Chapter 3 - Breakfast With a Murderer
Alessandro opened the kitchen door himself.
Beatrice Duca stood on the other side like a queen inconvenienced by servants.
She wore cream silk, diamonds at her ears, and the faint smile of a woman who had never once been denied entry into any room she considered hers.
Behind her stood Raffaele, hands in his pockets, expression bored.
“Darling,” Beatrice said, “your breakfast is getting cold.”
Alessandro did not move aside.
“My coffee almost killed me.”
Beatrice blinked once.
Only once.
Raffaele laughed.
It was too quick.
Too loud.
“What kind of dramatic nonsense is this?”
Dr. Royce stepped into view with the sealed sample bag.
“It is not nonsense.”
Beatrice’s eyes moved to the bag.
Then to Sophia.
Then to Emma.
For the briefest moment, her red-nailed fingers curled.
Sophia noticed.
So did Alessandro.
Beatrice sighed. “A child makes one strange comment and suddenly everyone is hysterical?”
“A child recognized a smell,” Alessandro said.
“What could a toddler possibly know about coffee?”
Emma peeked from behind Sophia’s skirt.
Beatrice looked at her.
Not with kindness.
Not with concern.
With warning.
Sophia pulled Emma behind her immediately.
Alessandro’s voice dropped.
“Do not look at her like that.”
The entire hallway went silent.
Beatrice slowly turned back to him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Raffaele stepped forward. “Careful, cousin.”
Alessandro smiled without warmth.
“You first.”
For years, Alessandro had tolerated his relatives because family unity mattered to investors. He had sat through dinners with cousins who resented him, uncles who underestimated him, and aunts who smiled like saints while spreading poison in private conversations.
But this was different.
This time poison was not a metaphor.
Dr. Royce held up the evidence bag.
“I need this taken to an independent lab immediately.”
Beatrice gave a soft laugh.
“Independent? Evelyn, surely you’re not suggesting a criminal investigation based on kitchen gossip.”
“I’m suggesting someone attempted to drug the head of Duca Industries.”
At that, Raffaele stopped smiling.
“Watch your words.”
Dr. Royce stared at him.
“I always do.”
Alessandro turned to Matteo. “Security?”
“Outer gates sealed, sir. Internal cameras being reviewed.”
Raffaele’s jaw tightened.
“Sealed? You’re holding us prisoner now?”
“No,” Alessandro said. “I’m preserving a crime scene.”
Beatrice raised her chin.
“You cannot seriously believe someone in this family would harm you.”
Alessandro looked at her red nails.
“I believe the cup.”
Her face chilled.
Then, with the grace of a woman changing masks, Beatrice softened.
“My dear boy. Your father’s paranoia is finally catching up to you.”
Matteo flinched.
Alessandro did not.
“My father died in his sleep after drinking coffee in this house.”
The words struck the hallway like a hammer.
Beatrice’s smile disappeared.
Raffaele looked away.
Sophia stopped breathing.
Even Emma went still.
No one had spoken openly about Lorenzo Duca’s death in years. The official story had been a heart attack. Sudden. Tragic. Unquestioned.
But Alessandro had always remembered one detail.
His father’s coffee cup had been missing when he arrived upstairs.
By the time the doctors came, the breakfast tray had been cleaned.
By Beatrice’s instructions.
“You were grieving,” Beatrice said softly. “You remember things incorrectly.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.” Her voice sharpened. “And this performance is beneath you.”
Alessandro turned toward the kitchen staff.
“Victor.”
The cook looked ready to collapse.
Alessandro stepped aside so Beatrice and Raffaele could see him clearly.
“Tell my aunt what you told me.”
Victor shook his head.
“I—I don’t want trouble.”
Raffaele smiled. “Smart man.”
Alessandro did not look away from Victor.
“You already have trouble. The question is whether you leave this room as a witness or a suspect.”
Victor’s knees nearly buckled.
“A woman brought the beans,” he whispered.
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed.
“What woman?”
Victor stared at the floor.
“She had red nails.”
The hallway froze.
Raffaele cursed under his breath.
Beatrice’s expression did not change, but the air around her seemed to harden.
“Half the women in this house have red nails.”
“No,” Matteo said.
Everyone turned to him.
The old butler’s face was pale, but his voice was firm.
“Only you, madam.”
Beatrice looked at him as though he were a dead man who had forgotten to fall.
“You have served this family for forty years,” she said. “Do not throw that away over a frightened child.”
Matteo bowed his head.
“I am trying to save what is left of it.”
For the first time, Beatrice looked afraid.
Not much.
Just enough.
Then the lights went out.
Every bulb in the hallway died at once.
The security panel shrieked.
Sophia screamed.
A small hand tore away from hers.
“Emma!”
In the darkness, there was a rush of movement.
A chair crashed.
Someone shouted.
Alessandro lunged toward the sound of Sophia’s voice, but another body slammed into him from the side.
When the emergency lights flickered on ten seconds later, red shadows filled the corridor.
Sophia was on her knees.
Her arms were empty.
May you like
The gray stuffed rabbit lay on the marble floor.
Emma was gone.
