Chapter 3 - The Fiancée Who Knew Too MuchBy three in the morning, the chandeliers were still burning.
It was enough to transform the party.
Two hundred people who had arrived expecting champagne, string music, and polished speeches suddenly found themselves ordered away from the doors by Marchetti security.
Phones appeared.
Guests whispered.
Someone began crying.
A senator demanded to know whether he was being detained.
A television anchor’s husband started recording until a security guard quietly lowered the man’s phone.
Enzo ignored all of it.
His attention remained on Adeline.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s a scratch.”
Enzo looked at the thin red line across her wrist.
“It’s not.”
Before she could protest, he took a clean linen napkin from a nearby service table and handed it to her.
Adeline pressed the fabric against her skin.
Camilla stood several feet away, trembling with anger.
“You cannot keep these people locked inside your house.”
Enzo turned.
“I can keep everyone here long enough to find out why someone was running from my kitchen after threatening one of my employees.”
“Your employee just destroyed my dress and humiliated me.”
“And you struck her.”
Camilla gave an incredulous laugh.
“You’re still talking about that?”
“Yes.”
“I was angry.”
“So?”
“She grabbed me.”
“She grabbed a glass.”
“She had no right.”
Enzo’s face hardened.
“Camilla, stop.”
Something in his voice finally silenced her.
Security chief Marco Bellini appeared from the corridor.
Marco was in his early fifties, broad-shouldered, gray at the temples, and so controlled that even bad news seemed quieter when he delivered it.
“We caught him near the east kitchen exit.”
“Who?”
“Temporary catering staff. At least that’s what his badge says.”
Adeline stood.
Marco glanced at her.
“He says she saw him.”
Enzo looked at Adeline.
“What exactly did you see?”
Adeline hesitated.
Camilla made a disgusted sound.
“Oh, please. Now she’s suddenly the center of a criminal investigation?”
Enzo did not even turn around.
“Marco, take Camilla to the library.”
Camilla’s mouth fell open.
“You are not ordering me into another room.”
“I’m asking you to leave before I say something in front of these people that your family won’t be able to bury.”
Camilla stared at him for several seconds.
Then she snatched the velvet ring box from where she had left it on the table.
“You will regret this.”
Enzo’s answer was immediate.
“I already regret enough.”
Camilla stormed away.
The crowd parted.
Adeline watched her disappear into the library.
Only then did Enzo speak again.
“What did you see?”
Adeline took a breath.
“About twenty minutes before the toast, I went into the service alcove to collect a tray. A man was standing beside the champagne.”
“The one we caught?”
“I think so.”
“Think?”
“I didn’t see his face clearly.”
“What did you see?”
“His shoes.”
Marco frowned.
“Shoes?”
“Black leather. Silver buckle near the heel. They didn’t match the catering uniforms.”
Marco nodded slowly.
“What else?”
“He had white gloves on. He was holding something small.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. A vial, maybe.”
Enzo’s posture changed.
“He put something in the glass?”
“I didn’t actually see liquid go in. His hand covered the rim.”
“Then?”
“He left.”
“And you smelled something.”
Adeline stared at him.
“How did you know?”
“You looked at the glass twice before Camilla reached for it.”
She nodded.
“Bitter almonds.”
Marco and Enzo exchanged a glance.
That worried her more than anything else.
“Is that bad?”
Marco said, “Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“We don’t know what was in it until it’s tested.”
Adeline glanced at the shattered glass.
Champagne spread between fragments of crystal.
A security guard had already positioned two chairs around the area so no one stepped in it.
Enzo turned to Marco.
“Call the police.”
Marco paused.
“We already have.”
That surprised Adeline.
Everything she had heard about the Marchettis suggested they handled problems privately.
Enzo seemed to read the thought on her face.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You expected me not to call them.”
She did not answer.
His mouth tightened.
“My father’s reputation belonged to my father.”
Adeline looked away.
She had not meant to insult him.
A commotion near the ballroom entrance interrupted them.
Two uniformed police officers entered, followed by Detective Laura Ramirez, a woman with sharp eyes and rain still glistening on the shoulders of her coat.
Enzo crossed the room to meet her.
Adeline remained beside the wall.
For the first time since grabbing Camilla’s glass, her knees began to shake.
What had she done?
A week and a half ago, she had accepted a temporary job because she needed money.
Her mother’s medical bills were piling up.
Her rent had increased.
She had promised herself she would keep her head down, work hard, and leave the Marchetti mansion with enough money to survive another month.
