CHAPTER 57: EPIC DISASTER
When John steps out of that chamber of horrors, he finds Giulia waiting for him in the corridor. She offers him her shoulder to lean on, and he accepts it with a grateful nod of the head. They stump along the corridor as he winces in pain every time he puts weight on his injured calf.
Giulia shoots him an apprehensive look. "How's your leg?"
"Not bleeding anymore. That's an improvement."
She internally smiles. No matter how bad things get, John's witty sarcasm will never fade.
She looks over her shoulder and sees Sherlock leaving the room after them, so she lowers her voice to a whisper, "I know he will never tell it to your face, but he did compliment you. He was impressed with the way you handled and solved the round. I, on my part, would like to thank you for getting us safe and sound to the other side. And I'm really sorry for the price you paid." She steals one more look at the improvised bandage made from a shred of her dress. The bloodstains have blended with the ruby-red shade of her gown, making it vaguely more bearable for her to look at it without fainting.
"I never expected to get out of an encounter with Moriarty without a single scratch. But thank you for what you said. I'm rarely complimented, as you can imagine." John glances back at Sherlock following them. "Anyway, you were the ones who risked it on that deathly device while I did nothing more than interpret the Morse code from the lights, so I'd call it a team effort." He waves the praise aside.
She smiles at his modesty. "Then we're totally going to swap places, next time," she jokes, but instead of laughing or chuckling, John turns a serious face to her, his forehead creased in a frown.
"Wait, are you saying you know Morse code?"
She cocks a brow at him. "By now, I thought you had learnt not to underestimate me, doctor."
He nods, impressed, and they proceed silently until they reach yet another open door. They step into a room entirely sunk into darkness. As Sherlock enters last, one lightbulb near the entrance switches on to dissipate part of the shadows, but it is still not enough for them to make out the limits of the room; it must be similar to the last one in size, but it is currently impossible to distinguish anything ahead of them. The faint light is barely sufficient to illuminate a small table and three objects on it: a now-habitual marble statue, weighing scales, and a blister pack of meds. As usual, a screen on the wall powers on to show Moriarty's everlasting grin.
"Painkillers for your wound, Doctor Watson," he specifies, nodding to the medicines on the table.
John studies the tablets warily, then turns towards the screen with a sneering expression.
"How very considerate of you. I'm torn, though. Does it mean you ultimately intend to keep me alive, or do you just hope I'm going to survive long enough to meet a grandiose death?"
Jim smiles at his scorn. "I'll keep you guessing."
In the meantime, Sherlock and Giulia have been busy examining the other objects on the table. The weighing device is a simple machine composed of a metal plate placed on an electronic base. They decide to disregard the scale (which will evidently serve later in the solution of that round) and divert their attention to the new figurine. The woman carved in marble is seated on a truncated column and is holding in her hands some scrolls and books; her hair is crowned with a laurel wreath.
Sherlock points at the statue and affirms in a weary tone, "Calliope, the Muse of Epic Poetry."
After playing three rounds of that torment (five, counting the two murders of the nun and the tenor), he feels all the fatigue descend upon him. He is tired and weak and lost track of time. They have been visiting only the internal rooms of the theatre where there are no windows with a view of the outside world, so he can't even try to estimate how long has passed. Still, time doesn't really matter in that maze of horrors. Their progress is invariably scanned by those bloody figurines. And judging by the number of the Greek muses, there are still some more rounds to go.
He doesn't know whether they will get to the end with enough strength. They are giving all of themselves in every single challenge, only to face something way worse in the following round. The horrors just seem to multiply and intensify. And he can't help but wonder, what will come next?
That's the most terrifying part: facing an enemy who has planned this game for a long time. Moriarty has it all perfectly plotted out, like an omniscient narrator with his own drama. And they—powerless characters—can only play their parts, going through each chapter, fighting for their lives, ignoring whether, at the next turn of the page, a huge plot twist will frustrate all their efforts.
He flashes a stern gaze at the monitor. "Jim, haven't you had enough?"
"Not at all, dearest. But before proceeding with a new round, I think congratulations are in order, especially considering that your success came quite unexpectedly this time," the criminal mastermind says. "I must admit, I didn't really think you'd be able to go all the way across that room and save the life of your housekeeper."
"Landlady," John corrects him under his breath.
"When I designed that pressure table, I expected at least a few casualties." Moriarty bares his teeth.
"Did we let you down?" Sherlock asks sardonically, earning a benevolent smile from Jim.
