Chapter 3 - THE RED DRESS
Enzo didn't ask me to calm down.
That was the first thing I noticed.
He didn't tell me I was overreacting or that everything would be fine.
He simply pulled out a chair.
"Sit down before you fall."
I hated that he was right.
My knees had begun shaking.
I sat.
He placed the photograph in front of me.
"Your father helped me when I was nineteen," he said.
"Helped you how?"
"I was working at the docks. My father wanted me to learn the business from the bottom."
"That sounds reasonable."
"It was supposed to."
His smile held no warmth.
"Back then, I didn't understand how many people were stealing from him."
"My father found out?"
"Yes."
Enzo moved toward the window.
"Daniel discovered that shipping containers were being used to move money and illegal goods through companies that appeared legitimate."
"Who was responsible?"
"Victor Sloane was involved."
"And your father?"
Enzo turned.
"My father died before we could prove who was directing the operation."
I stared at him.
"When?"
"Three weeks after your father disappeared."
The coincidence was too precise to ignore.
"What happened to your father?"
"His car went off a coastal road."
"An accident?"
"That's what the report says."
I laughed bitterly.
"Apparently, that's a popular explanation."
Enzo didn't smile.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, "Why the red dress?"
His gaze moved toward the photograph on his desk.
"Because Sloane is expected at the anniversary celebration."
I stood so quickly that the chair scraped the floor.
"You want to use me as bait?"
"No."
"Then why do you want me standing beside you?"
"Because I believe someone is going to approach you whether you're with me or not."
"That's not your decision."
"You're right."
The admission surprised me.
He continued.
"The dress was intended as part of the event uniform. You can refuse the assignment. You can refuse the dress. Your employment won't be affected."
I looked at him.
"Then why did you write those three words?"
"Because I wanted security to know you weren't to be left alone with certain guests."
"Without telling me?"
He looked ashamed.
"That was wrong."
I hadn't expected him to say it.
Enzo Moretti was a man who could apparently cancel a roomful of executives with one sentence.
Yet he was standing before me admitting he'd made a mistake.
I didn't know what to do with that.
"Who are you really?" I asked.
His eyes held mine.
"A man trying to repair what his family helped break."
That answer should have frightened me.
Instead, it made me curious.
And curiosity, I was beginning to learn, could be more dangerous than fear.
I went home that night with the photograph in my bag.
My mother was waiting in the living room.
When she saw it, she began to cry.
"Where did you find that?"
"Enzo showed me."
She covered her mouth.
"Mom, please. I need the truth."
For a long time, she stared at the photograph.
Then she whispered, "Your father was going to testify."
"Against whom?"
"Victor Sloane. And someone inside the Moretti family."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
I sat beside her.
"Did Dad really die?"
She closed her eyes.
"I never saw his body."
My heart began pounding.
"What?"
"They told me he was dead. They gave me a death certificate. They said the accident had left him unrecognizable."
"Who told you?"
"A lawyer."
"What lawyer?"
She shook her head.
"I don't remember his name."
"Mom."
"I was terrified, Clara. They threatened you."
I went cold.
"Me?"
"You were eleven. They knew your school, your friends, the route you walked home."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"They said if I asked questions, they'd take you away."
I held her until she stopped trembling.
Later, after she went to bed, I opened my laptop.
I searched for everything I could find about Moretti Maritime.
Old newspaper articles.
Business filings.
Photographs from charity events.
Then I found a photograph dated November 2015.
A memorial service for Enzo's father.
Standing behind the family was a man wearing a dark suit.
He had a scar above his eyebrow.
Victor Sloane.
Beside him stood another man.
Older.
Distinguished.
Smiling.
The caption identified him as Salvatore Moretti, chairman of Moretti Holdings.
Enzo's uncle.
I enlarged the image.
Salvatore's hand rested on Victor's shoulder.
They looked like old friends.
I remembered Enzo saying someone inside his family had been involved.
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
The red dress will look beautiful on you.
A second message arrived.
Your father always liked red.
I stared at the screen.
Then came a photograph.
May you like
My mother.
Taken through our living-room window.
