Chapter 7 - the confrontation at midnight
"Get down from there," Rico commanded, his deep voice terrifyingly quiet.
Clara didn't jump, but her blood ran cold. She slowly stepped off the desk chair, holding the DNA report tight in her hand.
Dante stepped into the room behind Rico, his gun drawn and pointed at the floor, his face grim.
"I asked you a question at the restaurant, Miss Vance," Rico said, walking slowly toward her with heavy, deliberate strides. "And you lied to my face."
"I didn't lie!" Clara spoke up, her voice clear despite her racing pulse. "I had no idea this existed! I didn't even know who my father was until five minutes ago!"
Rico snatched the DNA report from her fingers, scanning the lines he had already memorized weeks ago.
"My wife had a secret half-sister born from her father's affair with a seamstress," Rico revealed flatly, setting the paper on the desk blotter. "Elena discovered your existence two months before she died. She set up a private trust fund in your name."
Clara’s breath hitched. "Elena knew about me?"
"Yes," Rico said, leaning his broad frame against the edge of the desk, towering over her. "And three weeks ago, someone anonymously sent this DNA report to my private office, along with a tip that you were working at Il Destino."
Clara’s mind raced. "The note in Leo's coat..."
Rico’s eyes narrowed. "What note?"
Clara quickly reached into her apron lining, pulling out the folded handwritten note she had found in Leo’s pocket, handing it to Rico.
Rico unfolded the parchment. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek stood out like carved marble.
"This is Bianca’s handwriting," Rico growled in a low, dangerous tone.
Dante stepped forward, inspecting the paper. "Bianca set this up? She planted the note to make Clara look like a spy?"
"Bianca wanted me to catch her in this room," Rico realized, his dark eyes flashing with lethal clarity. "She wanted me to execute Clara for treason before I could figure out who really ordered the sabotage on Elena’s car six months ago."
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Clara gasped. "Elena’s crash wasn't an accident?"
Rico turned his head, looking straight into Clara’s eyes. "No, Clara. My wife was murdered. And the person who killed her is living under this roof."
