Chapter 1: The Warning
Vittorio Morelli stepped out of his villa at exactly 6:45 in the morning.
The sky over Naples was still painted in soft shades of orange and pink. His black sedan was already waiting at the front gate, engine running. Enzo, his driver of three years, stood beside the rear door with his hands clasped in front of him, as he always did.
Vittorio adjusted the cuff of his shirt and glanced at his watch. He had a flight to catch in less than two hours. The meeting in Sicily was important — too important to be late.
Just as he was about to walk toward the car, a small hand suddenly grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.
He stopped and looked down.
It was Sophia, the seven-year-old daughter of his gardener, Renzo. The girl was standing barefoot on the grass, still wearing her nightdress. Her gray eyes stared up at him with an intensity that felt far too serious for a child her age.
“Sir,” she whispered. “Please don’t go.”
Vittorio frowned. He wasn’t used to being stopped by children, especially not on his own property.
“What is it, Sophia?” he asked, his voice calm but impatient. “I’m in a hurry.”
Sophia didn’t let go of his sleeve. Instead, she pulled it gently but firmly, trying to lead him away from the car.
“Please,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hide. Don’t let them see you.”
Vittorio narrowed his eyes.
“Hide? From who?”
Sophia didn’t answer with words. She simply pointed toward the black sedan waiting at the gate.
Vittorio followed her gaze.
At first, he saw nothing unusual. Enzo was still standing there, waiting patiently like always. But the longer he looked, the more something felt… off.
The man’s posture was slightly different. His shoulders were too stiff. And when he reached up to adjust his earpiece, he used his left hand.
Vittorio’s driver, Enzo, was right-handed. He always used his right hand for everything — opening doors, holding the phone, even lighting cigarettes.
A cold feeling began to creep up Vittorio’s spine.
He looked down at Sophia again.
The little girl was still holding onto his sleeve, her small fingers gripping the fabric tightly. She wasn’t shaking. She wasn’t crying. But her eyes were wide and filled with something that looked dangerously close to fear.
“Who told you to come here?” Vittorio asked quietly.
“No one,” Sophia answered. “I saw it myself.”
Vittorio studied her for a few more seconds. Then, without another word, he allowed her to pull him toward the side of the villa, behind the tall cypress trees that lined the eastern wall.
He didn’t know why he was listening to a seven-year-old.
May you like
But something in her voice made him do it anyway.
