Chapter 3 - THE TAILOR AND THE DOUBLE
The Madison Avenue boutique of Julian Vane was an ivory tower of minimalist luxury. Glass cases held velvet slippers, silk ties, and gowns that cost more than an average American’s annual salary.
It was 5:30 a.m. Rain was still falling over Manhattan, slicking the pavement into dark rivers of silver light.
The front glass door did not break when Marco’s men arrived; the master locksmith cleared the deadbolts in less than fourteen seconds.
Inside, the air smelled of expensive lavender, raw silk, and leather.
Julian Vane—a slender, middle-aged man with sharp features, wearing a silk dressing gown over silk pajamas—was dragged out of his private office in the back, his hands tied behind his back with zip-ties, his face pale with sheer terror.
"Mr. Moretti! Please!" Julian gasped, sinking to his knees on the velvet carpet as Alessandro stepped into the showroom. "I didn't know! I swear to God, I didn't know what they were going to do!"
Alessandro did not hit him. He didn't even raise his voice. He pulled a plush velvet armchair out from the display table, sat down, and crossed one long leg over the other.
"Julian," Alessandro said smoothly. "You have designed clothes for my family for twelve years. I paid for your daughter’s tuition at Oxford. I protected your shops when the Lucchese family tried to burn Madison Avenue five years ago."
"I know! I am eternally grateful, Don Alessandro!" Julian sobbed.
"Then explain to me," Alessandro continued, leaning forward, "why a exact duplicate of Julianna’s burgundy anniversary gown was delivered to a woman three days ago."
Julian swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the door where Marco stood like a statue of death.
"A... a woman came in two weeks ago," Julian stammered, his voice trembling so violently his teeth chattered. "She had the exact measurements. She had a letter signed with your personal seal, Alessandro! It had the Moretti wax stamp! The letter said you wanted a secret duplicate dress made for a surprise photo shoot in Paris!"
"My seal?" Alessandro’s eyes flashed with a lethal spark. "Who was the woman, Julian?"
"I... I don't know her real name!" Julian cried. "She called herself Victorine. She spoke with a French accent. She was stunning—tall, dark hair, high cheekbones. She looked remarkably like Ms. Vance from behind!"
"Victorine," I repeated, stepping out from the shadows near the doorway.
Alessandro turned his head to look at me. "Victorine Vance?"
"No," I said, a wave of cold recognition washing over me. "Not Vance. Victorine Marceau."
Alessandro’s eyebrows pulled together. "The daughter of Henri Marceau?"
"The French shipping broker," I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Henri Marceau lost his entire fleet in the harbor privatization deal two years ago. He blamed the Moretti family for driving him into bankruptcy. He committed suicide six months later in Marseilles."
The pieces of the terrifying puzzle were finally snapping together with brutal clarity.
Matteo Falcone provided the insider access, the scarred enforcer with the bird ring, and the muscle inside New York. But Victorine Marceau provided the intelligence, the hatred, and the theatrical perfection of the plot. She had forged Alessandro’s seal, ordered the duplicate dress, hired the body double, and printed the funeral programs.
She wanted Alessandro dead, the Moretti empire shattered, and me executed as the traitorous widow—exacting total vengeance for her father’s downfall.
"Where did you send the duplicate dress, Julian?" Alessandro asked, his voice dropping into a chilling register.
"To... to a private residence in Green-Wood, Brooklyn," Julian wept. "A brownstone near the cemetery gates. Address 412 Maple Street!"
Alessandro stood up. He adjusted his coat, turning to Marco.
"Leave ten men here to secure Mr. Vane," Alessandro ordered. "He stays in this room until this matter is concluded."
"And the brownstone in Brooklyn, Boss?" Marco asked.
May you like
Alessandro looked at me, his dark eyes burning with an ancient, unyielding fire.
"We go to Brooklyn," Alessandro said. "It's time to see who is planning to attend my funeral."
