The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the entrance of the Luxor Hotel as I stepped out onto the sidewalk, my mind spinning. The polished marble floors, the glittering chandeliers, the carefully maintained facade—all of it felt like an elaborate mask for something far darker.
The faint smell of car exhaust and the sound of horns in the distance drifted through the air as I approached my car. My heels clicked against the pavement, each step sharper than the last. I was trying to focus on the details I'd uncovered inside the hotel, but the noise in my head was louder.
• A flagged bank deposit of fifty thousand euros.
• A mysterious man asking questions after the murder.
• A prosecution case that was too clean, too convenient.
The pieces didn't add up, but they were starting to form a picture.
I tossed my bag and the file onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, staring at the steering wheel as if it might provide answers.
And then my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with an unknown number.
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. There was something about the timing that made my stomach tighten. I didn't recognize the number, but a part of me already knew this call wasn't going to be ordinary.
Finally, I swiped to answer. "Elena Moretti," I said, my voice sharper than usual.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end. Then a man's voice, low and unfamiliar, came through the line.
"You're digging where you don't belong."
I froze, my grip tightening on the phone. "Who is this?
The voice continued, calm and deliberate, as if I hadn't spoken. "Walk away. Drop the case. While you still can."
My pulse quickened, but I kept my tone steady. "If this is some kind of threat—"
"It's not a threat," the man interrupted. "It's advice. Take it."
The line went dead.
For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the phone in my hand. The words replayed in my head, each one hitting harder than the last.
Not a threat. Advice.
But the calmness of his voice made it worse. Threats came with emotion—anger, malice, desperation. This wasn't that. This was calculated, deliberate, like the flick of a knife in the dark.
I glanced at the folder sitting on the passenger seat, Lorenzo's name printed in bold letters across the top.
I could still hear his voice from our first meeting, that unshakable confidence.
"You don't want to say no to me."
Now, someone else was telling me to walk away.
Back in my office, I stared at the case files spread across my desk. Every page seemed heavier now, every detail sharper. My office was quiet, the muffled sounds of traffic outside barely breaking the silence.
The flagged deposit in Carlo Montini's account was my best lead, but it wasn't enough. I needed to understand who had paid him and why.
I opened my laptop and pulled up everything I could find on Montini—employment records, social media profiles, financial transactions. For hours, I sifted through the details, the monotony broken only by the occasional sound of my pen tapping against the desk.
Just as my patience began to waver, I found it.
An old transaction buried in Montini's financial history, dated five years earlier. He had once worked for a company called Grimaldi Imports.
The name sent a jolt through me. Grimaldi Imports was a known front for the Calvini family, one of the most powerful and ruthless mafia clans in northern Italy.
Santini's rivals.
I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. If Montini had ties to the Calvini family, it was entirely possible they had paid him to testify against Lorenzo. But why? The Calvini family had everything to gain by removing Lorenzo from power, but orchestrating a murder trial? That was bold, even for them.
My stomach tightened as a darker thought crept in. If the Calvini family was involved in this case, I wasn't just dealing with one dangerous man—I was standing between two warring giants.
And giants had a way of crushing everything in their path.
That evening, I left the office later than usual, the faint hum of fatigue settling into my body as I stepped into the underground parking garage. The concrete walls were cold and uninviting, the dim fluorescent lights casting long, distorted shadows across the floor.
My heels echoed loudly in the empty space, each step a sharp reminder of how alone I was.
I reached for my car keys, but a faint sound made me pause. Footsteps.
I turned slowly, scanning the garage. The air felt heavier now, the silence oppressive.
"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing off the walls.
Nothing.
Shaking my head, I tried to dismiss the feeling of unease and quickened my pace toward the car. But just as I reached the door, a shadow moved in the corner of my vision.
"Ms. Moretti."
The voice was low, calm, and unfamiliar.
I turned sharply to see a man stepping out from behind a pillar. He was tall, dressed in dark clothing, his features obscured by the poor lighting.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my heart pounding.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket. I tensed, half-expecting a weapon, but what he pulled out was worse in its own way. An envelope.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice sharper now.
"A message," he said simply, holding it out to me.
I didn't take it immediately. Instead, I stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. Was he armed? Was he working for Lorenzo? Or someone else entirely?
When it became clear he wasn't going to leave, I stepped forward cautiously and snatched the envelope from his hand.
The man didn't say another word. He turned and disappeared into the shadows of the garage, his footsteps fading into the distance.
I climbed into the car, locking the doors behind me before tearing open the envelope.
Inside was a single piece of paper, the words written in blocky, deliberate handwriting:
"Stop digging, or you'll find something you can't bury."
The message sent a chill down my spine. I stared at the note for what felt like an eternity, my mind racing.
Someone was watching me. Someone who knew I was getting close to something dangerous.
I crumpled the note in my hand, my jaw tightening. They wanted me to back down, to walk away.
But they didn't know me.
Threats didn't scare me. They only made me more determined to find the truth.