Chapter 4 - THE GRAVE OF LIES
I stared at the ultrasound photograph.
Twins.
Isabella hadn't just been protecting Oliver. She had been carrying two more of Matteo’s children.
I ran back to the drawing-room, clutching the red coat and the photograph. When I handed the picture to Matteo, the color drained entirely from his face.
For a man who controlled a criminal empire, he suddenly looked completely broken.
He stared at the black-and-white image. His thumb traced the tiny shapes on the paper.
"She was pregnant," he whispered.
Serena, still tied to the chair, turned her head away. But she couldn't hide the flicker of panic in her eyes.
"Why didn't she tell me?" Matteo asked, looking at Serena. "Why run?"
"Because," Serena snapped, her voice dripping with venom, "if she told you, my father would have killed her before the babies drew their first breath. A mafia boss can't have an heir with a woman not approved by the Commission."
Matteo’s jaw clenched. "I am the head of this family."
"You were a placeholder!" Serena shouted. "You were supposed to marry me! But you fell in love with a civilian. My father ordered the hit. We rigged the car. But your precious wife figured it out."
Reversal. Serena wasn't acting out of jealousy alone. This was a coordinated mafia coup.
"If you rigged the car," I said, my voice shaking, "who was in it when it burned?"
Serena smiled, a cold, empty expression.
"Why don't you ask Dante?" she taunted.
Matteo grabbed Serena by the throat, his eyes blazing with a fury I had never seen. "If you hurt my children..."
"Daddy!" Oliver cried out from the doorway.
Matteo immediately released her. He took a ragged breath, smoothing his suit. He would not be a monster in front of his son.
"Dante is in the cellar," Matteo said to his men. "Bring him up. Now."
Ten minutes later, Dante was dragged into the room. His lip was bleeding, and his hands were zip-tied behind his back.
Matteo held up the silver rosary.
"My mother’s rosary," Matteo said. "Isabella left it for me. Tell me how she got it, Dante."
Dante looked at the floor. "Boss, please—"
"TELL ME!" Matteo roared.
"We didn't put a stranger in the car," Dante whispered, refusing to make eye contact. "We needed DNA to match yours so the police would close the case. Serena's father ordered us to dig up the family plot."
The room went dead silent.
My stomach heaved.
"You dug up my mother?" Matteo asked, his voice suddenly very quiet.
"We took the bones," Dante confessed, tears finally spilling down his bruised face. "We put them in the driver's seat. When the car burned, the police found Vitale DNA. They assumed it was Isabella. Isabella found out what we did right before she ran. She took the rosary from the casket before she vanished."
Matteo looked like he had been shot.
The woman he had mourned, the grave he had visited every Sunday—he had been crying over an empty plot, while his mother's remains had been burned to stage his wife's murder.
I looked at Serena. She looked triumphant.
"You see, Emma?" Serena sneered at me. "You're playing in a world you don't understand. Go back to washing dishes before you end up in a box too."
I walked right up to her.
And I slapped her.
Just as hard as she had slapped me.
Serena gasped in shock. Matteo’s men didn't even blink.
"I'll wash the dishes when you're in a prison cell," I told her.
Matteo looked at me, a flicker of profound respect crossing his eyes. He turned back to Dante.
"Where is she going?" Matteo demanded, holding up the train ticket. "This ticket is for tomorrow. St. Jude's Station. Who is meeting her there?"
Dante shook his head. "I swear on my life, Boss, I don't know. Once she escaped, she went off the grid. But my men intercepted a phone call yesterday. Serena’s father knows where she is."
"And?"
"He sent an execution squad," Dante whispered. "They're already at the station. They have orders to kill her and the babies on sight."
Matteo pulled his gun from his holster.
"Emma," Matteo said. "Pack a bag for Oliver. We're leaving."
"I'm coming with you," I said firmly.
"It's too dangerous."
"Oliver needs me," I insisted. "And he trusts me."
Matteo stared at me for a long second, then nodded. "Five minutes."
As I turned to run upstairs, the heavy mahogany doors of the drawing-room burst open.
One of Matteo’s perimeter guards stumbled inside, clutching his stomach. Blood poured through his fingers.
"Boss," the guard choked out, collapsing to his knees. "They're here. Serena's father... he brought the whole family."
Through the shattered windows, the laser sights of sniper rifles suddenly swept across the room, painting red dots across Matteo's chest.
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And from the shadows of the hallway, a man in a white suit stepped forward, holding a very familiar blue music box.
"Hello, Matteo," the man smiled. "I hear you're looking for your wife."
