Chapter 3: Shadows in the Ballroom
The grand ballroom felt entirely different now, stripped of its festive illusion and revealed as a lethal trap. Moretti stood alone among the ruins of the multi-tier cake, his dark eyes scanning every architectural detail of the soaring room. The ornate crown molding, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate's sprawling gardens, and the flickering crystal chandeliers suddenly appeared less like symbols of wealth and more like tactical blind spots.
His phone buzzed in his palm, breaking the silence. It was Victor, calling back from the security control room.
"Boss, we reviewed the internal cameras for the catering prep area," Victor reported, his voice tight with controlled anger. "The regular catering crew left twenty minutes before the doors opened. But someone else entered through the service corridor at four-fifteen. They were wearing standard catering uniforms, but the gait and height match an outsider."
"Who?" Moretti demanded, stepping over a ruined sugar flower.
"We couldn't get a clean facial capture because of the baseball cap, but they accessed the back of the cake cart for less than forty seconds. Long enough to slide the wired lighter into the internal housing."
"Forty seconds," Moretti muttered. "An inside job required to give them the exact code for the service door lock. Check the staff roster for anyone who called in sick today or left early. And pull the financial records for every kitchen assistant."
"Way ahead of you, boss. I've got our forensic accountant tearing through the payroll database right now. Also... we found something else near the service entrance." Victor paused, taking a breath. "A second receiver. It wasn't wired to the cake. It was planted in the air vent directly above the head table where you and your business partners were supposed to sit."
Moretti’s jaw tightened. The cake bomb was a decoy or a primary trigger designed to cause maximum panic and local casualties, while the air vent receiver suggested a broader, catastrophic detonation if the first plan failed. Whoever wanted him dead was thorough, wealthy, and deeply embedded within his daily operations.
"Keep the perimeter locked," Moretti ordered. "Nobody leaves this estate until I find out who authorized that service door entry."
He disconnected the call and walked briskly out of the ballroom, following the private corridor toward the west parlor where Elena and the children had been sequestered. The heavy oak doors were firmly shut, just as he had instructed. He raised his hand and rapped his knuckles twice against the wood in a specific, rhythmic cadence.
"Elena," he called out quietly.
A moment later, the heavy lock clicked, and the door swung open just enough for Elena’s pale face to appear. She looked exhausted, her posture rigid with lingering adrenaline. Julian was sitting on a velvet sofa playing quietly with a small wooden puzzle, while little Lily was fast asleep curled up in Elena’s spare coat in the corner, her thumb resting softly against her lips.
"Mr. Moretti," Elena whispered, stepping back to let him enter. "Are the children safe?"
"For now," Moretti said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He looked at the maid, really looking at her for the first time since she had been hired. Her paperwork listed her as an experienced domestic worker from out of state, clean background, no notable family ties. But people hiding secrets often had the cleanest paper trails.
"Elena, look at me," Moretti said, his tone neutral yet piercing.
The maid blinked, her eyes holding his without flinching, though her hands nervously smoothed down the front of her black uniform. "Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"You reacted with genuine shock when Lily pushed the cake. But you didn't panic in a way that suggested you knew what was inside. You only panicked because your daughter was in the path of falling debris."
"Of course I did!" Elena whispered fiercely, her maternal protective instinct briefly overriding her intimidation. "She's my daughter! I don't care about your fancy cake or your party, Mr. Moretti. I care about her safety."
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"Good answer," Moretti said, his expression softening slightly. "Because if you had known about the bomb inside that cake, you wouldn't have let her anywhere near it. But that brings me to another question. How did you end up working for me, Elena? Your agency has a backlog of clients, yet you were placed in my estate within forty-eight hours of applying."
Elena swallowed hard, her composure faltering for a brief second before she straightened her shoulders. "Because I needed to disappear, Mr. Moretti. And your estate was the only place in the city paying enough to keep my ex-husband from finding us."
