Chapter 4 - THE SNAKE OF AVIGNON
The convoy didn't stop in Rome.
We were driven directly to a private helipad on the outskirts of the city, where a sleek, twin-engine AgustaWestland helicopter was waiting for us, its rotors spinning smoothly against the blue sky.
Within two hours, we had flown over the dramatic, snow-capped peaks of the Apennines and were descending toward the deep, emerald-green waters of Lake Como.
Villa Vance was breathtaking.
It was a magnificent three-story villa made of pale golden stone, built right on the edge of the water, surrounded by terraced gardens filled with purple wisteria, olive trees, and bright red roses. A long wooden dock extended into the calm lake, where two sleek mahogany speedboats rocked gently against the blue water.
For the next forty-eight hours, Maya and I lived in a world that felt like a fairy tale.
We had a bedroom that looked out over the lake, with soft feather beds, silk sheets, and a private balcony. A team of gentle, friendly staff brought us fresh wood-fired pizza, handmade pasta, and bowls of wild strawberry gelato whenever we were hungry.
Maya spent her afternoons running through the gardens with the three white swans near the dock, her laughter echoing across the water. Little Leo was thriving—his stomach cramps were completely gone after I showed the villa’s private pediatric nurse how to do the slow, circular stomach massages every evening after feeding.
But behind the scenes of this paradise, a war was being fought.
On the third floor of the villa, inside Julian’s private glass-walled study, three computer monitors were glowing twenty-four hours a day.
It was 11:00 PM on our third night at the villa.
I couldn't sleep. I put on my new soft cotton robe, slipped down the marble hallway, and saw a thin line of yellow light coming from under the study door.
I pushed the door open softly.
Julian was sitting behind a massive dark walnut desk, a glass of amber scotch standing untouched beside a thick stack of financial documents. Standing across from him were Lev and Elena, their faces grim under the overhead halogen lights.
On the central computer monitor, a live video feed showed the front gate of our old house in Avignon.
“Lia,” Julian said softly, noticing me instantly. “Come in, sweetheart. You don't need to hide.”
I walked over to the desk, standing beside his leather chair. “Is that... our house?”
“Yes,” Julian said, pulling a spare chair over so I could sit beside him. “Your stepfather, Richard Moreau, has just returned from Paris.”
On the screen, a rusty white pickup truck pulled into the gravel driveway of our old house.
Out stepped Richard Moreau. He was fifty-two, thin, with greasy grey hair and a red, blotchy face from years of heavy drinking. He looked around nervously, pulling a heavy iron key from his coat pocket, walking toward the front porch.
Beside his truck, a sleek black Mercedes sedan pulled up.
Two men in dark suits—the same men I had seen four days ago—stepped out of the sedan, holding leather briefcases.
“That’s them,” I whispered, my heart fluttering with sudden panic. “Those are the men from Valence Energy Group.”
“Don't be afraid, Lia,” Julian said, his voice cold as ice. “Listen.”
Julian tapped a key on his keyboard. High-definition directional microphones hidden in the olive trees around our old house picked up their voices with absolute clarity.
“Where are the girls, Moreau?!” one of the suits snapped, his tone sharp and aggressive. “The land registry office in Vaucluse told us this afternoon that an emergency legal freeze has been placed on the title deed! Who alerted the courts?!”
Moreau looked terrified, his hands trembling as he unlocked the door. “I don't know! I swear to God I don't know! The girls ran away four days ago! I thought they went to their grandmother’s friend in Marseille! I’ve been looking for them everywhere!”
“You fool!” the second suit growled, grabbing Moreau by his jacket collar and slamming him against the wooden door frame. “The freeze was executed by Vance Capital International in London! Julian Vance knows! He knows about the lithium deposit under the estate!”
Moreau’s face went completely pale. “Julian Vance?! No... no, that’s impossible! He left France fifteen years ago! He hasn't spoken to Colette in a decade!”
“Well, he’s speaking now through twenty corporate lawyers!” the suit spat, releasing Moreau with disgust. “If those two little girls sign a diplomatic guardianship agreement with Julian Vance, your legal authority as their stepfather is wiped out! The land goes directly into a private trust controlled by Vance! We lose the four-hundred-million-euro lease!”
Moreau’s eyes turned vicious and rat-like on the screen.
“Then we find the girls before they sign anything,” Moreau growled, rubbing his neck. “They’re just two stupid kids with no money. They can’t have left France without passports. I’ll hire a private investigator to check every children’s shelter from Paris to Nice. Once I get them back under my roof, I’ll force Lia to sign the guardianship waiver.”
I shrank back into my chair, cold terror rushing through my veins.
May you like
Julian looked down at me. He reached out his large hand, cupping my small shoulder with a grip as solid as steel.
“He will never touch you again, Lia,” Julian said, his light gray eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute fury. “He will never step foot on that land again. And tomorrow morning... we are going to finish this.”
