Chapter 4 — The Fiancée's Perfect Alibi
Chapter 4 — The Fiancée's Perfect Alibi
The basement door was open.
Lorenzo stopped at the top of the stairs.
Cold air rose from below.
The old wine cellar had been built beneath the original Duca estate nearly a century ago. Most of the family believed it was nothing more than a forgotten storage room.
Lorenzo knew better.
His father had used it for private meetings.
Important meetings.
Meetings that were never written down.
The lights flickered again.
Marco stepped beside him.
"Boss."
Lorenzo raised one hand.
Silence.
Then—
Footsteps.
Below.
Fast.
Someone was running.
Lorenzo descended.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Marco followed with two armed men behind him.
The corridor below was narrow.
Stone walls.
Old wine racks.
A smell of dust, oak, and damp earth.
At the end of the passage, another door stood open.
Lorenzo moved faster.
They entered the wine cellar.
Nothing.
No man.
No bottle.
No movement.
Only broken glass scattered across the floor.
Marco crouched.
"Fresh."
Lorenzo looked around.
"Where did he go?"
Marco pointed toward the far wall.
"There."
A section of wine shelving had been moved.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
"Open it."
The guards pushed the shelving aside.
A hidden corridor appeared.
It led deeper into the estate.
Lorenzo entered.
The passage was barely wide enough for one man.
After twenty yards, it ended at another door.
Marco tried the handle.
Locked.
Lorenzo stepped forward.
"Move."
Marco stepped aside.
Lorenzo kicked the door.
Once.
The lock cracked.
Twice.
The door opened.
Inside was a small room.
A desk.
A chair.
A monitor.
And dozens of empty bottles.
Lorenzo stared.
Every bottle had a different handwritten date.
April 3.
April 7.
April 11.
April 18.
April 22.
May 1.
May 6.
May 14.
May 19.
June 2.
July 8.
August 13.
Four months.
Someone had been documenting his poisoning.
Marco walked to the desk.
"Boss..."
Lorenzo looked.
There were photographs.
Photographs of him.
Sleeping.
Eating.
Leaving meetings.
Entering cars.
Talking to Serena.
And drinking.
Always drinking.
On the desk lay a folder.
Lorenzo opened it.
Inside was a chart.
His name.
His symptoms.
His weight.
His blood pressure.
His reactions after each dose.
At the bottom of the page was a handwritten note.
Increase only when necessary. Do not kill him before the papers are signed.
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
Then Marco found something else.
A security monitor.
It displayed the ballroom.
Live.
Lorenzo stared at the screen.
Serena was there.
Standing near the fireplace.
Talking to guests.
Smiling.
Perfectly calm.
Marco looked at the timestamp.
"She's been in the ballroom for at least twenty minutes."
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
"Exactly."
"Then it wasn't her."
Lorenzo didn't answer.
Marco looked at the evidence.
"The camera footage proves she didn't leave."
Lorenzo stared at Serena on the monitor.
"Maybe."
Marco frowned.
"Boss?"
"Maybe this is exactly what they wanted us to find."
At 2:58 a.m., Lorenzo returned upstairs.
The ballroom was still sealed.
Guests had been moved into smaller groups.
Security officers watched every corridor.
Serena remained exactly where the camera had shown her.
She saw Lorenzo.
Her expression immediately changed to concern.
"Where have you been?"
Lorenzo approached.
"Basement."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Someone broke into the wine cellar."
"What?"
"You didn't hear?"
"No."
She looked genuinely shocked.
Lorenzo studied her face.
Her breathing.
Her eyes.
Her hands.
Nothing.
No panic.
No hesitation.
Just concern.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Nothing important."
She touched his arm.
"You're shaking."
"I'm tired."
"You should rest."
She smiled softly.
"I'll take you upstairs."
Lorenzo looked at her.
"Would you?"
"Of course."
She led him through the corridor.
Her hand remained on his arm.
Warm.
Steady.
Familiar.
That was what made it difficult.
If she was lying...
she was extraordinary.
If she wasn't...
then someone else was.
They reached the staircase.
Serena stopped.
"Do you trust me?"
Lorenzo looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you keep looking at me like you don't."
Lorenzo smiled.
"I trust you."
She smiled back.
"Good."
She kissed him.
Then whispered:
"Because I would never hurt you."
Lorenzo held her.
