Chapter 3 - Sofia Had Left Me a Letter Before Her Death, and It Said the Ring Was Never Meant for Vivienne—It Was Meant for the Person Sitting Beside Her at My Engagement TableI sat at Sofia's old desk.
The letter was short.
Too short for the fear it carried.
Sofia's handwriting looked rushed.
Damian,
If you are reading this, then something has happened to me.
Do not trust the first explanation.
Do not trust the second.
Trust the child.
I looked at Rosie.
She was sitting on the carpet, drawing.
Then:
The ring is not evidence of my death.
It is evidence of what happened before it.
The star means the money moved.
I read the sentence twice.
Money.
The ring had nothing to do with jewelry.
It was a marker.
A symbol.
A sign that money had changed hands.
Then:
Look at the person who knew where my box was.
I immediately thought of Victor.
My head of household accounts.
The person who had handled all funeral expenses.
The person who had inventory access.
I called him.
He arrived within ten minutes.
He looked nervous.
I placed the letter in front of him.
“Did you move Sofia's ring?”
“No.”
“Did you open her box?”
“No.”
“Did you access her room?”
“Only to inventory.”
“Before or after she died?”
“After.”
“Who else?”
He thought.
“Ms. Vivienne.”
I looked at her.
“When?”
“The morning after.”
Vivienne nodded.
“I went because I wanted something.”
“What?”
“A file.”
“What file?”
“Something Sofia had given me.”
“What did she give you?”
“A name.”
I frowned.
“Whose?”
“Your father's.”
My blood froze.
My father had been dead for six years.
“Why would Sofia have his name?”
Vivienne looked at me.
“Because he knew about the Bellmont Circle.”
I stared.
Now I remembered.
My father had always refused to discuss Bellmont.
He called it “the old structure.”
I had assumed it was financial.
Maybe it wasn't.
Victor suddenly said:
“Mr. Moretti, perhaps we should keep this family matter private.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“Because you're dealing with people who don't forgive exposure.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised everyone.
Victor looked down.
“My father worked with them.”
I stood.
“You knew?”
“I knew of them.”
“Did Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She asked me questions.”
“About what?”
“Payments.”
“Which payments?”
“Transfers from your family office.”
I felt sick.
My family office had been moving money without my knowledge.
How?
I looked at the records.
The Bellmont Circle was not some vague criminal club.
It was a private network of wealthy families.
They moved money.
Businesses.
People.
And influence.
My own family had been connected for decades.
Sofia had discovered it.
She had tried to tell me.
Instead, she died.
Or someone made sure she did.
I looked at Vivienne.
“Why did you take the ring?”
She closed her eyes.
“Sofia asked me to.”
“What?”
“She came to me two days before she died.”
“Why?”
“She said if something happened, I had to wear the ring to your engagement dinner.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because she believed someone would recognize the star.”
“Who?”
Vivienne shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You don't?”
“No.”
“Then why did you agree?”
Vivienne looked at Rosie.
“Because Sofia told me Rosie would know when it was time.”
I stared at the little girl.
Rosie was coloring a star.
Not five points.
Six.
I knelt.
“Rosie.”
She looked up.
“What are you drawing?”
“A house.”
“Why does the house have a star?”
“Because Mommy said the star points to the door.”
“What door?”
She thought.
“The secret one.”
“Where?”
She pointed toward the dining room.
“The room where grown-ups lie.”
My heart stopped.
There was only one room like that.
My father's old study.
A room I had locked after his death.
I stood.
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
“Open it.”
He stared.
“That room is sealed.”
“Open it.”
The lock was broken from the inside.
That was the first thing we saw.
The second was a safe.
The third was a photograph.
Sofia.
Standing beside my father.
And the fourth was a ledger.
Across the cover, carved in black ink, was the same star.
The Bellmont Circle.
I touched it.
Then I saw the name at the top.
DAMIAN MORETTI.
My name.
Under it:
INITIAL CONTRIBUTION — PENDING.
I stared.
Someone had been preparing to involve me.
May you like
And suddenly Sofia's death looked less like a warning.
It looked like a delay.
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