.”
Valerio looked up sharply.
“Where is she?”
Alessia frowned.
“She should be here.”
“She isn’t.”
A cold feeling moved through the room.
Valerio called Enzo.
“Find Camille Rossi.”
There was silence.
Then Enzo answered:
“I was about to call you.”
“What happened?”
“Her car is still at the hotel.”
“And Camille?”
“Gone.”
Valerio looked at Alessia.
Enzo continued.
“We found her phone in the employee stairwell.”
Alessia’s grip tightened around the blanket.
“Was there blood?”
“No.”
“That’s something.”
“Boss.”
“What?”
“There was a message open on her phone.”
“Read it.”
Enzo paused.
Then:
“SHE KNOWS ABOUT THE ACCOUNT. STOP HER BEFORE ZURICH.”
Alessia closed her eyes.
Valerio’s expression became lethal.
The wedding humiliation had been a distraction.
May you like
The damaged chair had been preparation.
And Alessia’s missing assistant might already have paid the price for helping uncover the truth.
Related Stories