"On the contrary. I've found your dauntless performance very exciting." He waves a hand in the air to fan himself, reminiscing the enthusiasm with which he followed that show.
"Quite sadistic that our anguish serves as your entertainment," Giulia spits out.
Jim grins cruelly at her, then he slowly shakes his head and rubs his hands together.
"It's not just your worries or your fears. The most enticing part for me is witnessing the intensity of your emotions. I've always known Sherlock would constitute quite the challenge, but you, Miss Giulia, you are the real revelation. Of course, I already knew many things about your character: how you accept to put up with Sherlock's less-than-courteous manners, how you side with John Watson whenever the situation requires a touch of humanity, and how you keep fighting for yourself and your place in the world. I knew you were smart and brave, but I had no idea how determined you'd turn out to be. Your stubborn move to save Doctor Molly Hooper should have been telling already, but your decision to risk your life in the arms of the man whose intentions were never clear to you just to save another human being… Oh, that was almost heroic," he says dreamily.
Giulia instinctively looks at Sherlock and flinches when she meets his gaze; he has been staring at her throughout Jim's speech.
From the screen, Moriarty's eyes travel briefly across the room before landing in hers. "However, your heroism would be more appropriate for this new room. I'll see what we can arrange for that. Anyway, I'm sincerely impressed."
"Impressing you is not exactly on my priority list at the moment. Everything I did was to save innocent lives that you put in danger," she retorts in a cutting tone.
A glint of cruelty flickers in his eyes, then he nods as if she just provided an enlightening answer.
"Innocent lives, yes. Thank you for raising the topic. I've been meaning to ask, actually: would it make any difference if they weren't innocent? Would you still be willing to save the lives of the guilty?"
She draws a breath to reply, but he anticipates her. "No, don't answer just yet. I don't want you to tell me; I want you to show me—which is why this new round is going to be absolutely epic," Jim pronounces in a foreboding tone and casts a glance at the marble statue of the Muse of Epic Poetry.
"I won't let you manipulate me," she says, her voice unfaltering, and he smirks at her challenging tone.
"So defiant, so magnificently hellbent on always doing the right thing. Your parents would be so proud. They were such good people and had so many great expectations for their daughters. And you—you were the apple of your father's eye."
At that mention, Giulia lowers her gaze and bites down on her lips to choke back tears at the thought of her parents. She misses them every day. She misses them so damn much. Those wounds are still open, and she isn't sure they will ever heal.
Moriarty tilts his head to the side, analysing her reaction. "Did I hit a nerve?"
"Enough," John shouts, stepping forward to shield her with his body from Jim's relentless attacks.
Giulia smiles feebly at him and places a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.
"It's okay. I can fight my own battles."
"Of course you can," Moriarty interjects. "You're just like your poor father: the same fiery spirit." He feigns an expression of grief. "Two lives cut short too early, and a family destroyed by tragedy. You could have had so much more time together."
"Don't bring my family into this, and stop referring to my parents," she interrupts him, a furious look blazing in her eyes. "You don't have the right to talk about them. You didn't even know them."
Moriarty arches his brow and leans forward as his face becomes bigger on the screen and his smile grows more sinister.
"As a matter of fact, I did. Perhaps I should mention: I am the one who killed them."
A layer of chill descends into the room. Sherlock and John are bewildered, but Giulia is in pure shock.
"Wh-what?" She stammers through shuddering breaths.
Jim lets out a weary sigh as if explaining his wrongdoing was an immense exertion.
"Well, not factually, obviously. I'm never the one who pulls the trigger—or in that case, who pressed the detonation button." He licks his lips maliciously, and John just feels the urge to travel beyond the screen to punch him in his smug face. "But I organised it all thanks to my criminal web. I orchestrated the plan of the consulate's explosion to make it look like a gas leak."
She gapes. Nothing of what he is saying makes any sense. How could Jim Moriarty ever be connected to her old life?
She is dumbstruck and barely mumbles. "You? Why?"
He shrugs and dryly replies, "Family matters."
She takes a deep breath to overcome the shock and think lucidly.
"Yes, I've always known that my father's activities were bad news for that Mafia family and their dirty business. I imagine they wanted to take him out, so they most likely hired you—an accomplished criminal mastermind—to stage the explosion. But I was there too. I was supposed to be at the Consulate, and the blast should have killed me, too. Why was I a target?"
