Chapter 5 - The Man Who Knew About the Rabbit
The security breach lasted exactly forty-seven seconds.
Then everything returned to normal.
That frightened me more than a prolonged attack would have.
Whoever had entered our system hadn't wanted control.
They wanted to send a message.
They knew about Bunny.
They knew Elena had hidden something inside it.
And they knew I had found it.
I looked at Vittorio.
He was sweating.
“Who knows about the rabbit?”
“No one.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I swear.”
I stepped closer.
“Then why are you afraid?”
He looked toward Mia.
“I don't know.”
“Do you know Elena was investigating someone?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
That answer surprised me.
“How?”
“She asked me questions.”
“What questions?”
“About the docks.”
I stared at him.
“What did you tell her?”
“That everything was fine.”
“And was it?”
“No.”
The word came out quietly.
Vittorio looked exhausted.
“I saw things I didn't understand.”
“What things?”
“Containers arriving after midnight.”
“From where?”
“Unknown ports.”
“Who opened them?”
“I don't know.”
I grabbed the back of his chair.
“Vittorio.”
He looked at me.
“I swear I never touched Elena.”
I believed one thing.
He hadn't taken her himself.
But that didn't make him innocent.
Before I could continue, Gabriel interrupted.
“We have another problem.”
“What?”
He showed me a security map.
“One camera was disabled yesterday morning.”
“Which one?”
“The west driveway.”
My blood ran cold.
That's where Elena's car had passed.
“Can you recover the footage?”
“Maybe.”
He worked for several minutes.
Then an image appeared.
Elena's car.
A black SUV following behind.
The SUV stopped outside the camera range.
Two men stepped out.
Then one of them opened Elena's door.
Mia watched the screen.
She suddenly pointed.
“That man.”
I froze.
“What man?”
She pointed at the screen.
“The bad man.”
I enlarged the image.
The face was partially covered.
But the coat was unmistakable.
Dark wool.
Silver watch.
Vittorio's coat.
He stood up.
“That isn't mine.”
I looked at his wrist.
He wasn't wearing a watch.
Then Gabriel zoomed in.
The man in the footage had a scar on his left hand.
Vittorio didn't.
For the first time, another possibility appeared.
Someone had deliberately dressed like him.
Someone wanted the cameras to make me suspect Vittorio.
I turned toward him.
“Who hates you enough to use your clothes?”
Vittorio swallowed.
“One man.”
“Who?”
He whispered:
May you like
“Lorenzo.”
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