Chapter 6 - Twelve Red ThreadsBy sunrise, Elena Rossi had transformed Luca Moretti’s wedding into the strangest security operation in New York.
She arrived barefoot.
Her white blouse was torn at the shoulder.
Blood marked one side of her face.
And tied around her wrist was a strip of red fabric cut from Luca’s poisoned wedding suit.
Security guards nearly shot her at the gate.
Luca reached her before anyone else.
“Where is Elena’s daughter?”
Vivienne stared at him.
Then slapped him.
The sound echoed across the marble foyer.
Marco moved forward.
Luca raised a hand.
Vivienne’s chest heaved.
“You think I did this?”
“You ran.”
“I was taken.”
“You walked out during a blackout.”
“Because Daniel Rossi put a gun against my ribs and told me if I didn’t move, everyone inside would die.”
Elena stepped forward.
“Daniel wouldn’t—”
Vivienne turned.
“You know him?”
“He’s my husband.”
Vivienne’s expression changed.
For one second, the two women simply stared at each other.
Then Vivienne whispered:
“Oh, God.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were on the train together.”
“He got me away from Vale.”
“Adrian Vale?”
Vivienne nodded.
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“You know Vale?”
“My father knows him.”
“Your father told me Vale died.”
“My father tells everyone whatever keeps him alive.”
Vivienne lowered herself into a chair.
Her hands were trembling.
“I didn’t know anything about the device in your suit.”
“Then why were you watching Elena cut the thread like you wanted to stop her?”
“Because I knew something had been hidden.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“My father told me before I came here that something important had been sewn into your jacket. He said it was insurance.”
“Insurance against whom?”
“You.”
Luca laughed bitterly.
“Good foundation for a marriage.”
Vivienne looked at him.
“You think I wanted this marriage because my father wanted an alliance?”
“Didn’t you?”
“No.”
The answer was too quick.
Too raw.
Luca went silent.
Vivienne continued.
“I agreed because marrying you was the only way my father would stop trying to control every part of my life.”
“You could have told me.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“Maybe.”
“No, Luca. You would have asked what I was hiding. And I was hiding plenty.”
Elena crouched beside her.
“Sofia.”
Vivienne looked at her.
“Daniel told me they took your daughter.”
“Who?”
“A group calling themselves the Consortium.”
Salvatore, who had been standing near the stairs, nearly dropped his cane.
Elena saw it.
“You know that name.”
Salvatore did not answer.
Luca stepped toward him.
“Uncle.”
Salvatore sighed.
“The Consortium was what Enzo’s intelligence network became.”
“After Daniel disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Who controls it?”
“Nobody knows.”
Vivienne laughed weakly.
“Someone knows.”
They turned.
“My father.”
Luca’s face darkened.
“Where is Carlo DeLuca?”
“Probably running.”
“From what?”
Vivienne looked toward the clock.
“Tomorrow.”
Elena almost shouted.
“Everyone keeps saying tomorrow. What happens at the wedding?”
Vivienne looked at Luca.
“The guest list.”
“What about it?”
“Think.”
Luca did.
His eyes sharpened.
Judges.
Senators.
CEOs.
Union leaders.
Port executives.
Law-enforcement officials.
Foreign businessmen.
Nearly every person connected to the old Moretti network would be under one roof.
Vivienne whispered:
“The wedding isn’t a wedding.”
Marco understood.
“It’s a purge.”
Salvatore sat heavily.
“My God.”
“Whoever controls the Consortium wants every loose end in one place,” Vivienne said. “They need Luca alive long enough to trigger something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena touched the transparent strip from the photograph.
“The key.”
Salvatore nodded slowly.
“The master archive probably has biometric locks.”
Marco looked at Luca.
“Your father built the system.”
“And I’m his son.”
“Maybe your blood is part of the access.”
Luca paced toward the windows.
“So I walk into the ceremony. They get whatever biometric access they need. Then everyone dies.”
Vivienne whispered, “That’s what Daniel believes.”
Elena turned sharply.
“You spoke to him?”
“For almost an hour.”
“Tell me everything.”
Vivienne closed her eyes.