For a moment, he almost believed her.
Almost.
At 3:21 a.m., Lorenzo entered his bedroom.
Serena followed.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
"You need sleep."
Lorenzo removed his jacket.
"I know."
"Do you want tea?"
He turned.
"Tea?"
"You always drink tea when you have headaches."
"I do?"
She laughed.
"You forget everything."
Lorenzo smiled.
"Maybe."
She walked toward the door.
"I'll make it."
Lorenzo watched her leave.
Then waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
He walked to the bathroom.
Locked the door.
Opened his phone.
Marco was already waiting on the secure line.
"Did you find anything?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"She never left the ballroom."
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
"I know."
"We checked every camera."
"How many cameras?"
"Twenty-seven."
"How many blind spots?"
"Three."
Lorenzo opened his eyes.
"Which ones?"
"Kitchen corridor. Basement passage. East staircase."
"How long?"
"Each blind spot lasts less than ninety seconds."
Lorenzo thought.
"Ninety seconds is enough."
"Boss..."
"What?"
"There's something else."
"Tell me."
"The cameras were accessed remotely tonight."
"By whom?"
"We're tracing it."
Lorenzo heard a sound outside the bathroom.
He lowered his voice.
"Don't call me again."
"Why?"
"Someone's coming."
He disconnected.
The bathroom door opened.
Serena stood outside.
She was holding a cup of tea.
"Are you all right?"
Lorenzo smiled.
"Fine."
She handed him the cup.
"Drink."
He accepted it.
The same command.
The same smile.
The same eyes.
He looked at the tea.
Then at her.
"Thank you."
She kissed his cheek.
"Goodnight."
She left.
Lorenzo waited.
Then poured the tea into the sink.
He stared at the cup.
Something wasn't right.
He couldn't explain why.
But he had learned to trust the feeling.
At 4:03 a.m., Marco arrived.
He brought a tablet.
"Boss."
Lorenzo looked up.
"What?"
"Security footage."
Marco placed the tablet on the desk.
"We reconstructed the timeline."
The screen showed the ballroom.
Serena appeared at 12:04 a.m.
Talking to a judge's wife.
12:19.
Still there.
12:37.
Still there.
12:52.
Still there.
1:11.
Still there.
1:29.
Still there.
1:44.
Still there.
2:03.
Still there.
2:17.
Still there.
2:34.
Still there.
2:51.
Still there.
Lorenzo stared.
"She never left."
"No."
"Not even once?"
"Not according to the cameras."
Lorenzo watched again.
Serena smiled.
She drank.
She laughed.
She spoke.
She touched people's arms.
She looked completely innocent.
"Zoom in."
Marco did.
Lorenzo watched her hands.
"Her left hand."
Marco paused the footage.
"What?"
"Look."
A diamond bracelet.
Thin.
Red stone.
Lorenzo stared.
"I gave her that."
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last month."
"Where was she that night?"
"At the Romano estate."
Lorenzo nodded.
Then looked closer.
"Stop."
Marco froze the image.
At 1:42 a.m., Serena's left hand disappeared beneath her shawl.
Lorenzo leaned forward.
"What's she holding?"
Marco enhanced the image.
A small black object.
"Phone?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Lorenzo stared.
The shape was familiar.
A key.
Not an ordinary key.
A thin brass key with a distinctive circular head.
Lorenzo stood.
"Where does that key go?"
Marco looked confused.
"I don't know."
Lorenzo walked to his father's old office.
He opened the desk drawer.
Removed a leather case.
Inside was a collection of old keys.
He searched.
Then stopped.
One was missing.
A brass key.
Circular head.
Exactly the same shape.
Marco looked at him.
"Your father's?"
"Yes."
"What does it open?"
Lorenzo stared at the empty slot.
"I don't know."
That answer frightened him.
Because his father had labeled every key.
Except that one.
At 4:37 a.m., Lorenzo called his uncle.
Vittorio Duca.
His father's younger brother.
One of the oldest living members of the family.
The phone rang six times.
Then answered.
"Lorenzo?"
"Uncle."
"What happened?"
"I need to ask you something."
A pause.
"Go ahead."
"Did my father have a hidden room beneath the estate?"
Silence.
Too long.
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
"Uncle?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Because someone is using it."
Another pause.
Then Vittorio sighed.
"Your father didn't trust anyone."
"I know."
