Chapter 3 - THE EMPTY MANSION
Back in the grand dining room of the Vitale estate, the silence was absolute.
The string quartet had stopped playing.
The sixty guests stood frozen around the tables of white roses and champagne towers, their eyes darting between Valentina Russo—who stood draped in twenty carats of blood-red rubies—and the man at the head of the table.
Alessandro Vitale did not move.
His hand remained resting on the back of the carved walnut chair where Emily had sat for seven years.
His dark eyes were fixed on the small silver key and the platinum wedding band resting side by side on the white linen tablecloth.
"Alessandro, darling," Valentina murmured, placing a manicured hand on his forearm. "The girl was clearly overwrought. A common reaction when someone realizes they're entirely out of their depth. Let security handle her bag. We have toasts to finish."
Alessandro didn't answer her.
He reached down.
His long, calloused fingers picked up the platinum wedding ring.
The metal was still warm from Emily's skin.
He turned it over. The engraving A.M. & I.M. — Always gleamed under the crystal chandelier.
"Where is she?" Alessandro asked. His voice was not loud. It was the precise, flat register he used before a warehouse was burned to the ground.
Valentina’s smile wavered. "She went upstairs, I suppose. Or perhaps she called a cab. Honestly, Alessandro, why care? You made your choice. You said yourself—the family needs a modern face for the upcoming commission hearings. Emily was... domestic. Invisible."
Alessandro turned his head slowly.
His gaze struck Valentina with the force of a physical blow.
She stepped back involuntarily, her fingers slipping from his arm.
"Did I give you permission to touch me?" Alessandro asked quietly.
The color drained from Valentina's face. "Alessandro... I only meant—"
"Ambrose!"
The elderly head butler stepped out from the shadows near the pantry doors within a fraction of a second, his posture rigid as stone.
"Sir?"
"Check the master suite," Alessandro ordered, his eyes never leaving the ring in his palm. "See if her clothes are gone."
Ambrose bowed slightly and hurried up the grand staircase.
Two minutes later, the old man returned. His face was paler than usual. He walked straight to the head of the table, looking down at his shoes before speaking.
"Well?" Alessandro demanded.
"The master suite is empty of her personal effects, sir," Ambrose said, his voice measured and careful. "Her wardrobe is cleared. Her cosmetics are gone. The velvet box containing her mother's pearls—which you presented to her on your wedding anniversary three years ago—was left untouched in the vanity drawer."
The room grew so cold that several guests shivered.
Alessandro stood motionless.
"Did she take a vehicle?"
"No, sir," Ambrose replied. "The Bentley and the sedan are both in the garage. Her phone... she left her burner phone on the nightstand."
Alessandro closed his fist around the platinum ring.
The edges dug into his palm, drawing a tiny bead of dark red blood.
He didn't flinch.
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"Get Marcus on the phone," Alessandro said, his voice dropping into a dark, guttural growl. "Tell my chief of security to lock down every highway, bus terminal, and train station within a hundred miles of Chicago. Nobody leaves this state without my personal approval."
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