“He said Enzo Moretti is alive.”
Luca’s face turned to stone.
“And?”
“Daniel saw him three years ago.”
Salvatore whispered a curse.
“Where?”
“A private medical compound outside Albany.”
Luca stared.
“My father had pancreatic cancer.”
“He still does.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“He was dying when he disappeared. Someone kept him alive.”
“Why?”
“For access to the network.”
Vivienne looked toward Salvatore.
“Enzo built a failsafe requiring his biological signature to unlock the central archive.”
“But he’s alive,” Marco said.
“Barely. Daniel believes they’ve been using him as long as possible.”
“Why do they need me?”
“Because he may not survive another access.”
Luca’s hands curled into fists.
Elena watched him absorb the image of his father—not dead, but imprisoned.
Whatever Enzo Moretti had done, he was still Luca’s father.
Pain did not care about moral complexity.
A phone vibrated.
Not Luca’s.
Not Marco’s.
Vivienne looked down.
The sound came from inside the strip of red cloth tied around her wrist.
Marco cut it open.
A tiny phone fell out.
It rang.
Elena grabbed it.
“Daniel?”
His voice came through.
“Elena.”
“Where are you?”
“No time.”
“Where is Sofia?”
“They moved her.”
“Daniel, listen to me—”
“I’m trying to get her out.”
Her voice broke.
“Come home.”
Silence.
“Please.”
Daniel’s breathing changed.
“Elena…”
“You don’t get to disappear again.”
“I never stopped trying to get back.”
“Then come back now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because the man who took me is watching.”
“Who?”
A long pause.
Daniel whispered:
“Enzo.”
Everyone froze.
Luca stepped closer.
“My father took you?”
Daniel heard him.
“He ordered it.”
“But Vale controls the Consortium.”
“Vale works for someone.”
Luca’s voice became ice.
“My father?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Daniel breathed heavily.
“Elena, the red stitch is only one part. There are twelve.”
“Twelve what?”
“Twelve markers. Twelve pieces of the archive key.”
“Where?”
“On twelve people attending the wedding.”
Salvatore’s face drained.
“Who?”
“People your organization has considered untouchable for decades.”
Luca asked, “If I collect them?”
“You can expose the Consortium.”
“And Sofia?”
“I will get her back.”
Elena’s voice hardened.
“Together.”
Daniel was silent.
“We do this together.”
“Elena—”
“No. You’ve spent twenty-seven years deciding what danger I can handle. You lost that right.”
For the first time, Daniel almost laughed.
It was faint.
Broken.
But unmistakably him.
“I missed you.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know that too.”
A sound occurred on Daniel’s end.
A door opening.
His breathing changed.
“Elena, I have to go.”
“Daniel—”
“The first marker is Salvatore’s cane.”
The call ended.
Everyone looked at Salvatore.
The old man gripped his cane.
“What?”
Elena approached.
“Give it to me.”
Salvatore hesitated.
Then handed it over.
She examined the carved silver handle.
A thin red thread had been wrapped beneath the decorative collar.
She cut it.
The handle came loose.
Inside was a narrow metal cylinder.
Marco removed it.
Another transparent strip.
The second part of the key.
Luca stared.
“Twelve people.”
Elena nodded.
“And someone marked every one of them.”
Vivienne whispered, “Who?”
Elena looked at the red thread.
A terrible possibility formed.
“Daniel.”
Salvatore frowned.
“Why?”
“To show us who matters.”
Luca’s gaze moved toward tomorrow’s guest list.
Nearly four hundred names.
They needed eleven more markers before someone murdered everyone in the room.
Marco said what they were all thinking.
“We can’t search every guest.”
Elena picked up her scissors.
“No.”
She looked at the second strip.
“We don’t have to.”
Everyone waited.
Elena had spent thirty-five years looking at clothing.
At seams.
At hems.
At cuffs.
At mistakes no one else noticed.
The person who had designed this plan had chosen the only language Elena understood better than anyone.
Stitches.
“We let them come dressed for the wedding.”
Luca stared at her.
“And then?”
May you like
Elena closed her sewing kit.
“Then I find every red thread in the room.”
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