Sherlock spins towards her, an expression of sheer astonishment on his face. She has just found out an earth-shattering truth, but she isn't crumbling to pieces. She is doing precisely what she told him she always wanted to do: confronting the person who destroyed her life to have all the answers about her involvement and the possible responsibility for her parents' death. Her inner strength is impressive.
Jim clears his throat. "If you must know, the Mafia family had already come up with some tentative assassination plots against your parents, but their planning capabilities were appalling. They didn't seem able to find the right scapegoat; had anything happened to your father, they would have been the first and only suspects. I was asked to provide my services to simulate a fateful accident only when you came into the picture, though. Your love story with Luca became your gravestone," he alludes.
John turns towards her, frowning. He has no idea what is going on. What is Moriarty talking about? Who is Luca?
On his part, Sherlock recalls the revelations about her past lover that Giulia had finally brought to the surface that very evening, just before he offered to take her to the exhibition.
"So, that's it then? Luca's family found out about us, and they feared I might push their son—the heir of their criminal legacy, away from them and onto a path of redemption, so they chose to kill me, isn't this what happened?" She concludes. "If that's so, where do you fit in all that, Moriarty?"
He smiles. He was wondering when she would dig in that direction.
"You see, the plan wasn't exactly concocted by the whole family, but rather by one particular member: Luca's mother."
"But she was a senseless character, married to the boss. She wasn't playing an active role in the family. She was simply a subdued wife, which has been commonplace in mafia families since the dawn of time. I don't agree with this misogynistic system, but that's how it generally works. Nobody thought she could ever pose any real threat."
Jim shakes his head, discouraged. "No no no. Giulia, I am so disappointed. Not you too: you are a slave of the patriarchy." He sighs. "Did you really think Luca's father was the master of the house? Come on, Giulia, he was just a puppet with some decent scenic presence. Did it ever occur to you that the mother-and-wife was the real deal?"
She does a double-take. That insignificant woman being the actual head of the family? No, that thought never crossed her mind. But what if that was the whole point of her demure appearance?
"All I know about her is that she was Irish. The Secret Service originally thought that her marriage was supposed to seal the union between that Latin American branch of the Italian mafia and the Irish one, but they could never establish clear criminal affiliations of that woman, nor retrace her family backstory. It didn't seem relevant, anyway."
Jim closes his eyes and smiles peacefully. He is enjoying every second. When he speaks again, he chuckles.
"The Secret Service's resources are hilarious. Let me clear the air: she does have criminal affiliations. In fact, she is one of the greatest criminal masterminds of this century."
Sherlock arches a brow, surprised by that overt compliment. "Even greater than you?"
"No, just like me," Moriarty corrects him before adding, "She is my sister."
Sherlock goggles. "Sister?" He didn't see that coming.
"Half-sister, technically," he clarifies. "Same mother, different father, but the taste for blood is absolutely identical." He bares his teeth in a sly grin.
"Family matters, indeed. It appears you were dating his nephew," John points out, addressing a scowl to Giulia. Once everything is over, she will have a lot of explaining to do.
"How did you and his mother find out about us?" Giulia asks Moriarty, eager to have all the answers.
His eyes shine with malice as he says, "Find out? Oh, sweetheart, we orchestrated your entire relationship. Luca had one simple task: making you fall in love with him so that you would pass to him confidential information about your family."
All of Giulia's certainties weaver at that revelation. The blood turns cold in her veins. It was all a lie. Everything she ever felt, all the things he told her... nothing more than a lie. She already knew that their love was toxic and poisonous, but fake… No.
No! she shouts inside her brain, stopping that spiral of black thoughts. That is inconceivable. She can't even bring herself to believe it. It's impossible.
"This can't be the truth," she almost screams, raising her fists at the monitor while hot tears stream down her cheeks reddened with anger.
She clenches her jaw, flaring her nostrils and taking deep breaths to keep her fury under control. "I know Luca's destiny was to become the head of the family one day. Don't think he didn't come completely clean with me: he told me everything. I know he had been trained since he was a child, but he was changing. He didn't want that life for himself anymore. I read it in his eyes; he was sincere. And there's nothing you can tell me to convince me otherwise."
Moriarty scoffs, and for the first time, for a fleeting second, he appears irritated. Then he regains his seraphic aplomb.
