Chapter 17 - The Matriarch’s Invitation
The invitation arrived the next morning.
Not by mail.
Not by messenger.
It appeared under Rosa’s front door in a black envelope sealed with the Duca crest.
No one had approached the house.
No camera caught the delivery.
That frightened Harper more than any threat.
Inside was a single card.
Alessandro,
Bring the child to the winter conservatory at nine tonight. Come without police, or Sophia Alvarez will bury more than one family member this year.
—Marcella
Sophia read it once.
Then again.
Then tore it in half.
“No.”
Alessandro said nothing.
Adrian watched him carefully.
“You’re thinking about going.”
“I’m thinking about ending it.”
Sophia turned on him.
“With my daughter as bait?”
“No.”
“That’s exactly what she asked for.”
“And exactly what she won’t get.”
Harper crossed her arms.
“Marcella chose the winter conservatory because it’s private property outside the main estate, technically owned by an old Duca trust. Hard to raid fast without tipping her off.”
Matteo nodded.
“She used it for private meetings decades ago.”
Sophia looked at them all.
“You’re discussing this like it’s a chess game. She threatened a child.”
Rosa appeared in the doorway with her baseball bat.
“Then we stop playing chess.”
Everyone looked at her.
Rosa pointed the bat at Alessandro.
“You have money?”
“Yes.”
“Use it.”
Then she pointed at Harper.
“You have police?”
“Yes.”
“Use them.”
Then she pointed at Sophia.
“You have a mother’s anger?”
Sophia’s eyes hardened.
“Yes.”
“Good. That old witch won’t know which one hit her first.”
By evening, the plan was set.
Emma would not leave the house.
Dr. Royce stayed with her, along with Rosa and two officers.
Sophia insisted on going to the conservatory.
Alessandro refused.
Sophia laughed in his face.
“My husband died for this. My daughter was hunted for this. You don’t get to decide when I’m done.”
So she went.
At nine o’clock, the winter conservatory glowed under moonlight, a glass palace surrounded by frozen gardens.
Alessandro entered first.
Sophia followed in a dark coat, hair pinned back, face pale but fearless.
Adrian slipped through the side path.
Harper and her tactical team waited beyond the tree line.
Inside the conservatory, orange trees grew in huge ceramic pots. White roses climbed iron arches. The air smelled sweet, floral, and suffocating.
Emma would have hated it.
At the far end sat Marcella Duca.
She was very old.
And terrifyingly elegant.
Black dress. Silver hair. Diamond brooch. Hands folded over a cane.
Beside her stood Beatrice, no longer handcuffed, red nails restored.
Marcella smiled.
“My grandsons.”
Alessandro’s voice was cold.
“Marcella.”
Her eyes moved to Sophia.
“And the housekeeper.”
Sophia stepped forward.
“The mother.”
Marcella’s smile widened.
“Ah. That is why you’re dangerous.”
Beatrice sneered.
“Where is the child?”
Alessandro answered.
“Safe.”
Marcella sighed.
“No child is safe. Only useful or unprotected.”
Sophia’s hands curled.
“You won’t touch her.”
Marcella leaned on her cane.
“My dear, I already have. Your husband died because he carried my documents. Your daughter survived because I wanted to see whether her gift was real.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“So Voss worked for you.”
“They all did.”
“And my father?”
Marcella’s eyes chilled.
“My son became sentimental. Sentiment ruins dynasties.”
Adrian stepped from the shadows.
“And I was what? Inventory?”
Marcella looked at him as if he were a broken heirloom.
“You were insurance.”
Sophia felt sick.
Alessandro lifted his phone.
“Thank you.”
Marcella’s eyes narrowed.
“For what?”
“For saying it clearly.”
Red lights suddenly flooded the conservatory.
Harper’s voice thundered from outside.
“State police! Hands where we can see them!”
Beatrice screamed.
Marcella did not move.
She simply smiled at Alessandro.
“You think I came here without insurance?”
Then Sophia’s phone buzzed.
A video call.
Rosa’s house.
Emma’s room.
May you like
A masked man stood beside Emma’s bed.
Sophia screamed.
