Chapter 3 - THE SHOT FROM THE ROOFTOP
Serena knew Damiano was angry because he became quieter.
As children, other members of the Moretti family had shouted.
Broken glasses.
Slammed doors.
Threatened terrible things.
Damiano had always become still.
That stillness had frightened grown men when Serena was fifteen.
At thirty-three, it still worked.
He stood inside The Sovereign’s private salon with both hands resting on the back of a leather chair.
Across from him, Serena watched Charleston through ballistic glass.
“You should leave.”
She didn’t turn.
“I just arrived.”
“I mean Charleston.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Someone attacked Mercer Group less than an hour after we docked.”
“That proves Elias may be in danger.”
“It proves someone is afraid.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Damiano’s jaw tightened.
Isabella sat near the fireplace with a cup of tea untouched beside her.
At eighty-one, Serena’s grandmother had lost none of her ability to control a room.
“Sit down, Damiano.”
He looked at her.
“Mother—”
“Sit.”
He sat.
Serena almost smiled.
Some hierarchies survived everything.
Isabella looked toward her granddaughter.
“Now you.”
Serena sat opposite them.
For the first time since stepping aboard, she felt seventeen again.
That bothered her more than she expected.
Isabella’s eyes softened.
“You are too thin.”
Damiano sighed.
“Mother.”
“What?”
“We are discussing an attack.”
“And I am discussing my granddaughter.”
Serena looked down.
“I’m fine.”
Isabella gave her the look grandmothers everywhere used when a younger person said something foolish.
“No, you are functioning.”
The words caught Serena off guard.
Isabella reached across and touched her hand.
“Those are different things.”
For years, Serena had survived by being composed.
After her parents died, she had become useful before she had learned how to grieve.
She learned investments.
Ports.
Security systems.
International law.
Languages.
She learned who could be trusted and who could not.
Then, at twenty-six, she disappeared.
Not because she was weak.
Because she was tired of being watched.
Tired of being the surviving Moretti heiress.
Tired of every conversation carrying an agenda.
Charleston had offered anonymity.
Elias had offered something she hadn’t expected.
Normality.
At least in the beginning.
He had met her at a harbor preservation fundraiser.
He had spilled coffee on his own sleeve.
He had cursed quietly.
She had laughed.
He had looked at her like she was simply a woman laughing at him.
Not an heir.
Not leverage.
Not a threat.
That had been the first dangerous thing about Elias Mercer.
He had made ordinary life feel possible.
Damiano interrupted her thoughts.
“Did you tell him why you came?”
“No.”
“Did you ever intend to?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Serena looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Isabella squeezed her hand.
“Did you love him?”
Damiano looked away, as if the question annoyed him.
Serena did not.
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
Silence.
The yacht engines vibrated gently beneath the floor.
Outside, security teams moved along the deck.
Serena stared at the gold wedding band she no longer wore.
“I don’t know what love is supposed to become after someone makes you feel invisible.”
Isabella’s expression changed.
Damiano looked back.
Serena continued.
“I loved the man he was when he had nothing to prove to me.”
“And the man he became?”
“I kept waiting for him to come back.”
Damiano leaned forward.
“He divorced you for Claudia Voss.”
“He divorced me because he wanted the kind of life Claudia represented.”
“Same result.”
“No.”
Serena met his eyes.
“That distinction matters.”
“Why?”
“Because Claudia did not have the power to destroy my marriage unless Elias gave it to her.”
Damiano sat back.
For the first time, he looked almost satisfied.
“Good.”
Serena frowned.
“What?”
“At least you are not defending him.”
“I am explaining him.”
“Dangerous habit.”
A knock came at the salon door.
A security officer entered.
“Sir.”
Damiano stood.
“What?”
“We recovered surveillance from Mercer Group.”
Serena looked up.
“Already?”
The officer hesitated.
“Not from Mercer. City cameras.”
He placed a tablet on the table.
Video showed two men entering the parking garage behind Mercer headquarters forty minutes before the fire.
One wore a security uniform.
The other wore a baseball cap.
Their faces were mostly hidden.
Damiano watched.
Then froze the image.
“Zoom.”
The officer did.
A logo appeared on the man’s jacket.
MERCER GROUP.
Serena frowned.
“That proves nothing.”
Damiano looked at her.
“I didn’t say it did.”
“It is exactly what someone would use if they wanted us to think Elias ordered it.”
“He may have.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Damiano noticed.
“So you trust him?”
Serena hesitated.
“With my heart? No.”
Her eyes stayed on the screen.
“With murder? Yes.”
Damiano’s mouth tightened.
“Those are strange standards.”
“They are accurate ones.”
The officer touched his earpiece.
His expression changed.
“Sir.”
Damiano turned.
“What?”
“Movement on the north rooftop.”
Everything happened at once.
The officer lunged toward Serena.
Damiano shouted.
Glass cracked.
A sharp sound struck the room.
Serena felt something hot tear across her upper arm.
The officer drove her to the floor.
Isabella screamed.
A second impact hit the ballistic window.
The glass held.
Damiano was already pulling his mother down behind the sofa.
