Chapter 2 - What the Family Had Been Hiding
Dominic turned toward the glass door.
The sales associate stepped backward.
“I didn’t lock that.”
A man in a charcoal coat stood near the entrance.
Dominic recognized him immediately.
Marco Bellini.
His uncle’s longtime attorney.
Marco lifted both hands.
“Before you overreact, your mother sent me.”
“Unlock the door.”
“I need five minutes.”
“You have five seconds.”
Marco calmly turned the lock again.
The door opened.
“I locked it because photographers are across the street.”
Dominic looked outside.
Two men with long-lens cameras stood near a parked delivery van.
That changed the problem.
It did not improve Dominic’s mood.
“Why?”
Marco glanced at Isabella.
“The story was going to run tomorrow.”
“What story?”
Celeste whispered, “This is what I was trying to tell you.”
Dominic turned.
“Then start.”
Marco placed a tablet on the boutique counter.
A gossip site mock-up filled the screen.
The headline had not yet been published.
MAFIA HEIR'S WIFE TOO ASHAMED TO ATTEND FAMILY GALA?
Below it were photographs of Isabella entering shops, returning garment bags, leaving a tailor, walking beside Dominic.
The images were invasive.
One was particularly cruel.
The photographer had captured Isabella bending to enter a car and framed the picture to exaggerate her body.
Dominic felt Isabella release his hand.
He took it again.
“Who arranged this?”
Marco shook his head.
“We don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“We’re trying.”
Dominic scrolled.
Anonymous sources claimed Isabella had become “increasingly insecure.”
Another claimed Dominic was embarrassed by his wife’s appearance.
He stopped reading.
“That’s enough.”
Isabella remained silent.
Dominic turned to her.
“You knew?”
“Not about the article.”
“But something.”
She looked at Celeste.
Celeste finally surrendered.
“Three weeks ago I received a call.”
“From?”
“I don't know.”
“What did they say?”
“That if Isabella attended tomorrow’s charity dinner in one of the gowns you bought, photographs would be released.”
“What photographs?”
Celeste hesitated.
Dominic’s patience evaporated.
“What photographs?”
“Manipulated ones.”
Isabella looked confused.
Bianca spoke.
“Someone has been editing pictures of you.”
Isabella stared at her.
“Editing how?”
Celeste closed her eyes.
“Making you look larger.”
The cruelty of it hung in the room.
Isabella’s face changed.
Not because being larger was something shameful.
But because someone had weaponized the very insecurity others had already planted in her.
Dominic looked at his sister.
“And your solution was to make her more insecure?”
Celeste’s eyes filled with regret.
“I thought if she chose something conservative, the photographs wouldn't have the same impact.”
“So you told her she embarrassed me.”
“I never meant—”
“But you did.”
Celeste looked down.
“Yes.”
It was the first honest word she had offered him.
Dominic turned to Isabella.
“You're coming home with me.”
She nodded.
“Marco, handle the photographers.”
“Dominic—”
“Not violently.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t going to suggest violence.”
“You've known me since I was fourteen. You were thinking about it.”
Despite herself, Isabella almost laughed.
They left through the boutique’s rear entrance.
During the drive home, Isabella stared through the window.
Dominic did not pressure her.
Ten minutes passed.
Then she said, “Did you really remember me looking at that dress?”
“Yes.”
“Forty-seven seconds?”
“I counted.”
“Why?”
“I was waiting for you to move.”
She smiled faintly.
Then the smile disappeared.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For believing them.”
Dominic leaned back.
“That is not the apology I’m interested in.”
“What apology are you interested in?”
“The one my family owes you.”
She looked at him.
“They thought they were protecting you.”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
“They were protecting their comfort.”
She fell quiet.
Dominic watched the city pass outside.
“When did this start?”
“After our anniversary dinner.”
Six months earlier.
He remembered it.
Isabella had worn a fitted navy dress.
She had looked beautiful.
He had barely taken his eyes off her.
“What happened?”
“Your aunt made a joke.”
“Which aunt?”
“Dominic.”
“Which aunt?”
“Serafina.”
Of course.
His father’s younger sister had treated cruelty as if it were simply honesty delivered by someone wealthy enough not to apologize.
“What did she say?”
Isabella shook her head.
“It’s stupid.”
“Say it.”
“She asked whether you bought your suits with reinforced buttons now that you were married to someone who enjoyed dessert.”
Dominic stared ahead.
Isabella attempted to soften it.
“She laughed.”
“That improves nothing.”
“I know.”
“Who else?”
“Bianca made comments. Celeste mostly suggested clothes.”
“Suggested.”
“Strongly.”
Dominic inhaled slowly.
“And I never noticed.”
“You weren’t around when they said it.”
“That was intentional.”
Isabella looked at him.
He continued.
“They knew exactly what they were doing.”
The townhouse appeared ahead.
Security surrounded it.
Normally Isabella thought Dominic's precautions were excessive.
Today she was grateful.
Inside, he led her upstairs.
The plum gown had been delivered separately.
A housekeeper hung it outside their dressing room.
Isabella stopped beside it.
“You still want me to wear it tomorrow?”
“I want you to do whatever you want.”
“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”
“I’m experimenting.”
She smiled.
He touched her cheek.
“Bella.”
“Yes?”
“I chose you.”
Her eyes filled.
“You didn’t choose a dress size. You didn’t choose an image. You didn’t choose what my aunt thinks a Serrano wife should look like. You chose me.”
“I chose you because you are the only person who has ever told me I look ridiculous when I’m being ridiculous.”
“You do.”
“Frequently.”
She laughed.
Then he became serious.
“You never have to shrink yourself to make my family comfortable.”
Her lips trembled.
“That includes emotionally.”
She looked away.
Dominic gently turned her face back.
“Especially emotionally.”
That night, Isabella opened her closet.
Seven garment bags hung inside.
Dominic had quietly bought back every dress she had returned.
She stared.
He stood in the doorway.
“You kept them?”
“I’m persistent.”
“You’re insane.”
“That has also been suggested.”
She touched the emerald fabric.
Then the black velvet.
Then the plum gown.
“I thought you kept buying them because you wanted me to look different.”
Dominic’s expression tightened.
“I bought them because every time you passed one, you looked at it like a kid looking through a bakery window.”
Isabella laughed through tears.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No.”
She turned.
“I really don’t.”
They stayed there for a while.
For the first time in months, Isabella felt something inside her loosen.
But downstairs, Marco was waiting.
Dominic knew before the attorney spoke that the temporary peace was over.
“We identified one of the photographers.”
“Who hired him?”
“That’s the problem.”
Marco handed Dominic a printed invoice.
The payment had come through a shell company.
Dominic recognized the company name.
Serrano Holdings.
His own family business.
“Who authorized it?”
Marco hesitated.
“The signature belongs to someone in your household.”
Dominic looked up.
“Whose?”
Marco placed another document on the table.
Dominic read the name.
His face hardened.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Isabella stood at the top of the staircase.
She had heard enough.
“Dominic?”
He folded the document.
Too late.
She had seen the signature.
Her hand covered her mouth.
May you like
Because the person who had paid someone to photograph her was not Celeste.
It was Dominic’s mother.
