Chapter 1 - The Three-Year-Old Found Lorenzo Duca Bleeding Beneath His Mansion—Then a Hidden Recording Revealed the Woman Planning His Funeral Had Ordered His DeathI found Emma in the gardening shed just before midnight.
She was kneeling beside Lorenzo as if finding a dying crime boss on the floor was perfectly normal.
His white shirt was drenched in blood.
Emma's pink dress was muddy.
Her stuffed rabbit sat beside his shoulder like a guard.
Her plastic first-aid kit was spread open between them.
A smiling bear bandage covered the cut above his eyebrow.
“Emma,” I whispered. “Come to me.”
She shook her head.
“He's hurt, Mama.”
Then I heard boots crunching across the gravel outside.
“Check the garden!” a man yelled.
“Marco said he came this way.”
Lorenzo's eyes flew open.
His hand disappeared beneath his jacket.
I grabbed his wrist.
“No gun,” I hissed. “Not near my daughter.”
His pulse was fast.
Too fast.
And frighteningly weak.
Before my husband died, I had almost completed nursing school. Life had eventually put me in a maid's uniform, but I still recognized severe blood loss.
Lorenzo was running out of time.
Emma placed two tiny fingers against his neck.
“Mama,” she whispered, “his heart is running.”
My throat tightened.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Can you catch it?”
I wanted to smile.
Instead, I swallowed the panic.
“We're going to help him.”
A flashlight suddenly swept across the shed wall.
That was when I remembered the trapdoor.
Months earlier, while searching for one of Emma's missing buttons, I had found an iron ring hidden beneath loose floorboards under the potting bench.
I shoved the bench aside and pulled.
A narrow stone staircase appeared.
Lorenzo stared at it.
“My father's storm room,” he breathed.
“You knew this was here?”
“I knew the room existed. I never knew where.”
The shed door rattled.
A dog barked.
There was no time.
I dragged Lorenzo's arm over my shoulder and half-carried him down the stairs.
Emma wrapped both hands around three of his fingers.
“I'm helping,” she whispered.
We had barely closed the trapdoor when men stormed into the shed above us.
“There's blood.”
“Search everything.”
A boot scraped directly over our heads.
Emma buried her face against my side.
Then Lorenzo touched the wall.
Click.
Emergency lights flickered on.
My stomach dropped.
This wasn't a storm shelter.
It was a surveillance vault.
Monitors lined one wall.
Shelves were packed with tapes, photographs, ledgers, and old recordings.
One recorder was still blinking red.
Lorenzo pressed PLAY.
A woman's voice filled the room.
Calm.
Refined.
Unmistakable.
“Once Lorenzo is dead, the family becomes mine.”
Lorenzo went perfectly still.
I knew that voice.
It belonged to the woman upstairs who had spent the entire evening calmly arranging his funeral.
His own sister.
Isabella Duca.
The woman who had kissed his forehead at dinner.
The woman who had ordered the florist to prepare white lilies.
The woman who had told the household staff to begin funeral preparations before anyone had officially confirmed Lorenzo's death.
The woman who had hugged me and whispered:
“Be strong when the time comes.”
Lorenzo stared at the recorder.
“That's my sister.”
I nodded.
“She wants you dead.”
He tried to stand.
His legs failed.
I caught him.
“No.”
“I need to hear the rest.”
The recording continued.
Isabella's voice was calm.
“The shooting must look like an internal betrayal.”
A man's voice answered.
“What about the guards?”
“Replace them.”
“And the body?”
“Lorenzo will be transported to the old family chapel.”
I felt cold.
“Why the chapel?”
Isabella laughed softly.
“Because I want his funeral to happen there.”
The recording stopped.
A second file opened automatically.
This time, Isabella was crying.
But her tears sounded rehearsed.
“I hate that it had to come to this.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
I thought he was in pain.
Then he whispered:
“She knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That I have a daughter.”
I stared at him.
He looked at me.
“Emma.”
I said nothing.
He swallowed.
“Isabella believes Emma is the last thing standing between her and the full Duca inheritance.”
My stomach dropped.
“My daughter?”
“She believes my will leaves everything to her.”
“Does it?”
“No.”
“Then what does it say?”
Lorenzo looked toward Emma.
“It leaves everything to Emma.”
Silence.
I understood.
The people outside weren't hunting Lorenzo because they wanted revenge.
They were hunting the last obstacle between Isabella and the Duca fortune.
My daughter.
I pulled Emma close.
Lorenzo reached for her hand.
She took his finger.
“Don't worry,” she whispered.
“I'll protect you.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
His face changed.
He had spent his entire life surrounded by armed men.
But a three-year-old girl had just promised him protection.
Then the lights flickered.
One of the monitors came alive.
A live camera feed.
The underground vault.
The room where we were hiding.
Someone was watching us.
Lorenzo looked at the screen.
His face went pale.
“She's already inside the system.”
May you like
The screen displayed one message.
FUNERAL TOMORROW.
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