Chapter 7 - The Seventh Key
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Vanessa frowned, looking genuinely confused. “The rest of what?”
“The keys,” Luca said, still sitting on the bench.
“I used six,” Vanessa said, gesturing toward the comb in his hand. “You’re holding them.”
“No.” Luca stood up, holding the comb out. “There are seven missing.”
I looked down at the keyboard. My stomach dropped. He was absolutely right. I had counted wrong in my panic earlier. Six keys were stripped bare together near the center of the board.
But another white key, much farther down the keyboard on the lower register, was completely missing too.
Vanessa’s face changed. It wasn't the arrogant annoyance from earlier. It was a flash of genuine, unadulterated panic. She quickly tried to mask it, but Luca saw it. He saw everything.
“Where’s the seventh one, Vanessa?” Luca demanded, stepping toward her.
“I don’t know,” she stammered, backing away.
He stared at her, his eyes boring into her soul. “You removed them.”
“The designer did!” she cried defensively. “I just told him to take enough for the comb!”
“Then call him,” Luca ordered. “Right now.”
Vanessa reached quickly for her champagne glass on the table, her hands shaking so badly the crystal rattled. “I’m not doing this tonight, Luca. Not in front of our guests.”
Luca took another step, trapping her against the table. “Yes, you are.”
She froze, completely cornered.
Before she could speak, a hesitant voice broke the heavy silence from the hallway.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca turned his head.
One of the movers, the taller one I had spoken to earlier, was standing awkwardly in the doorway, twisting his work cap in his hands. He looked terrified to interrupt the mafia boss, but he looked even more terrified of keeping a secret.
“What is it?” Luca asked.
The mover swallowed hard. “There’s something out in the truck you should probably see, sir.”
Vanessa immediately snapped, “No!”
Every eye in the dining room turned toward her. Her outburst was far too loud, far too desperate.
The mover ignored her, keeping his eyes respectfully on Luca.
“When we came for the piano this afternoon, sir,” the mover explained, his voice trembling slightly, “Miss Bellini asked us to take another piece of furniture out to the truck too.”
Luca looked at him, his brow furrowing. “What piece of furniture?”
“A little bench,” the mover said.
May you like
Luca glanced down at the large leather piano bench beneath him. “This one?”
“No, sir.” The mover shook his head. “A child’s bench.”