Now she was part of a possible poisoning investigation.
And the man who might have attempted it knew her face.
“Miss Croft?”
Detective Ramirez stood in front of her.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Ramirez. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Adeline nodded.
Enzo said, “Use my study.”
Ramirez looked at him.
“You’re not coming.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She seemed mildly surprised.
“Good.”
Adeline followed the detective through a side corridor.
The study was quieter than the ballroom, lined with dark shelves and old photographs.
One showed a younger Enzo standing beside an elderly woman in a garden.
He looked different in the picture.
Lighter.
Almost happy.
Ramirez closed the door.
“Sit.”
Adeline sat.
“Tell me everything.”
So she did.
The alcove.
The shoes.
The white gloves.
The vial.
The smell.
Camilla reaching for the glass.
The slap.
The riding crop.
Everything except one detail.
The stranger’s warning gesture.
Ramirez noticed.
“You’re leaving something out.”
Adeline froze.
“No.”
“Miss Croft, I interview people for a living.”
Adeline twisted the bloodstained napkin around her wrist.
Ramirez leaned forward.
“Who are you protecting?”
“No one.”
“Who are you afraid of?”
Adeline’s eyes filled before she could stop them.
The detective’s tone softened.
“You are not in trouble.”
“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”
“Then what?”
Adeline looked toward the closed door.
“My mother lives alone.”
Ramirez waited.
“My little brother works nights.”
“Okay.”
“And the man looked directly at me after I stopped Camilla from drinking.”
“What did he do?”
Adeline lifted one finger to her lips.
Ramirez understood immediately.
“He threatened you.”
“Without saying anything.”
“That still counts.”
Adeline shook her head.
“You don’t understand. People like whoever hired him don’t care what counts.”
Ramirez sat back.
“People like who?”
“I don’t know.”
The detective studied her.
“You have theories.”
Adeline hesitated.
Camilla Ashford’s family controlled one of the largest private investment groups in the Midwest.
Enzo Marchetti controlled shipping terminals, construction companies, luxury hotels, and half a dozen legitimate businesses constantly shadowed by old rumors.
An engagement between them was worth hundreds of millions.
Who benefited if Camilla died?
Who benefited if Enzo was blamed?
Too many people.
“I don’t know,” Adeline repeated.
Ramirez nodded.
“All right. We’ll start with what we can prove.”
They spoke for another twenty minutes.
When they returned to the ballroom, most guests had been separated into groups for statements.
Camilla was nowhere in sight.
Enzo stood near the broken glass.
A forensic technician was kneeling over it.
Marco approached him and whispered something.
Enzo’s head turned sharply toward Adeline.
“What?”
Ramirez walked over.
Marco looked grim.
“The man we detained gave a name.”
“What name?” Enzo asked.
“Peter Vale.”
Ramirez frowned.
“Never heard of him.”
“He also said he was paid in cash.”
“By whom?”
“He won’t say.”
Enzo glanced at the police.
“Then let them handle him.”
Marco did not move.
“There’s more.”
Something in his expression changed the air around them.
“What?”
Marco lowered his voice.
“The poison wasn’t meant for Camilla.”
Adeline felt every hair on her arms rise.
Enzo stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“The seating chart for the midnight toast was changed this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“Originally Camilla’s glass was at seat twelve.”
Enzo frowned.
Marco continued.
“Your place setting was seat twelve.”
Silence.
Adeline looked toward the shattered crystal.
The drink she had ripped from Camilla’s hand had not been prepared for Camilla.
Camilla had taken the wrong seat.
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
Ramirez said, “Nobody leaves.”
Marco nodded.
Then one of the forensic technicians stood.
“Detective?”
Ramirez turned.
The technician’s face was pale.
“We have a presumptive positive.”
“For what?”
The woman looked toward Enzo.
“Cyanide.”
The ballroom seemed to tilt beneath Adeline’s feet.
Enzo had been standing no more than fifty feet away while she fought Camilla for that glass.
Had Camilla taken one sip—
No.
Not Camilla.
Enzo.
The intended target.
Enzo looked at Adeline.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Finally he said quietly, “You didn’t just stop her from drinking.”
Adeline’s fingers tightened around the napkin.
“You stopped someone from killing me.”
And across the ballroom, hidden behind a line of shocked guests, Camilla Ashford stood perfectly still.
Watching them.
Not frightened.
May you like
Not confused.
Furious.
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