Chapter 6
The private study of the Valenti estate was a dark, oak-paneled room that smelled of old leather and expensive bourbon. Heavy blackout curtains were drawn, blocking out the bright, cinematic light of the afternoon, plunging the room into tense, moody shadows.
Marco and Camilla were forcefully thrown into two high-backed leather chairs in the center of the room. Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs. Camilla wept quietly, her luxurious gown stained and torn, while Marco breathed heavily through his mouth, his broken nose swelling rapidly.
Domenico stood behind his massive mahogany desk. He placed the yellowed, sealed envelope precisely in the center of the leather blotter. He did not sit down. He poured himself two fingers of scotch from a crystal decanter, took a slow sip, and looked at his treacherous family members.
"Tell me what this is," Domenico said, his voice low and dangerous. "And do not insult me by lying."
"It’s a ghost, Dom," Marco choked out, spitting blood onto the Persian rug. "It’s a ghost from twenty years ago. It’s supposed to be buried."
"Clearly, it is not buried," Domenico countered. "It was under an antique vase in my ballroom. A vase that Camilla specifically requested be placed by the entrance this morning."
Camilla flinched. "I didn't want it there! I was forced to put it there!"
Domenico raised an eyebrow, setting his crystal glass down. "Forced? By whom?"
"I don't know his name!" Camilla cried, tears streaming down her bruised, fair face. "He called me on a burner phone three days ago! He said he knew about the Chicago skim. He knew that Marco and I had been siphoning money from the union pension funds!"
Domenico’s expression hardened. "You stole from the family?"
"It was just a loan!" Marco shouted desperately. "We were going to put it back! The real estate market crashed, we got leveraged, we didn't have a choice!"
"You always have a choice," Domenico said, his voice as cold as ice. "So, a blackmailer calls you. He knows you are stealing from me. What did he want?"
"He wanted access to the wedding," Camilla sobbed. "He said he would mail an envelope to the estate. He told me I had to hide it under the porcelain vase by the main entrance. He said if I did exactly as he asked, he would burn the evidence of our theft."
"And if you didn't?" Domenico asked.
"He said he would send the evidence directly to you," Marco answered, his head hanging in shame. "We couldn't let you see it, Dom. You would have killed us."
"I might still kill you," Domenico observed objectively. He looked down at the yellowed envelope. "So, you hid the envelope. You didn't know what was inside it?"
"He said it was a message for someone attending the wedding," Camilla wept. "He said someone would come by during the reception, lift the vase, and take the envelope. We were just supposed to make sure it stayed hidden until the party started!"
"And then my three-year-old daughter bumped into the pedestal," Domenico concluded, the pieces falling into place.
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"We panicked," Marco whispered. "When the vase broke, the envelope was exposed. If you found it, we knew the blackmailer would release the evidence of our theft. We had to get it back."
Domenico picked up a silver letter opener from his desk. He looked at the heavy red wax seal. "Let us see what you were so terrified of."