"You're right, I really can't. Because the point is he was indeed changing. He met you and wanted to become a good man." He grimaces at those aspirations and rolls his eyes. "How dull and disappointing. Even though the beginning of your romance was founded on a lie, things didn't quite play out the way his mother had planned. She wanted to extract information from you, but you spilt nothing to your boyfriend." His voice oozes admiration as he looks at her almost tenderly. "You stayed loyal to your family, unlike him. Against all odds and our best plans, Luca was the one who fell hard, eventually. He loved you truly and purely."
Giulia is possibly even more confused now. "How do you know?"
"He started passing onto us false information about your family, claiming that it all came from you. He insisted it was absolutely vital to keep your love story going to gather more intel. Sweet, dumb boy. We soon discovered his scheme and understood that the only way to solve that unanticipated issue—"
"Was to kill me together with my parents," Giulia completes his sentence.
"Precisely."
"You should have been more careful and prevented Luca from discovering your master plan then," she says defiantly.
He cocks a brow at her. "Darling, has anyone ever told you it is quite impolite to assume that I am stupid?"
His condescending tone sends a shiver down her spine as he continues, "We made sure that he found it out. Two henchmen of the family discussed aloud the plan of the explosion right under the open window of his bedroom. We wanted him to overhear, to know."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious? It was a loyalty test, which he failed big time. We wanted to see whether he would side with his family and let you meet your death, or try to warn you. Now we all know what he chose." He gestures theatrically at her.
"However, the truth of your survival was kept secret for a long time. When the explosion blew off, you were documented dead, and we all believed you were. Since you never made it to your meeting with Luca, not even he knew you survived. He simply assumed you had refused to meet with him and perished in the attack; he stayed broken-hearted for quite some time. On our part, we believed Luca hadn't told you anything and had chosen his family over you, and we rejoiced. Everything was fine; you and your annoying father were dead, which meant that our shady business was safe. What is more, we got our lost son back in the family." He smiles at the memory of those happy times before his face clouds over. "Little did we know, he had betrayed us once again. He tried to warn you by asking you to meet that very night, and unbeknownst to anyone, he had somehow succeeded in saving you."
He shakes his head. It was so upsetting for him to witness his nephew turn his back to the darkness.
Giulia blinks repeatedly at the screen, a perennial mist of disorientation paralysing her mind since the moment Moriarty started overfeeding her with revelations.
"I'm confused. If everybody in the family thought I died in the explosion, how did you find out I was still alive?"
Jim stares at her for a couple of seconds, wondering if he will ever stop smiling: he is having such a devilishly wonderful time in their company.
"This is an interesting story that involves another act of betrayal. Against you, this time." He pretends to pout. "But I can't tell this story on my own, so I'm going to ask for the kind assistance of its true protagonist: Thomas Wellington," he announces in his TV presenter's tone.
Giulia pales upon hearing that name. No. It can't be. Not him, please. Anyone but him.
At that moment, all the lights switch on, and they realise they are standing in a gigantic room. Unlike the previous one, this chamber is simple and unadorned. There are two notable features to it, though. First, a series of sinister nozzles and jets are lined along the left wall for the entire length of the room. Second, the right wall is constituted by a huge glass window opening onto the adjacent room where one spotlight has just turned on, shedding a pitiful ray on a strapping man chained to a metal armchair.
When Giulia sees him, her eyes fill with tears as her heart-rending cry echoes in the room. "Thomas!"
The man immediately recognises her voice and jolts his head up, wriggling in vain against the restraints, calling her name. Giulia runs to the glass wall and places her hands flat on the icy surface. She wishes she could punch it until it shatters to pieces. She wishes she could run to him and free him of those shackles. But she knows she must abide by the rules of that vicious game.
Jim enjoys the helplessness in her watery gaze as she looks straight into the eyes of the captive.
"I've really appreciated these first rounds, but I have something different in mind for the next part. I'd like to make this game a bit more interactive. From now on, no more monitors showing my guests. You will be able to talk and interact with them in real time. It adds to the pathos."
Sherlock has been studying Giulia's devastated reaction and her fit of desperation has tied a knot in his stomach. It is not the first time his body has responded that way when she shows affection for another man, he self-diagnoses. He felt a similar clench in his gut when she acted familiarly with her bodyguard in their flat earlier that night. Back then, he had harshly criticised her actions, and deep down, he knew why he had behaved so rudely; he felt threatened. It made no logical sense; Giulia was just trying to act kindly with a man who was going through a lot. Her compassionate behaviour towards the guard wasn't undermining the peculiar relationship she has with him—it was on a whole different level. There was no comparison to be made, and this is why he was fully aware of the foolishness of his scornful reaction.
