Chapter 5 - The Secret Sofia Took to Her Grave
Marco watched the video twice.
The second time hurt worse.
His father placed the bottle on Sofia’s desk.
There was no violence.
No dramatic confession.
Nothing that could belong in a movie.
That made it more terrible.
Vittorio spoke calmly.
“You should have left the accounts alone.”
Sofia stared at him.
“You are stealing from your own son.”
“I am protecting him.”
“By giving Salvatore control?”
“By making sure Marco inherits something powerful enough to survive.”
“He doesn’t want this life.”
“He doesn’t know what he wants.”
“He is twenty-three.”
“He is a Moretti.”
Sofia shook her head.
“No. He is our son.”
Vittorio’s face hardened.
“You’ve become sentimental.”
“I’ve become afraid of you.”
Then Sofia said the sentence Marco would hear in his sleep for years.
“If anything happens to me, Marco will eventually learn what you are.”
Vittorio looked directly toward the hidden camera.
For half a second, Marco wondered if he had known it was there.
Then Vittorio turned away.
The recording ended.
No murder.
No proof he physically administered anything.
But enough to destroy the version of his father Marco had carried in his head.
Marco closed the laptop.
Nobody spoke.
Elena stood several feet away.
She understood grief that arrived late.
Her own had been arriving all day.
Marco looked at Salvatore.
“My father ordered it.”
Salvatore shrugged.
“I said I wasn’t responsible.”
“You helped him.”
“I handled accounts.”
“You helped him.”
“I survived him.”
Marco stepped closer.
Salvatore finally looked nervous.
“Marco.”
“Did you know the medication was altered?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
Elena shut her eyes.
Marco’s voice became almost quiet.
“Who replaced Lucia’s medication?”
Salvatore looked toward Isabella’s empty chair.
Marco followed his gaze.
“No.”
Salvatore said nothing.
Elena stared.
“Isabella?”
Salvatore’s jaw tightened.
“It wasn’t supposed to kill Lucia.”
Elena lunged.
Marco caught her.
“Let me go!”
“Elena.”
“She killed my mother!”
Salvatore stood.
“She was instructed to scare her.”
“With medication?”
“Lucia refused to give us the trust documents.”
“So your daughter poisoned her?”
“The dose was supposed to make her sick.”
“She had cancer!”
Salvatore’s face finally showed shame.
“She was already dying.”
Elena stopped fighting Marco.
That sentence had been used twice today.
As though approaching death made a person’s remaining time worthless.
She looked at Salvatore with absolute disgust.
“My mother had six weeks.”
He looked away.
“She had six weeks.”
“I know.”
“She wanted to spend them with me.”
Salvatore did not answer.
“And your daughter took them.”
His silence confirmed everything.
Marco released Elena slowly.
She did not attack.
That frightened Salvatore more.
Elena wiped her eyes.
“Where is she?”
Dante answered.
“Guest suite downstairs.”
“Call the police.”
Everyone looked at Marco.
Salvatore almost laughed.
“The police?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
Marco stared at him.
“You expected what? A basement execution?”
Salvatore said nothing.
Marco continued.
“That is how my father handled betrayal.”
He looked at the laptop.
“I’ve spent fifteen years trying not to become him.”
Salvatore’s smile disappeared.
“Dante.”
“Yes.”
“Call Detective Grant directly. Give him everything.”
Dante nodded.
“And Isabella?”
“No one touches her.”
Elena looked at Marco.
He met her gaze.
“She answers for what she did in daylight.”
For the first time since the lake, Elena felt something inside her loosen.
Not relief.
Not yet.
But certainty.
Marco was not Vittorio.
Her mother had been right about that.
Police arrived forty minutes later.
The gates that had once kept outsiders away opened for marked vehicles.
Guests who had stayed to give statements watched from a distance.
Detectives collected the storage device.
The papers.
The laptop copy.
Salvatore’s phone.
Isabella’s phone.
Carlo gave a statement about Sofia and Lucia.
Vale surrendered the altered medication bottle he had kept hidden for fourteen months.
Elena sat in the breakfast room wearing dry clothes Teresa had brought.
A loose cream sweater.
Black pants.
No uniform.
She never wanted to see that pink dress again.
Teresa entered quietly.
“Can I sit?”
Elena looked at the chair.
“Yes.”
Teresa sat.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally Elena asked, “Why didn’t my mother tell me about you?”