"He built places where he could speak without being heard."
"How many?"
"Three."
"Where?"
"The old library."
"The chapel."
"And the wine cellar."
Lorenzo's gaze shifted.
"Who knew?"
"Your father."
"Who else?"
"Me."
"Anyone else?"
Vittorio hesitated.
"Your mother."
Lorenzo froze.
His mother had died twelve years earlier.
"What about Serena?"
"Why would she know?"
"That's what I'm trying to determine."
Vittorio became silent again.
Then said:
"Don't trust that girl."
Lorenzo's eyes hardened.
"You've never said that before."
"I didn't have a reason before."
"What changed?"
"I saw your father leave something for you."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because he told me that if anyone ever tried to take your inheritance, I should tell you this."
Lorenzo waited.
"Tell me what?"
Vittorio's voice became very quiet.
"Your father knew someone inside the family would eventually betray you."
The line went silent.
Lorenzo looked at Marco.
"Who?"
Vittorio answered:
"I don't know."
Then disconnected.
At 5:10 a.m., Lorenzo returned to the ballroom.
The guests were exhausted.
Some slept in chairs.
Others whispered angrily.
Serena stood near the windows.
She looked tired now.
Human.
Almost vulnerable.
Lorenzo approached.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at him.
"For what?"
"Tonight."
She smiled.
"You don't have to apologize."
"I ruined everything."
"No."
She stepped closer.
"You protected everyone."
Lorenzo studied her.
"Would you marry me anyway?"
She froze.
Only for half a second.
Then smiled.
"Of course."
"Even after tonight?"
"Especially after tonight."
Lorenzo nodded.
"Good."
He kissed her forehead.
Then whispered:
"I love you."
Serena's eyes softened.
"I love you too."
Lorenzo walked away.
His expression changed the moment his back turned.
Because he had lied.
He didn't love her.
Not anymore.
But the most disturbing part was this:
He still didn't know whether she was the person poisoning him.
Her alibi was perfect.
Her timeline was perfect.
Her behavior was perfect.
Too perfect.
Someone had built that alibi.
Someone had made sure the cameras recorded Serena in the ballroom.
Someone wanted Lorenzo to see her innocence.
And suddenly, Lorenzo realized the real question wasn't:
Was Serena innocent?
It was:
Who was protecting her?
At 5:32 a.m., Marco returned.
"Boss."
"What?"
"We found the key."
Lorenzo turned.
"Where?"
Marco held up a photograph.
"Not the key itself."
He placed the photograph on the desk.
It showed Serena entering the estate three months earlier.
Beside her was a man Lorenzo recognized immediately.
His own personal attorney.
Daniel Cross.
Lorenzo stared at the image.
Daniel had worked for the Duca family for sixteen years.
He had prepared every major contract.
Every trust.
Every acquisition.
Every marriage agreement.
Every inheritance document.
And, most importantly...
Daniel knew the exact wording of Lorenzo's father's trust.
Marco looked at him.
"Do you want him brought in?"
Lorenzo stared at the photograph.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because if Daniel is involved..."
Lorenzo slowly folded the photograph.
"...then he already knows we're looking."
Marco understood.
"So what do we do?"
Lorenzo looked toward the ballroom.
Serena was still there.
Still smiling.
Still innocent.
Still perfect.
Lorenzo's voice became cold.
"We let them think they fooled me."
Marco nodded.
"And Serena?"
Lorenzo's eyes remained on her.
"Let her leave."
Marco looked surprised.
"Boss?"
"Give her exactly what she wants."
"What does she want?"
Lorenzo smiled.
"Me."
He picked up his phone.
"And tomorrow, I'll propose."
Marco stared at him.
"You're going to marry her?"
"No."
Lorenzo's smile disappeared.
"I'm going to find out what she plans to do after she thinks she's won."
Outside the ballroom, dawn began to break over the Duca estate.
The first light touched the marble columns.
The guests believed the crisis was ending.
Lorenzo knew it was only beginning.
Because his enemy had made one fatal mistake.
They had given him a reason to pretend.
And Lorenzo Duca had spent his entire life becoming very good at pretending.
Now he would pretend to trust the woman who might be poisoning him.
He would pretend to love her.
He would pretend to be sick.
And eventually...
May you like
he would make the person behind the glass believe Lorenzo Duca was dying.
That was when the real trap would begin.
