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After their tense discussion wrapped up, Vittoria rose from her chair, her sharp gaze lingering on Giovanni a moment longer before she dismissed him with a nod. “We’ll speak again tomorrow. I expect results.”

Giovanni stood, clutching his briefcase tightly, and offered a strained smile. “Absolutely. You can count on me.”

As he left the room, the housekeeping couple—Marco and Lucia Russo—approached Vittoria in the hallway, their coats already draped over their arms.

“Signora Vittoria,” Marco began gently, “just a quick reminder—we’ll be heading back to Naples tonight for the week. My sister isn’t well, and we promised to help.”

Teresa chimed in with a reassuring nod. “We’ve arranged for our niece and her husband to come handle the house while we’re gone. They’ll arrive first thing tomorrow morning.”

Vittoria sighed, brushing a hand through her hair, but nodded. “Yes, of course. Family comes first. Thank you for arranging help—safe travels, both of you.”

With grateful smiles, the Bianchis wished her goodnight, their footsteps fading down the corridor as Vittoria stood there, a flicker of unease settling in her chest.

— ✦ —

The next morning, at 5:30 a.m., the quiet of the town was shattered by an urgent call to the local police station. A breathless voice crackled through the line.

“This is Francesca Bianchi,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “I—I’m at the De Angelis villa. Vittoria... Vittoria is dead. She’s—she’s in her bedroom. Please... send someone. Now.”