“LOCK THE DECKS!”
Security alarms erupted.
The yacht transformed instantly.
Doors sealed.
Armed men flooded corridors.
Serena looked at her arm.
Blood.
Not much.
A graze.
Damiano saw it.
His face changed.
“Who touched her?”
The officer looked toward the window.
“Shooter is across the harbor.”
“Alive.”
“Sir?”
“I want him alive.”
Serena pushed herself upright.
“Damiano.”
He ignored her.
She grabbed his sleeve.
“Alive.”
He looked down at her.
“That is what I said.”
“I know what you meant.”
Their eyes held.
Damiano’s anger remained.
But he nodded.
Minutes later, the yacht moved away from the pier.
Security boats spread around it.
Police shut streets.
A helicopter began circling the waterfront.
Serena allowed the ship’s doctor to clean her arm.
The bullet had barely touched her.
Half an inch deeper would have changed everything.
Isabella sat beside her, pale but composed.
“You see?”
Damiano stood by the window.
“This is why you should leave.”
Serena looked at him.
“No.”
“Serena.”
“If I leave now, whoever did this learns that fear works.”
“I do not care what lesson they learn.”
“I do.”
Damiano turned.
“You almost died.”
“I have almost died before.”
The room went silent.
Isabella closed her eyes.
Fifteen years ago.
The yacht fire.
The night Serena’s parents died.
Nobody spoke about it unless necessary.
Serena hated that silence.
It had protected too many people.
Her phone vibrated.
A Moretti security officer had recovered it from her coat.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
A photograph loaded.
Elias.
Blood on his forehead.
Standing beside Marcus outside Mercer Group.
The image had been taken after the explosion.
Below it:
HE IS NEXT.
Serena’s breathing stopped.
Damiano saw her face.
“What?”
She showed him.
He read it once.
Then again.
“That could be theater.”
Serena stood.
“Don’t.”
“Serena—”
“You think Elias had someone shoot me and then sent me a threat against himself?”
“Men have done stupider things.”
“He didn’t do this.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I know him.”
Damiano’s expression sharpened.
“You knew him well enough to be surprised by divorce papers.”
That hurt.
He regretted it immediately.
Serena could see that.
But the wound had landed.
She handed the phone back to the officer.
“Find Elias.”
Damiano stared at her.
“No.”
“Someone just threatened him.”
“He has his own security.”
“His security system was compromised.”
“That is his problem.”
Serena turned slowly.
“No.”
Damiano knew that voice.
He had knelt before her because of blood.
He obeyed her because of something older.
Serena stood straighter.
“Find him.”
For several seconds neither moved.
Then Damiano looked at the officer.
“Find Mercer.”
The officer nodded.
Before leaving, another guard rushed inside.
“We have the shooter.”
Damiano’s expression changed.
“Where?”
“Rooftop on East Bay.”
“Bring him.”
“Police already have him.”
“Then arrange access.”
Serena sat again.
Twenty-seven minutes later, a photograph arrived from one of Damiano’s contacts.
The captured sniper lay facedown on the rooftop while officers handcuffed him.
Beside him was the rifle.
A black backpack.
And an employee access card.
The name was visible.
ELIAS MERCER.
Serena stared at it.
Damiano said nothing.
She enlarged the photograph.
Elias’s face.
Elias’s company seal.
Elias’s executive security code.
Perfectly placed beside a sniper who had just tried to kill her.
Too perfect.
Her phone rang.
This time the number was familiar.
Elias.
Damiano reached for it.
Serena pulled the phone away.
“Don’t.”
She answered.
Neither spoke at first.
Then Elias said,
“Are you hurt?”
Serena closed her eyes.
Not hello.
Not why did you marry me.
Not why did you lie.
Are you hurt?
“Yes.”
His breathing stopped.
“How bad?”
“A graze.”
“Thank God.”
She heard traffic behind him.
“Where are you?”
“Coming to the harbor.”
“No.”
“I got a photograph.”
“So did I.”
He hesitated.
“You saw the badge.”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t mine.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Elias’s voice changed.
“You believe me?”
“I believe you are many things.”
Damiano looked at her.
Serena continued.
“But I do not believe you are a murderer.”
It was the kindest thing she had said to him in days.
And somehow the cruelest.
Elias went quiet.
Then he said,
“Leonard knew who you were.”
“I know.”
“He knew before our wedding.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed.
“How did you find out?”
“He told me.”
That frightened her.
Leonard Voss did not confess anything without purpose.
“Elias.”
“Yes?”
“Where exactly are you?”
“Meeting Street.”
“Get out of the car.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“Serena—”
“Leonard wanted you alive in that building before the explosion.”
The room went still.
She stood.
“Get out of the car.”
Elias understood.
A door opened on his end.
Traffic noise grew louder.
“Marcus, out.”
Serena heard both men moving.
Then Elias shouted.
A second later, the phone filled with a sound Serena would remember for the rest of her life.
Metal.
Glass.
An explosion.
Damiano grabbed her shoulders.
The call remained connected.
May you like
But Elias stopped answering.
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