Chapter 3 - The Woman in Her Mother’s Coat
The drive to Cefalù took less than an hour.
It felt like five.
Dante wanted Elena to remain behind.
She refused.
“My mother left the villa to me.”
“Which makes you the obvious target.”
“Then stay close.”
Dante looked at her.
Something almost resembling approval passed through his eyes.
“That's exactly what I intend to do.”
Giancarlo came too.
Nobody invited him.
Nobody stopped him.
The old Bellini villa stood above the coast, surrounded by olive trees and stone walls.
Dante’s men entered first.
No woman.
No intruder.
No white coat.
But the front door had been unlocked.
Elena entered behind Dante.
Memories hit immediately.
Her mother playing piano.
Luca racing down the hallway.
Giancarlo shouting from his office.
Summer dinners on the terrace.
Then cancer.
Hospitals.
Silence.
Elena touched the wall.
Dante noticed.
“You all right?”
“No.”
It was the first completely honest answer she had given him.
He nodded.
“Good.”
She frowned.
“Good?”
“People who say they're fine when they aren't make bad decisions.”
Despite everything, Elena almost laughed.
They found Isabella’s private room beneath the library.
The brass key opened it.
Inside stood a desk.
Bookshelves.
A filing cabinet.
And a wall safe.
Elena inserted the key again.
Nothing.
“Different lock,” Marco said.
Giancarlo entered.
“Her birthday.”
Elena turned.
“What?”
“The combination.”
“How would you know?”
“I was her husband.”
Elena looked at him coldly.
“That hasn't impressed me much tonight.”
Dante hid the beginning of a smile.
Giancarlo entered six digits.
The safe opened.
Empty.
Elena’s heart fell.
Then Dante crouched.
“Not empty.”
He reached inside.
A torn piece of paper lay in the corner.
One line.
G.B. WAS NEVER THE ONLY ONE.
Giancarlo stared.
Salvatore arrived behind them.
“Isabella’s handwriting.”
Dante examined the safe.
Dust covered most of the interior.
Except one rectangular area.
“A book was here.”
“The ledger,” Elena said.
Someone had taken it.
Recently.
Marco called from upstairs.
“Dante!”
They ran.
A side door stood open.
Outside, tire marks cut through the dirt.
On the floor lay a white coat.
Elena stopped.
She recognized it.
Her mother’s.
But Isabella had not been buried in it.
Elena suddenly remembered.
At the funeral, the coffin had remained closed.
Giancarlo had insisted illness had changed Isabella too much.
Elena turned slowly.
“Papa.”
Giancarlo knew what she was going to ask.
“No.”
“You told me she was buried wearing this.”
“I chose another coat.”
“You wouldn't let me see her body.”
“Elena.”
“Did you see her?”
Silence.
“Did you actually see Mama after she died?”
Giancarlo looked away.
Elena’s knees weakened.
Dante caught her.
Salvatore whispered, “Giancarlo.”
The older man sat.
“The hospital told me she died.”
“You didn't see her?”
“No.”
Elena stared.
“Then how do you know she died?”
Giancarlo looked at his daughter.
“I don't.”
The room became impossibly quiet.
Elena felt anger before hope.
Hope was too dangerous.
“You buried an empty coffin?”
“No. There was a body.”
“Whose?”
“I don't know.”
Dante stepped forward.
“Start talking.”
Giancarlo finally did.
Three years earlier, Isabella had been receiving treatment privately.
Then she disappeared from the clinic.
Hours later, Giancarlo received photographs showing what appeared to be her body.
He was instructed to arrange a closed funeral and never ask questions.
“Why obey?” Elena demanded.
“Because they sent another photograph.”
“Of what?”
Giancarlo looked at her.
“You and Luca.”
Elena stopped.
“They threatened us?”
“Yes.”
“And instead of telling us, you spent three years destroying my life?”
“I needed you predictable.”
“Isolated.”
“Alive.”
Dante interrupted.
“Who are they?”
Giancarlo shook his head.
“I knew only one intermediary.”
“Name.”
“Carlo Vescari.”
Marco stiffened.
Dante noticed.
“You know him.”
“Everyone does.”
Vescari was a respected financier.
Charity boards.
Banks.
Political campaigns.
The sort of man photographed beside bishops.
Elena remembered him attending her mother’s funeral.
He had kissed her forehead.
She suddenly felt sick.
Dante called one of his men.
“Find Vescari.”
The answer came minutes later.
Vescari had disappeared that afternoon.
His house was empty.
His phone disconnected.
But one vehicle registered to his company had crossed a toll camera near Cefalù twenty minutes earlier.
The same model that had left tracks outside the villa.
Dante looked toward the road.
“He was here.”
Elena picked up her mother’s coat.
Something fell from the pocket.
A hotel key card.
Grand Hotel Palermo.
Room 612.
Marco checked it.
“Expired yesterday.”
Elena turned it over.
Written in ink:
E.B. — COME ALONE.
Dante shook his head.
“No.”
Elena looked at him.
“It has my initials.”
“Which is exactly why you're not going alone.”
“It might be from my mother.”
“It might be from someone who knows you want it to be.”
She hated that he was right.
They returned to Palermo before dawn.
Dante arranged security around Elena.
She noticed something else.
He never treated her like property.
He asked before entering her room.
Asked before touching her arm.
Asked whether she wanted his mother nearby.
This was not the man her father had described.
Later, Elena stood on the balcony outside the bridal suite.
Dante joined her.
Neither spoke for a while.
Finally Elena said, “You could still annul the marriage.”
Dante looked at her.
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
The answer surprised both of them.
Elena lowered her eyes.
“I don't know you.”
“No.”
“But tonight you believed me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you looked terrified of my judgment, not guilty of your past.”
Elena swallowed.
“And because,” Dante continued, “I know what it looks like when someone uses reputation as a weapon.”
She looked at him.
“Your father?”
“My family.”
That was all he offered.
It was enough.
Elena whispered, “Thank you.”
Dante nodded.
“Get some sleep.”
“You're leaving?”
“To find out who was in room 612.”
Elena hesitated.
“Dante?”
He stopped.
“My father wanted you to reject me.”
“Yes.”
“But you haven't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
He looked at her for several seconds.
“Because I don't let another man decide what my wife is worth.”
Then he left.
At 6:14 a.m., Elena woke to her phone vibrating.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed Dante entering the Grand Hotel.
Underneath:
HE ISN’T LOOKING FOR YOUR MOTHER.
HE IS LOOKING FOR THE LEDGER.
Another photograph arrived.
Dante stood beside a woman.
Elena zoomed in.
The woman’s face was obscured.
But around her neck was Isabella Bellini’s emerald pendant.
Elena called Dante.
No answer.
Then someone knocked.
“Elena?”
She recognized the voice.
Her father.
She opened the door.
Giancarlo stood there holding an old hospital bracelet.
ISABELLA BELLINI.
His hands were shaking.
“They found this outside.”
“Outside where?”
Giancarlo looked toward the corridor.
“Your bedroom.”
A door at the far end slowly opened.
A woman stepped into the hallway.
She wore Isabella’s emerald pendant.
Elena stopped breathing.
May you like
The woman lifted her face.
And Elena whispered, “Mama?”
