Chapter 2 - Forty-Seven Times
Luca read the report three times.
Forty-seven unauthorized uses.
Vehicle releases.
Private camera access.
Medical-document requests.
Emergency-contact modifications.
Even one encrypted request to the children’s school.
All under his executive authorization.
Anthony stood across the study.
“You didn’t do these?”
“No.”
“Any of them?”
Luca looked at the dates.
One fell on the night of his anniversary with Isabelle.
They had been at Cape Cod.
Another occurred while he was undergoing minor surgery.
Another happened while he was speaking at a maritime conference in Chicago.
“No.”
Anthony cursed under his breath.
“Then somebody cloned your credentials.”
Luca stared through the glass doors.
“Don’t tell Serena.”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed.
“You suspect her?”
“I suspect everybody.”
“That includes Isabelle?”
Luca’s silence answered.
Anthony looked away.
For weeks, he had been angry with Isabelle.
Angry because Serena told him Isabelle had secretly attempted to control access to the Russo trust.
Angry because he had been shown messages supposedly written by Isabelle complaining that Anthony was irresponsible and should receive less inheritance.
But something about those messages had always bothered him.
Isabelle did not call him Anthony when she was annoyed.
She called him Tony.
Always.
Even in texts.
He had ignored that because anger was easier.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
Before Anthony could continue, Serena entered.
Neither man had heard her approach.
“Tell him what?”
Anthony immediately closed the laptop.
“Business.”
Serena looked between them.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Luca said.
Her gaze lingered on him.
“You look tense.”
“My company operates ships in twelve countries. I’m always tense.”
She smiled.
“That used to be one of your more charming qualities.”
Anthony watched his father carefully.
Luca did not smile back.
Later that afternoon, Isabelle met Naomi and a private forensic investigator named Ethan Brooks.
Ethan had spent twelve years in federal cybercrime before leaving government work after his wife died.
He was blunt, impatient, and allergic to dramatic speculation.
Which was exactly why Naomi trusted him.
Isabelle handed him screenshots of the threats.
He examined them.
“Who benefits from you believing Luca sent these?”
“Serena.”
“Too obvious.”
“Someone working with Serena.”
“Possible.”
He tapped the photograph.
“This was deliberately framed to show the company vehicle.”
Naomi nodded.
“So?”
“So whoever sent it wanted Isabelle to identify the SUV.”
Isabelle understood.
“They wanted me to think Luca threatened me.”
“Correct.”
Ethan leaned back.
“This isn’t intimidation. It’s narrative construction.”
The phrase made Isabelle’s skin crawl.
Because Serena specialized in narratives.
Trauma narratives.
Family narratives.
Victim narratives.
She could take ordinary fear and give it professional language until a judge believed it.
Ethan continued.
“If Sophia contacted you from an unauthorized phone, assume that phone is compromised now.”
“She said Serena has Michael.”
“That might not mean physically.”
Isabelle looked down.
“What else could it mean?”
“Leverage.”
Naomi opened Michael’s custody statement.
“Boundary violations.”
Ethan read it.
Then Anthony’s.
Then Sophia’s.
“These were written by the same person.”
Naomi blinked.
“You can determine that?”
“I’m not a linguist. But look.”
He circled phrases.
Emotionally safe.
Maternal destabilization.
Appropriate distance.
Boundary protection.
All three statements had nearly identical sentence rhythms.
“They may have signed them,” Ethan said, “but they didn’t compose them.”
Isabelle fought tears.
“What do we do?”
“We stop reacting.”
That evening, she received a call from Luca.
She nearly ignored it.
Naomi shook her head.
“Answer. Record.”
Massachusetts required consent for certain recordings, so Naomi arranged a court-compliant logging system and remained present.
Isabelle answered.
“Yes?”
Luca’s voice sounded harder than usual.
“Did you send someone to access my company servers?”
“No.”
“Did Naomi?”
“No.”
“Anyone working for you?”
“Not knowingly.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
She laughed once without humor.
“Of course.”
“Isabelle.”
“What?”
“Are you safe?”
The question caught her off guard.
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
His voice lowered.
“I always care.”
“You locked me out of my home.”
“I moved the children after a threat.”
“You removed me from their contacts.”
“I was told—”
He stopped.
“Told what?”
Nothing.
Isabelle understood immediately.
“Serena told you.”
Silence.
“Luca, what exactly has Serena been telling you?”
“That you were under stress.”
“I’m pregnant and my family is collapsing. Excellent diagnosis.”
“That you had accessed the children’s trust accounts.”
Isabelle froze.
“What?”
“That you contacted a journalist.”
“I did not.”
“That you threatened to take Sophia out of state.”
“I did not.”
His breathing changed.
“Are you saying none of it happened?”
“I’m saying your former lover has apparently built an entire version of me that exists only in documents I’ve never seen.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Because the unauthorized credentials report was open on his desk.
“Isabelle.”
“Yes?”
“Did you receive any threats today?”
She looked at Naomi.
Naomi nodded.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Someone photographed my apartment using one of your security SUVs.”
Luca’s hand tightened around the phone.
“I didn’t authorize that vehicle.”
“I know.”
He went silent.
For the first time in weeks, they were not fighting.
They were comparing facts.
And both were beginning to see the same shape.
“Don’t trust anyone in my security team,” Luca said.
“Interesting advice from the man who removed me from the family.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He looked toward the study door.
Then whispered something she had not heard from him in weeks.
“I’m sorry.”
Her throat tightened.
“Sorry won’t fix this.”
“I know.”
“Then find out who is inside your house.”
After the call, Luca remained motionless.
Behind the half-open study door, Serena stood in the hallway.
She had heard almost everything.
Her expression did not change.
But that night, Michael’s phone disappeared.
And at 2:13 a.m., he woke to find Serena sitting in the chair beside his bed.
“Michael,” she whispered.
He stared at her.
“What?”
“You found something in my office.”
His heart began pounding.
“No.”
Serena smiled.
“You are a terrible liar.”
He reached for the lamp.
She caught his wrist.
Not violently.
Almost tenderly.
“You love your father, don’t you?”
Michael swallowed.
“Yes.”
“And Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re going to help me protect them.”
“From what?”
Serena leaned close.
“From what your mother did twenty years ago.”
Michael stared at her.
“My mother?”
Serena’s smile vanished.
“Your real mother.”
And somewhere across Boston, Isabelle woke from a nightmare at exactly the same moment.
Her baby was kicking violently.
She placed both hands over her stomach.
Then noticed an envelope pushed beneath her apartment door.
There was no name.
Inside was a photograph of Luca with his first wife.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
ASK HIM WHY ELENA DISAPPEARED.
