Chapter 3 Shadows Before The Funeral
992 Words
Morning arrived over Villa Caravelli, but it brought no peace.
The estate that had once echoed with the confident footsteps of Don Lorenzo Caravelli now felt unbearably empty.
Every member of the household wore black.
The servants moved quietly through the halls, speaking only when necessary.
Grief had settled over the estate like a heavy fog.
...
Cassian stood alone inside his father's study.
The familiar scent of leather, old books, and Lorenzo's cologne still lingered in the air.
Everything remained exactly where his father had left it.
An unfinished file rested on the desk.
His reading glasses lay beside an uncapped fountain pen.
For a brief moment...
Cassian imagined the office door opening and his father walking in to continue his work.
Instead...
Only silence answered him.
A knock came at the door.
"It's time," Enzo Morelli said quietly.
Cassian gave one last glance around the room before following him downstairs.
...
The conference room was already occupied.
Enzo Morelli stood at the head of the table.
Beside him were Alessandro Ricci and Marco De Santis.
A large map of northern Italy lay spread across the polished wooden table.
Cassian took his father's seat.
For a moment...
No one spoke.
Finally, Enzo broke the silence.
"The funeral will be held three days from now."
Cassian nodded.
"Send invitations to every House that stood beside my father."
"And the Houses that didn't?" Alessandro asked.
Cassian looked at him.
"They'll receive one as well."
Enzo gave a small nod of approval.
"Good."
"If we exclude anyone, they'll think House Caravelli is already choosing enemies."
Marco placed a thick folder on the table.
"Our security report."
Cassian opened it.
Every page contained photographs from the gala.
Witness statements.
Security logs.
Ballistic reports.
"What have we found?"
Marco's expression darkened.
"The camera covering the eastern balcony stopped recording forty-one seconds before the first shot."
Cassian looked up.
"It malfunctioned?"
Marco slowly shook his head.
"No."
"It was disabled."
Silence filled the room.
Alessandro folded his arms.
"An inside job?"
"We don't know," Marco replied.
"But whoever planned this knew our security layout."
Cassian turned another page.
"No fingerprints."
"No weapon."
"No witnesses."
"It's as if the shooter never existed."
Enzo leaned forward.
"Which means we're looking for someone patient."
"Someone who planned this long before the gala."
Cassian closed the folder.
"Who benefits from my father's death?"
No one answered immediately.
Finally, Alessandro spoke.
"There are too many possibilities."
"House Moretti."
"The French syndicates."
"They've all clashed with us before."
Enzo raised a hand.
"We accuse no one."
"Not yet."
"Our enemy wants us angry."
"They'll expect us to make mistakes."
Cassian nodded slowly.
"Then we won't."
Marco placed another file on the table.
"The funeral worries me more."
Cassian frowned.
"Why?"
"Because every major House will attend."
"The assassin failed to destroy House Caravelli."
He paused.
"The funeral may be their second opportunity."
The room fell silent.
Cassian slowly rose from his chair.
"Then we make sure they don't get one."
He looked directly at Marco.
"I want every guest verified before entering the estate."
"Every invitation must be authenticated."
"Search every vehicle before it reaches the estate."
"Triple the security teams."
"Position snipers across the surrounding vineyards."
"No one carries a weapon inside the chapel unless I approve it personally."
"If the assassin wants another opportunity..."
"They won't find one."
"It'll be done." Marco said.
Enzo watched Cassian carefully.
For the first time since Lorenzo's death...
He saw the young heir beginning to think like a Don.
...
Elsewhere in the mansion, Luciana stood before an open wardrobe.
Inside hung rows of Lorenzo Caravelli's tailored suits.
Her fingers brushed over the fabric until they stopped on a black three-piece suit.
"He always wore this whenever he wanted to impress people," she said softly.
Serafina managed a faint smile.
"I remember."
"He used to joke that it made him look ten years younger."
For the first time since the shooting, a quiet laugh escaped them both.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
The silence that followed was far heavier.
Luciana carefully removed the suit from its hanger.
"This is the one he'll wear."
Serafina swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Papa would have liked that."
Together, mother and daughter carried the suit toward the bedroom.
One final outfit for one final farewell.
As preparations continued at Villa Caravelli...
In Barcelona, Spain, the morning sun reflected across the Mediterranean as cargo ships drifted toward the bustling port.
Inside the top floor of Valcázar Global Holdings, silence filled the spacious office.
A black envelope rested on the polished desk.
Its wax seal bore the crest of House Caravelli.
Thiago Valcázar broke the seal and unfolded the invitation.
He read it once.
Then again.
Across the office, his sister, Catalina, closed the file she had been reviewing.
"The funeral?"
Thiago nodded.
"Three days from now."
Catalina studied him for a moment.
"Will every House attend?"
"They'd be foolish not to."
She leaned back in her chair.
"And the assassin?"
Thiago folded the invitation neatly.
"I don't know."
Catalina looked at him in surprise.
"Not enough information?"
He nodded once.
"A dead man tells us very little. I want to know how Lorenzo Caravelli was killed."
Javier, his underboss, remained silent as Thiago continued.
"Bring me every report from the gala. Security footage, witness accounts, press reports—everything we can obtain."
Catalina picked up her tablet.
"I'll have them compiled before we leave for Milan."
"Good," Thiago replied. "Until then, anything else would just be speculation."
Thiago slipped the invitation into his jacket.
" Javier" Thiago called.
"Boss" he answered.
"Prepare the security ahead of our departure".
"Alright boss." he replied
As Catalina and Javier left the office to carry out the duties assigned to them, Thiago turned back toward the sea.
Somewhere beyond the horizon...
A powerful House had lost its king.
The question now was whether its heir could survive long enough to wear the crown.
- Writer