Teresa folded her hands.
“Because I made a mistake.”
“What kind?”
“Years ago, Salvatore paid me for information.”
Elena looked at her.
“I was broke. My husband was sick. I told myself it was harmless.”
“What information?”
“Which nights Sofia met with Lucia.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Teresa’s voice broke.
“I didn’t know what they were planning. When Sofia died, I understood.”
“Did my mother forgive you?”
“Eventually.”
“Did you forgive yourself?”
Teresa shook her head.
“No.”
Elena studied her.
She wanted to be angry.
Part of her was.
But another part saw the seventy-year-old woman who had quietly packed lunches for her, defended her from Isabella’s insults and stayed late when Elena’s mother died because she knew Elena should not be alone.
Her aunt.
A stranger.
Family.
All at once.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” Elena whispered.
“You don’t have to know today.”
Elena nodded.
Teresa reached across the table.
She did not touch Elena.
She simply left her hand there.
After a moment, Elena placed hers over it.
Neither spoke.
Marco appeared at the doorway.
He stopped when he saw them.
“I can come back.”
Elena shook her head.
“It’s okay.”
Teresa stood.
“I should find Carlo.”
When she left, Marco entered.
“You all right?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Elena frowned.
He clarified.
“I’d be worried if you said yes.”
That earned him a tired smile.
He sat across from her.
“The detectives will want another statement.”
“I figured.”
“They arrested Isabella.”
Elena looked down.
“For attempted murder?”
“Aggravated assault for the lake. They’re still reviewing Lucia’s case.”
Elena nodded.
“And Salvatore?”
“Conspiracy, fraud, obstruction. More charges coming.”
“Carlo?”
“Being questioned.”
“Vale?”
“Also.”
Elena looked toward the window.
The lake was visible through the trees.
“Your party was expensive.”
Marco blinked.
“What?”
“I ruined it.”
He stared at her.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
It surprised both of them.
“You think you ruined my engagement party?”
“I fell into the lake.”
“You were pushed.”
She looked at him.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saying it correctly.”
His expression softened.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
He leaned back.
“Isabella did me a favor.”
Elena raised an eyebrow.
“That’s generous.”
“She showed me who she was before I married her.”
Elena nodded.
“That’s true.”
Silence settled.
Not uncomfortable this time.
Marco looked at her.
“There’s something else.”
“Of course there is.”
Her dry tone made him almost smile.
“The trust.”
Elena groaned.
“I was hoping everyone forgot I apparently own part of your company.”
“Thirty-one percent.”
“Please stop saying the number.”
“You own thirty-one percent.”
“Marco.”
“It becomes funny after the sixth time.”
“It really doesn’t.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“You don’t have to keep it.”
“I know.”
“But don’t give it up because you feel it belongs to me.”
She looked at him.
“It belonged to your mother.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“She deliberately gave it to you.”
“To my mother.”
“For you.”
Elena stared at the table.
“What am I supposed to do with a third of a company?”
“Annoy me at board meetings.”
“I already annoy you for free.”
“Yes, but now you can vote.”
She laughed.
It was small.
Painful.
But real.
Marco realized it was the first sound all day that made the house feel alive again.
Then his phone rang.
Dante.
Marco answered.
“What?”
His expression changed.
“When?”
Elena watched.
“What happened?”
Marco ended the call.
“Isabella escaped.”
Elena stood.
“What?”
“During transport.”
“How?”
“Vehicle collision.”
“Was she freed?”
“Looks planned.”
Elena felt cold.
“Her father?”
“Still in custody.”
“Then who helped her?”
Marco’s phone buzzed again.
A photograph arrived from an unknown number.
He opened it.
Elena saw his face.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward her.
The photograph showed Villa Moretti.
Taken from outside the gates.
Twenty minutes earlier.
Someone had circled an upstairs window in red.
Elena’s bedroom.
Beneath it was a message.
SHE STILL HAS WHAT BELONGS TO US.
Elena stared.
“I don’t have anything.”
Marco looked toward her mother’s letter on the table.
Then at the broken silver locket beside it.
Elena followed his eyes.
She picked up the locket.
Something rattled inside.
Marco frowned.
“Was that there before?”
“No.”
Elena pressed the broken hinge.
A tiny inner compartment opened.
Inside was a folded strip of paper.
One address.
One date.
May you like
And two words.
LORENZO LIVES.
