Chapter 3 - THE INTERPRETER WHO DISAPPEARED
Z
Paulo Richi had been Luca Romano's interpreter for eleven years.
He was fifty-six, methodical, and so fond of correct pronunciation that he once argued with a visiting diplomat for twenty minutes over the stress pattern of a single surname.
He translated Hungarian, Italian, and German.
He knew the Romano business better than most of Luca's senior executives.
And now he was missing.
Sophia sat in the estate's library while Luca's attorney, Grace Hollowell, reviewed the police report.
Grace was forty-eight, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by the Romano family's reputation.
She had been hired to handle the legitimate companies during a restructuring effort that was already meeting resistance.
“Miss Bennett,” she said, “you should consider independent representation.”
Sophia nodded.
“I intend to.”
Luca stood beside the fireplace.
“She's an employee of this house.”
Grace turned toward him.
“That doesn't mean you control her legal interests.”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn't say it did.”
“Good.”
Sophia almost smiled.
Grace returned to the report.
“The message suggests someone knows Sophia's background. We should document any threats and coordinate with investigators.”
Luca looked toward Sophia.
“Have you been threatened before?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Three that I can document.”
He stared.
“While working here?”
“One.”
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
Sophia looked down.
“Because I wasn't sure who could be trusted.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Luca turned toward Dante.
“Review the residence security logs and preserve any relevant footage. Coordinate through counsel.”
Dante nodded.
Then Luca added, “Nobody questions the staff privately or pressures them into statements.”
Sophia looked up.
That instruction surprised her.
She had expected intimidation.
Instead, Luca was beginning to understand that coercion could destroy the very evidence they needed.
The next morning, Sophia met with an attorney named Amelia Ross.
Amelia specialized in international investigations and witness protection matters.
She listened carefully as Sophia explained her father's death, the Winter Seven file, and the threatening message.
Then she asked, “Why did you accept employment in the Romano household?”
Sophia hesitated.
“Vittorio Sala appeared in my father's correspondence.”
“Did you intend to gather confidential information?”
“I wanted to know whether he was involved.”
“Did you take documents?”
“No.”
“Record private conversations?”
“No.”
Amelia studied her.
“Then how did you learn about the negotiations?”
“I served coffee.”
The attorney almost smiled.
“That's an unusually effective observation post.”
Sophia looked down.
“I didn't plan for it to become one.”
That afternoon, Luca requested a meeting.
Amelia attended.
He sat opposite Sophia in a smaller room overlooking the lake.
No guards.
No expensive advisers.
Just the three of them.
Luca looked at Sophia.
“I owe you an apology.”
She stared.
“For what?”
“For threatening you during the negotiation.”
Her expression changed.
He continued.
“I said you would regret lying to me. That was unacceptable.”
Sophia had expected many things from Luca Romano.
An apology was not one of them.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“I also want to know whether you feel safe remaining here.”
She looked toward Amelia.
The attorney nodded slightly.
Sophia considered.
“No.”
Luca's expression tightened.
“Because of me?”
“Partly because I don't know who can enter this house without anyone noticing.”
He leaned back.
“Fair.”
Sophia continued.
“I've worked here for two years. I know the schedules, the service entrances, the blind corners in the corridors.”
“Are you saying security is poor?”
“I'm saying the people who clean a house often know more about it than the people who own it.”
Luca stared.
Then smiled faintly.
“You really do notice everything.”
“It's an occupational hazard.”
Later that evening, Sophia packed her belongings.
Mrs. Klein stood in the doorway.
She was sixty-three, stern, and had supervised the household staff for twelve years.
“Leaving?”
“For a while.”
Mrs. Klein looked at the suitcase.
Then at Sophia.
“I knew you weren't ordinary.”
Sophia smiled sadly.
“Because of the languages?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because you polished the silver correctly the first day and never complained.”
Sophia laughed.
Mrs. Klein's eyes softened.
“Also, you read Russian newspapers during lunch.”
Sophia froze.
Mrs. Klein smiled.
“I may be old, dear. I'm not blind.”
They embraced.
Sophia had never hugged the housekeeper before.
Now she realized how much she would miss her.
At nine that night, Sophia arrived at a discreet hotel arranged through her attorney.
Amelia had ensured the arrangements did not place Sophia under Luca's personal control.
For the first time in two years, Sophia slept in a room with no staff bell.
No service schedule.
No silver to polish.
She thought she might finally rest.
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A message appeared in Hungarian.
Your father kept one thing from you.
Sophia stared.
A photograph followed.
It showed András Varga standing beside Vittorio Sala.
Between them was a young man with dark hair.
On the back, handwritten in English, were three words.
ENZO ROMANO'S SON.
Sophia stopped breathing.
May you like
Because the young man was Luca.
And the photograph had been taken six years before her father died.
