Matteo sat in his office, the only light in the room coming from the glowing grid of his laptop.
He had watched the same loop of the south wing service hall forty times. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw aching from the constant clench of his teeth.
He had to find out who dared to harm another person in his house. Let alone his family.
On the screen, the ten-second gap of static flickered.
He didn't look at the static this time. He looked at the three seconds before the burst and after it.
He zoomed in on the reflection in a silver serving tray being carried by a junior maid near the kitchen elevator.
In the distorted metal, he saw a hand reach out from an alcove... not to strike, but to press a small, black device against the wall.
It was a fraction of a second. A blur of skin and a very specific movement of the wrist.
Matteo stood up so abruptly his heavy mahogany chair slammed into the wall behind him. He didn't grab a coat. He didn't grab a drink.
