Chapter 3 - Poison in the Wine
Word Count: ~1,500 words
By 2:00 AM, the Moretti estate was under total lockdown.
Floodlights illuminated the courtyard, casting long, dramatic shadows against the stone facade. Sentries moved along the high security walls, their weapons ready. Inside, the grand hallways were silent, save for the rhythmic footfalls of Leandro’s search teams.
Daphne walked beside Leandro as they entered the guest pavilion where Maribel and her inner circle were quartered.
Maribel was sitting in a velvet armchair near a roaring fireplace, sipping tea from a delicate china cup as if she didn't have a care in the world. Two of her personal enforcers stood behind her, their arms crossed tightly over their chests.
“Searching a guest’s private wing in the middle of the night, Leandro?” Maribel asked smoothly, setting her cup down on the saucer with a faint clink. “Is this how the new Don treats his own flesh and blood?”
“You stopped being family the moment you put hands on my mother,” Leandro said, stepping into the warm glow of the fire. “Where are the Bahamas ledgers, Maribel?”
Maribel feigned surprise, placing a manicured hand over her chest. “Ledgers? What ledgers? I’m a grieving widow visiting family for the anniversary banquet. I know nothing about your accounting books.”
Daphne stepped around Leandro, her sharp eyes scanning the room. She noticed the faint scent of fresh woodsmoke lingering near the fireplace—not from the oak logs burning in the grate, but from high-grade archival paper.
She walked straight to the hearth, picking up the iron poker resting beside the bronze stand.
“What are you doing, girl?” Maribel snapped, her calm facade showing its first crack.
Daphne thrust the iron poker into the back of the burning embers, pulling out a charred leather spine. Most of the pages were already turned to white ash, fluttering up the chimney flue.
“She burned them,” Daphne said, turning to look at Leandro. “She knew we’d search the room, so she destroyed the physical records.”
Maribel laughed—a dry, bitter sound that echoed off the stone walls. “You have no proof I touched your precious safe, Leandro. And without those ledgers, the council convenes tomorrow afternoon to vote on the distribution of the Bahamas accounts. Half those seats belong to my late husband’s line, and there is no paper left on earth to prove otherwise.”
Leandro stepped closer to Maribel, towering over her chair. The sheer pressure of his presence made her enforcers shift uncomfortably, their hands dropping toward their waistbands.
“Stand down,” Leandro ordered her men without looking at them. “Or you won’t leave this room alive.”
The two guards froze, intimidated by the sheer authority in his voice.
Leandro looked down at his aunt. “You think paper is the only thing keeping you alive in this house, Maribel? My father spared your husband because he was blood. I don't share his sentimentality.”
“Then kill me now,” Maribel challenged, her eyes flashing with venom. “Do it in front of your lieutenants. Show the council that Don Leandro executes his own aunt because he couldn't protect a ledger. See how long your reign lasts when the other families hear about it.”
Daphne placed a gentle, grounding hand on Leandro’s arm, feeling the tense muscle beneath his jacket. “Don't give her what she wants, Leandro. She wants a public feud to force a council vote.”
Leandro took a deep, controlled breath. He leaned down until his face was inches from Maribel’s.
“The council meeting is at noon tomorrow,” Leandro whispered coldly. “Enjoy your victory tonight, Aunt Maribel. Because tomorrow, you won't just lose your seat. You’ll lose everything.”
He turned on his heel and walked out of the pavilion, Daphne following close behind.
As they reached the main courtyard, the crisp night air blew through Daphne’s hair. She could feel the heavy weight pressing down on Leandro’s shoulders. Without those ledgers, Maribel’s faction held enough voting power on the council to freeze Leandro’s authority over the family’s international trade routes.
“We need another angle,” Daphne said quietly. “There has to be a duplicate copy of those accounts.”
“My father never made duplicate physical ledgers,” Leandro said grimly, looking up at the dark sky. “He was paranoid about federal wiretaps. Everything was handwritten in that single book.”
“Then we find the man who audited them,” Daphne realized. “Your father’s old accountant—Julian Vance. He retired to the countryside four years ago.”
Leandro stopped walking, turning to look at her with sudden realization. “Julian is eighty years old. He lives under protection in upstate New York.”
“If Julian is still alive,” Daphne said, her eyes flashing with determination, “he has the original figures committed to memory. Or he kept his own private notes.”
Leandro reached into his pocket, pulling out his encrypted phone. “Marco, fetch the car. We’re leaving for upstate immediately.”
Before Marco could reply over the comms, a frantic voice cut through the radio channel.
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“Don Leandro! It’s the matriarch’s quarters! Lady Estelle—she’s collapsed!”
Leandro’s phone nearly dropped from his hand. Without a word, he sprinted back toward the main house, Daphne right at his heels, terror striking cold in both their hearts.
