Chapter 5 - The Name Renato Wanted Destroyed
Leah trusted Camille before she trusted anyone else.
That was hardly surprising.
Julian looked like a man who could command a room without raising his voice.
Dante looked like someone who could dismantle a door.
Camille wore sneakers, an old wool coat, and had cat hair on her pants.
Fear chose familiarity.
They brought Leah to a private medical facility unaffiliated with the Moretti family.
Camille stayed.
Julian did too.
Around dawn, Leah finally talked.
She had answered an online advertisement promising hotel work.
Transportation provided.
Housing included.
Good wages.
She had been collected with four other young women from a bus station.
Their phones were taken.
Documents confiscated.
Then they were divided.
Leah overheard two men arguing.
One wanted to move the women immediately.
The other insisted they had to wait until “Moretti’s sister problem” was solved.
“Did they say Julian?”
Leah shook her head.
“Only Moretti.”
Julian looked sick.
Camille had learned that his anger became quieter when it was deepest.
That morning, he barely spoke.
Isabella joined them by video call.
When she saw Leah, she cried.
“I know you.”
Leah leaned toward the screen.
“You do?”
Isabella showed her a missing-person poster.
Leah’s picture.
“You were reported missing two weeks ago.”
“My mom?”
“She’s looking for you.”
Leah covered her mouth.
Camille turned away.
Julian did too.
Sometimes happiness hurt almost as much as fear.
By noon, federal investigators became involved.
Julian hated it.
Camille knew because he said the sentence “I hate this” approximately once every fifteen minutes.
“You can’t investigate human trafficking yourself,” she told him.
“I can investigate my uncle.”
“You can provide evidence.”
“They’ll move too slowly.”
“They’ll move legally.”
He looked at her.
“You think men like Renato care about legal procedure?”
“No. I think prosecutors do.”
Julian paced.
Violet sat on the windowsill watching him.
“You know,” Camille said, “she looks embarrassed for you.”
“Whose cat is she?”
“Currently mine.”
“She is not.”
Violet walked across the room and climbed into Camille’s lap.
Julian pointed.
“Manipulation.”
Camille scratched beneath Violet’s chin.
“Evidence.”
Despite everything, he smiled.
Then Dante entered.
The smile disappeared.
“We found the driver.”
“The pharmaceutical van?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
Dante hesitated.
“For now.”
Camille looked up sharply.
Julian caught it.
“He means medically.”
Dante nodded.
“Car accident. Someone ran him off the road.”
The driver survived long enough to identify Renato.
More importantly, he provided a storage-unit number.
The unit contained computer backups.
Financial records.
Transportation manifests.
Hotel contracts.
Photographs.
And audio recordings.
Renato had kept everything.
Insurance, Dante called it.
One recording changed everything.
Julian listened in silence.
Renato’s voice filled the room.
“If Isabella talks, Julian loses everything. The public won’t care who signed the paperwork. They’ll see his name. They’ll see the women. They’ll believe what we tell them.”
Another man asked, “And if Julian finds out?”
Renato laughed.
“He loves his family more than power. That is why he will lose both.”
Julian stopped the recording.
No one spoke.
Camille watched him.
“So that was the plan.”
He nodded.
“Destroy my name. Take the companies when I’m arrested.”
“And Isabella found enough evidence to expose him.”
“Yes.”
Camille expected fury.
Instead Julian sat down.
He looked suddenly tired.
Older than forty.
Older than his reputation.
“My father trusted him.”
Camille said nothing.
“He taught me to drive.”
Still nothing.
“He gave Isabella her first horse.”
Finally Camille spoke.
“People can love you and still betray you.”
Julian looked at her.
“You say that like you learned it.”
She had.
Years earlier.
A fiancé who emptied their savings.
A business partner who blamed Camille when their first clinic failed.
A father who promised to stop gambling and never did.
But this was not her story.
“Most people learn it eventually.”
“Does it get easier?”
“No.”
“Excellent bedside manner.”
“I warned you about the customer service.”
He almost laughed.
Later, when Camille prepared to leave, Julian caught her near the elevator.
“I need to tell you something.”
“That sentence usually goes badly.”
“Renato knows who you are.”
She stopped.
“He knows you found Isabella.”
“How?”
“One of his men saw you at the warehouse.”
Her stomach tightened.
“He also knows Violet is staying with you.”
Camille looked through the glass at the cat.
“So what happens?”
“You and Violet stay somewhere secure.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
“I’m not moving into your mansion.”
“I did not say mansion.”
“You were about to.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Camille.”
“Do you have anything smaller?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“A guesthouse. Apartment. Something where twenty armed men don’t watch me brush my teeth.”
“I have a lake house.”
“How large?”
He hesitated.
“That hesitation answered the question.”
Dante appeared behind Julian.
“The carriage house has two bedrooms.”
Julian turned.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Survival.”
Camille nodded.
“Carriage house.”
Julian stared between them.
“Fine.”
That evening Camille arrived at the Moretti estate.
It was enormous.
Gates.
Stone walls.
Security cameras.
An actual fountain despite the freezing weather.
She looked at Julian.
“You call this a house?”
“Yes.”
“This has its own postal code.”
“It does not.”
“Are you sure?”
He carried Violet inside.
The cat immediately jumped from his arms.
Ran upstairs.
And disappeared.
Camille followed.
“Violet!”
They found her outside a closed bedroom.
Scratching at the door.
Julian stopped.
Nobody used that room.
Not for eleven years.
It had belonged to his mother.
He unlocked it.
Dust floated through pale afternoon light.
Violet entered.
Walked beneath an antique dresser.
And began digging.
Camille knelt.
Something was taped beneath the wood.
An envelope.
Old.
Yellowed.
Julian removed it.
His name was written across the front.
In his mother’s handwriting.
He opened it.
Read three lines.
Then sank onto the edge of the bed.
Camille had never seen him frightened.
Until now.
“What?”
He handed her the letter.
May you like
The last sentence read:
If anything happens to me, do not trust Renato.