This time, though, things are different. This time, it is not her human nature or emotional intelligence moving her. He can deduce that she is genuinely scared to death at the prospect of losing that specific person. He has no idea who that man is and what his connection with Giulia might be, but by her distraught state, he can tell that he must have been very important to her. Moriarty's words provided additional information as well; this Thomas Wellington was involved in her past and knew about her survival from the explosion.
It doesn't take Sherlock long to connect the dots: he is Giulia's former bodyguard and trainer. The one she only mentioned once, in Sherlock's hospital room, with sadness in her eyes at the memory of their separation, which had occurred some months before. And yet, in the recount of her past, she never specified the nature of their relationship, not even when they were alone in Baker Street, that very evening, some hours ago.
Sherlock raises a sullen gaze on the prisoner beyond the glass. He is the missing piece in Giulia's backstory.
He straightens his shoulders, trying to drive away all his jealous thoughts, and jibes at Jim. "Did you bring this man in tonight only to play with Giulia's head?"
"Her head? Don't be silly, Sherlock. No, I want to play with her heart." The last word rolls wolfishly off his tongue. He keeps his eyes fixed on the detective, already savouring the poignant blow that he is about to inflict on him.
"Maybe you ignore some details about the relationship Giulia had with her bodyguard, so let me fill you in."
He glances at the chained man, telling a story. "Before the explosion, back to Giulia's old placid life at the Consulate, Thomas Wellington was her security mentor, trainer, and bodyguard. They shared a bond of absolute trust, which is ultimately what allowed Giulia to stay alive and find shelter after the explosion. After the attack, he became a consultant in the MI6 investigation because of his old ties to the force. In so doing, he also became her personal informant, keeping Giulia in the loop with the developments of the investigation and following her around the world. Whenever she assumed a new identity, he was always by her side."
She gulps nervously at his words but doesn't deny anything, so Jim goes on.
"That's when they grew closer. Am I right, Giulia? You became proper friends: he was your confidant. It felt good to have someone close who knew precisely what you were going through—someone who could be by your side when you needed him most, who could understand your pain because he knew all about your traumatic experience, your loss."
She lowers her head, overwhelmed by emotion. It's all true. That's precisely how she felt during those chaotic months between the explosion that destroyed her old life and the arrival in London that marked her rebirth.
"How cute," Moriarty mocks her. "But to you, Thomas was nothing more than a close friend. The problem is that things were slightly different for him. He was falling in love with you. He had genuine feelings."
As Sherlock and John arch their brows at her, Giulia avoids their stupefied gazes and stares into the bodyguard's eyes instead. When their eyes meet, she bites the inside of her cheek until she has the iron taste of blood on her tongue. Moriarty is telling the truth; she can read it in Thomas' eyes at that very moment. He got too close. But it was her fault, too.
As if Jim was reading her mind, he adds, "And then something happened, one night in Amsterdam."
Her head whips up, and she shoots a horrified look at the screen. Please stop, she mentally screams. Not another word. Leave it buried in the past—let it gnaw at me inside, and only me. No one else needs to know.
Jim stares into her pleading eyes, taking great pleasure from the vivisection of her heart. "You two kissed."
Sherlock narrows his eyes at her, feeling another wave of jealousy building up inside, and concludes, That's why she never talked about him.
Jim keeps talking flatly as if he wasn't relishing that emotional torture. "Just one kiss. That's all it took for everything to fall apart. One kiss—a momentary lapse of judgment on your part that made you lose the closest person you had. I bet it meant little to you. Am I wrong, Giulia? You did it in the heat of the moment when he told you the MI6 had unravelled another lead in the investigation. Is this the justification you gave yourself? It was the euphoria, the wave of enthusiasm coupled with the romantic setting of the city, perhaps?" Jim comes up with all the possible excuses that she might have provided herself for that impulsive gesture.
"It might not have been very meaningful to you, but you didn't suspect it was a huge deal for Thomas. You had been so blind and naïve, so self-centred and focused on your grief that you didn't realise that he was desperately pining for you. Now, I'm really curious to hear about your version of that night. Why did you kiss him?"
Giulia looks down, defeated. When she speaks, her voice is nothing more than a whisper. "I felt lost. I was so confused. I kissed him because when I was with him I didn't feel alone. For the first time since my parents' death and since Luca's poisonous love, he was the first person with whom I felt almost like myself."
