The mansion was never supposed to be silent.
Especially not at 11:47 on a Thursday night.
Yet when Matteo Moretti, one of the most feared men in the city, stepped through the front doors earlier than expected, the first thing he noticed was the silence.
No guards speaking in the hallway.
No music from the ballroom.
No clinking glasses from the kitchen.
Nothing.
Matteo slowly removed his black gloves.
“Where is everyone?”
No one answered.
He took another step.
Then—
A hand suddenly grabbed his arm.
Matteo spun around, his instincts immediately taking over.
It was Elena, the quiet maid who had worked in his mansion for nearly three years.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were wide with terror.
And before Matteo could say a word, she pressed one trembling finger against her lips.
“Don’t make a sound,” she whispered.
Matteo stared at her.
Nobody touched him without permission.
Nobody whispered orders to him.
And nobody in his household had ever looked at him with that kind of fear.
“What happened?”
Elena shook her head.
“Not here.”
She pulled him toward the servants’ corridor.
Matteo resisted.
“Let go.”
Her grip tightened.
“Please.”
Something in her voice made him stop.
Elena leaned closer.
“They’re still upstairs.”
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“Who?”
She swallowed.
“Your men.”
His eyes narrowed.
“My men are supposed to be downstairs.”
“I know.”
“Then why are they upstairs?”
Elena looked toward the staircase.
“Because they’re waiting for you.”
A cold silence fell between them.
Matteo slowly reached inside his jacket.
Elena grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
“No?”
“If you take out your gun, they’ll know you’re here.”
Matteo stared at her.
For the first time that night, he understood.
Someone had planned this.
Someone knew he would return home.
Someone had turned his own mansion into a trap.
Then a sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming toward them.
Elena’s breathing stopped.
Matteo pulled her behind him.
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
Then a man’s voice echoed through the mansion.
“Boss?”
Matteo recognized the voice immediately.
It belonged to Luca, his most trusted lieutenant.
But Luca wasn’t supposed to be here.
Matteo looked at Elena.
She shook her head desperately.
The footsteps continued downward.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Matteo’s hand hovered near his weapon.
Elena leaned toward his ear.
“There is something you need to see.”
“What?”
Her voice became barely audible.
“I found it in your wife’s room.”
Matteo froze.
His wife had been dead for six months.
Elena reached into her apron and pulled out a small envelope.
There was no name on it.
Only four words written in black ink:
HE DOESN’T KNOW YET.
Matteo opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
His face changed instantly.
Because the photograph showed his wife standing beside a man who was supposed to have died ten years ago.
And on the back of the photograph was a date.
Tomorrow.
Elena whispered:
“That’s why I told you not to make a sound.”
Matteo looked toward the staircase.
The footsteps had stopped.
Then Luca’s voice came again.
This time, much closer.
“Boss…”
A pause.
“We know you’re home.”