Chapter 5 - THE REPLACEMENT

The first shot shattered glass.

The second killed the chandelier.

The third sent Leo to the floor beside the library door.

“Down!” he shouted.

I pulled Dante behind the stone fireplace.

Matteo drew a pistol from his ankle holster.

Of course he had one.

Apparently every Moretti owned three guns and one emotional problem.

“Stay here,” Matteo said.

Dante grabbed his sleeve.

“You leave this room and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Matteo looked at him.

“You can barely stand.”

“I can still miss you on purpose.”

Another burst of gunfire ripped through the hallway.

Then silence.

Too much silence.

Leo pressed one finger to his earpiece.

Nothing.

“Comms are dead.”

I looked at Dante.

His breathing had changed.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

“Your chest?”

“Fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Occupational hazard.”

I checked his pulse.

His skin was cold now.

Stress.

Withdrawal.

Residual toxicity.

Maybe all three.

Then someone pounded on the library door.

“Boss!”

Vincent.

Matteo raised his weapon.

“Don’t open it.”

Vincent shouted again.

“Two men came over the east wall. We got one. The other ran toward the service wing.”

Leo looked at Dante.

Could be true.

Could be theater.

Dante pointed at Leo.

“Open it. Slowly.”

Leo unlocked the door and stepped aside.

Vincent entered with blood on his collar.

Not his blood.

A cut marked his cheek.

He looked furious.

“Someone hit the generator controls and looped the cameras.”

I stared at him.

“Looped them how?”

He looked at me.

“Remote access.”

“Whose credentials?”

His eyes flicked toward Dante.

“Boss-level.”

Dante laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“So the dead man hacked his own house.”

Vincent’s jaw tightened.

“We found one intruder.”

“Alive?” Leo asked.

Vincent paused.

“No.”

Convenient.

Matteo stepped closer.

“Who was he?”

“No identification.”

“Also convenient.”

Vincent’s hand moved toward his jacket.

Matteo raised his gun.

The room froze.

Dante’s voice came quiet.

“Enough.”

Both men stopped.

Dante looked at Vincent.

“Where were you when the lights died?”

“Security room.”

“Witnesses?”

“Three guards.”

“Names.”

Vincent gave them.

Leo wrote them down.

Then Dante asked the question that changed everything.

“Did you know about the continuity order?”

Vincent went still.

Not long.

Half a second.

But I saw it.

So did Dante.

“What order?” Vincent asked.

Dante held up the forged document.

Vincent’s face stayed blank.

“That’s not real.”

“Good answer,” Matteo said.

Vincent ignored him.

“Boss, somebody is trying to turn you against your own people.”

Dante’s stare never moved.

“Maybe.”

He folded the document.

“Until I know who, you’re relieved.”

Vincent’s face changed.

Barely.

But the mask cracked.

“Excuse me?”

“Turn over your weapon, badge, access card, phone.”

“Dante.”

“Now.”

Vincent didn’t move.

Leo stepped forward.

Matteo already had his gun raised.

Finally, Vincent removed his pistol.

Then his badge.

Then his phone.

He placed them on the table one at a time.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Dante leaned back.

“I’ve made a lot of them.”

His eyes went to me.

“This one still has to compete.”

Vincent looked at me.

For the first time, the calm disappeared completely.

There was hate there.

Not suspicion.

Not annoyance.

Hate.

And I knew I had become part of the equation.

Two guards escorted him to a locked guest suite.

Dante waited until the door closed.

Then he looked at Leo.

“Search everything.”

“We already searched his office.”

“No,” I said.

They both looked at me.

“Search what he controls, not where he sits.”

Leo frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“Security closets. Service corridors. Camera junctions. Staff lockers. Places no one notices because everyone assumes they’re boring.”

Matteo gave me a strange look.

“What?” I asked.

“You really do sell elderberry syrup?”

“Very expensive elderberry syrup.”

Two hours later, Leo came back carrying a black binder.

He set it in front of Dante.

“Found in the secondary security cabinet behind the wine cellar.”

Inside were access schedules.

Staff rotations.

Camera override codes.

And copies of Dante’s medical reports.

Every decline marked in red ink.

Every projected date of incapacity circled.

On the final page was a typed line.

TRANSFER WINDOW: 72 HOURS AFTER CONFIRMED DEATH.

Below it were three company names.

All controlled by shell corporations.

All connected to Vincent.

Dante read the page without blinking.

Matteo whispered, “He chose himself.”

I looked at the document.

At the timing.

At the red marks beside Dante’s failing organs.

“No,” I said.

Dante looked at me.

“He didn’t choose himself after you got sick.”

I turned the page.

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The oldest notation was dated four months before Dante’s first symptom.

“He chose himself before he started poisoning you.”