'Almost'. Sherlock didn't miss that critical addition. Almost is not enough. Nobody should feel any less than completely themselves with the right person.
She takes a deep breath, mustering the courage to meet Thomas' crushed gaze.
"I'm so sorry, Tommy, I really am."
Sherlock frowns at that affectionate nickname and realises what awakened in him the green-eyed monster of jealousy. It is the level of intimacy she shared with that man. He doesn't even care that the two of them kissed; that's just a simple act. The sparkle of his jealousy lies in her familiar attitude. Even the banal use of a nickname reveals deep closeness. This is what he aspires to have with her, and this is what he is most jealous of.
Giulia keeps apologising to her bodyguard, her voice is choked-up. "I shouldn't have done it. I made a gigantic mistake. I should have never led you on."
Jim rolls up his eyes in annoyance. "That's one of the worst flaws of human nature: you people go around hurting others and then fall on your knees to implore forgiveness, expecting that your apologies will wipe the slate clean."
"As if you'd never hurt anyone," John sarcastically intervenes.
"Oh, I've done plenty of hurting. But the difference between me and you mere mortals is that I don't regret anything; I reprimand nothing to myself. But you do, don't you, Giulia? And I'm not just talking about that insignificant kiss. No, that was just a fleeting moment. Everything truly went south a couple of days later when you and Thomas moved to London, after discovering that the criminal organisation that had ordered the explosion at the Consulate had its UK headquarters here. You did it on the very first day in this city."
John furrows his brow. "Did what?"
"Broke his heart," Jim declares, and Sherlock pricks up his ears for a much-awaited explanation of why the two of them went separate ways. It is not long in coming from the mouth of the criminal genius.
"Thomas presented her with his plans for their new life. He had thought of everything: they would move to a quiet small town in the Lake District, far from the dangers of the City and the risk of further attacks by the head of that criminal web on whom the MI6 was still groping in the dark. A little hint: I'm talking about moi," He points his thumbs at himself.
"Thomas got it all figured out; they would lead a tranquil, uneventful life together, sharing love and affection." He fakes a dreamy look. "But she rejected him. She rejected all of his ideas. He was so heartbroken." He casts a pitiful glance at his prisoner.
Sherlock, who has just sobered up from his fit of jealousy after hearing about her rejection, focuses back on Jim's involvement and says sharply, "Are you trying to make a point? Apart from your deliberate attempt at crushing her spirit with all this reminiscing, I fail to see how you fit in all of that."
Moriarty relaxes his shoulders. He was waiting for someone to inquire about his connection with the bodyguard. He expected that Giulia would ask that question, but Sherlock seems much more eager to get to the bottom of her story. Getting the detached, emotionless detective jealous is his most ambitious goal for this round, and by the looks of it, his plan is working out just perfectly.
"I had been keeping an eye on Thomas Wellington ever since he left Latin America to rejoin the British Secret Service as a consultant. I knew all about him, but I was surprised to see him working for the MI6 again after his previous experience when he was at the service of a British ambassador. I analysed his bizarre movements: he was transferred at regular intervals from city to city, across the world. Now we can all imagine that he was travelling with Giulia, escorting her to every new place. And yet Giulia was always kept locked up, out of the world's eyes, so I couldn't imagine any of that, back then. Still, his return to the MI6 service could only mean that he was directly involved in the ongoing investigation of the attack at the Consulate. Yet, it didn't add up: what could possibly justify his active participation in the enquiry? After all, he was the late bodyguard of a deceased woman. What added value could he bring to the table?" He rhetorically asks.
"I studied him for quite some time and decided he could be incredibly useful. He was in the inner circle and was likely to be the weak link. I know Mycroft Holmes's men; they are all quite trustworthy but Thomas... Oh, he could be convinced." A malicious smile bends the corner of his mouth.
"I just needed to find out how. As soon as he landed in London, I started conducting surveillance on him. I saw him getting out of the office in a miserable mood at the end of his very first day in London. It was the night Giulia rejected him. This is when I made his acquaintance. But let me tell you a story."
Author's note: Dear readers, I split this round into several chapters to make it easier to read. Now, Giulia's complete backstory has finally been revealed. I'd love to have your thoughts about this chapter. I promise that the action will come, but I needed some dialogue to set the scene. I hope you don't mind. After all, Moriarty is one of my all-time favourite villains, and I couldn't help but indulge in long scenes with him.