Chapter 3 - THE SMILE AMARA CALLED FAKE
Genevieve became interested in Amara.
Too interested.
For three days, she brought the child small gifts.
Chocolate.
A ribbon.
A tiny silver bracelet Fatima politely returned.
“She loses jewelry,” Fatima explained.
Genevieve smiled.
“Then perhaps you should teach her responsibility.”
Amara stared up.
“Your smile is fake.”
Fatima nearly died.
Genevieve’s expression froze.
For one second.
Then she laughed.
“Children.”
Fatima crouched.
“Amara, apologize.”
“No.”
“Amara.”
The toddler frowned.
“Sorry.”
Genevieve touched her cheek.
Amara pulled away.
The smile changed again.
Fatima saw it.
So did Alessandro from the far end of the hall.
That evening Genevieve found Amara alone outside the music room.
Fatima had stepped into the laundry room for less than a minute.
Genevieve crouched.
“You like telling stories?”
Amara hugged her lamb.
“No.”
“You told Alessandro a story.”
The child’s eyes widened.
Genevieve reached for her wrist.
Not violent.
But too hard.
“Didn’t you?”
Amara tried to pull back.
“Mommy.”
Genevieve tightened her grip.
“Listen to me. Sometimes little girls misunderstand adult things.”
Then Alessandro's voice came from behind her.
“Let her go.”
Genevieve stood instantly.
Released Amara.
The child ran to him.
Alessandro caught her.
Genevieve smiled.
“We were talking.”
“Her wrist.”
“What?”
He looked down.
Red finger marks already visible against the child’s skin.
Genevieve's face changed.
“She was pulling away.”
“And?”
“I didn't hurt her.”
Amara buried her face against Alessandro's leg.
He felt something savage rise.
He controlled it.
Barely.
Fatima came running.
Her face drained when she saw Amara.
“What happened?”
Genevieve answered:
“Your daughter was wandering again.”
Wrong answer.
Fatima knelt.
“Baby?”
Amara held out her wrist.
Fatima's expression changed.
Alessandro stepped between them before she could stand.
Not to stop Fatima from defending her child.
To stop what might happen next from becoming Genevieve's escape route.
He looked at his fiancée.
“Go upstairs.”
She stared.
“Alessandro.”
“Now.”
She left.
Fatima picked up Amara.
“You should end the engagement.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I need proof of more than this.”
“She grabbed my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“That is enough for me.”
“It is enough to keep Genevieve away from Amara.”
His voice lowered.
“But if she and Marco are planning something larger, ending the engagement now warns them.”
Fatima stared.
“You want to keep pretending.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Excuse me?”
“You don't use my child as bait.”
He went still.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Then say it.”
“Amara is out.”
“Out of what?”
“Everything.”
Fatima studied him.
Then nodded.
That evening she moved with Amara into a guesthouse protected by Matteo’s security team.
Not hidden prison.
Alessandro gave her the choice of three locations.
She chose the smallest because it had a fenced garden.
Amara chose it because there were ducks.
Priorities.
Meanwhile, Matteo traced Marco Bellini’s recent financial activity.
Four offshore entities.
Two had existed for years.
One was new.
Ashworth Capital Recovery LLC.
Linked to Genevieve’s father.
Edward Ashworth.
Debt:
$18.6 million.
Creditor:
Bellini Strategic Holdings.
Marco owned the debt.
Alessandro stared at the screen.
“Blackmail?”
“Possibly.”
Then Matteo found payments going the other direction.
Genevieve had received money personally.
Three transfers.
Total:
$740,000.
That changed the picture.
She may have entered under pressure.
She had stayed for profit.
Alessandro hated that distinction because part of him had been searching for an excuse.
He had loved her.
Maybe he still did.
Love did not erase evidence.
Matteo placed another report down.
“We found the phone.”
“What phone?”
“Genevieve uses a second device.”
“Where?”
“Registered under assistant's name.”
Calls to Marco.
Calls to a private physician.
Dr. Samuel Rusk.
Known for discreet concierge work.
And one pharmaceutical distributor.
Alessandro looked up.
“Medication?”
“Midazolam.”
Sedative.
His blood cooled.
“Wedding night?”
“Delivery scheduled two days before.”
There it was.
Temporary incapacity.
Not theoretical.
Planned.
Alessandro stood.
Matteo expected orders.
Instead he said:
“Call Dr. Shah.”
“Who?”
“Independent toxicologist.”
Matteo almost smiled.
“No disappearing doctors?”
“No.”
May you like
“You're changing.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
