Chapter 6 - behind the mahogany frame
The nursery was peaceful. Leo was fast asleep in his crib, breathing steadily, his tiny arm thrown over his teddy bear.
Clara waited until the grandfather clock in the hallway struck twelve deep, echoing chimes.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
She silently slipped off her black flats, holding them in her hand as she cracked open the nursery door. The second-floor hallway was dark. The two guards Dante had posted near the stairs were seated on chairs, their heads nodding in light sleep.
Clara moved like a shadow down the carpeted runner toward Rico’s private study.
The heavy oak door was unlocked. She slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind her, her heart pounding in her throat.
The study was vast, lined with thousands of leather-bound books, dark mahogany furniture, and a massive stone fireplace containing dying red embers.
Clara remembered the note: Look behind the portrait in the study.
She scanned the walls. Hanging directly above the massive oak desk was a large oil painting of the Moretti coat of arms—a golden lion holding a silver dagger.
Clara stepped onto the desk chair, reaching up to gently shift the heavy gilded frame aside.
Behind the canvas was a small, concealed wall safe with a digital keypad. But resting in the narrow crevice between the back of the frame and the wall was a thick manila envelope sealed with red wax.
Clara pulled the envelope free.
Written on the front in bold red ink was a single name: CLARA VANCE - CONFIDENTIAL.
Her hands trembled as she broke the red wax seal and pulled out the contents. Inside was a certified copy of a birth record from twenty-four years ago, alongside a medical DNA compatibility report dated three weeks ago—weeks before she had ever met Rico or Leo.
She scanned the top line of the DNA report:
SUBJECT A: LEO MORETTI
SUBJECT B: CLARA VANCE
MATCH CONFIRMED: MATERNAL AUNT / 25% GENETIC OVERLAP.
Clara gasped, dropping the paper onto the desk.
She wasn't just a random waitress. Elena Moretti—Rico’s late wife—was her biological half-sister.
May you like
Before her brain could process the shock, the heavy mahogany door swung open.
The lights flipped on, blinding her. Standing in the doorway was Rico Moretti, holding a glass of scotch, his navy Brioni suit jacket unbuttoned, his dark eyes burning with absolute, lethal betrayal.
