I WAS POURING CHAMPAGNE WHEN LUCA MORETTI’S SISTER TOOK THE MICROPHONE AND SAID TO HIS LATE BROTHER’S WIDO

The federal holding facility was a bleak, concrete fortress.

Because of Luca’s lingering influence and the sheer amount of money changing hands in the background, we were granted a private, unrecorded interview with Siena.

She was sitting at a metal table in a gray jumpsuit, her perfect blonde hair limp and greasy. She looked up as we entered the interrogation room, a sneer curling her lips.

“Have you come to beg for your ring back, Luca?” she taunted, leaning back in her chair.

Luca didn’t speak. He walked over to the table and slammed the letter down in front of her.

Siena’s eyes dropped to Michael’s handwriting. For a fraction of a second, she flinched.

“He knew, Siena,” Luca said softly, leaning over the table until he was inches from her face. “He knew you betrayed him to Marcus. He knew you were setting him up.”

Siena recovered quickly, tossing the letter aside. “So he was smart. Didn’t save him, did it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Luca said, pulling up a chair and sitting down slowly. “Michael knew the car was compromised. He was paranoid. He wouldn’t have just driven off to his death.”

Siena smiled lazily. “Maybe he was suicidal after realizing I chose money over him.”

“No,” I said, speaking up from the corner of the room. “He chose Rachel over you. The letter proves it. He was taking his wife and son and leaving you to take the fall.”

Siena’s eyes snapped to me, filled with venom. “The maid speaks. How quaint.”

Luca ignored the insult. He opened a manila folder he had brought with him. It contained the raw data from the crash site.

“The original police report,” Luca said, tapping the paper. “It notes that the brake lines were severed. But it also notes that there were massive skid marks on the road before the cliff.”

Siena went perfectly still.

“If the brakes were completely cut,” Luca continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “there wouldn’t be skid marks. You need functioning brakes to lock up the tires and skid.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“Marcus didn’t cut the brakes,” Luca said. “He told Bianca he was going to, but he chickened out, or Michael caught him. Michael drove that car because the car was perfectly fine.”

Siena swallowed hard. “Then why did he crash?”

“Because he swerved,” Luca said. “He swerved violently to avoid something in the road. He hit the guardrail, and the car flipped into the ravine.”

Luca stood up, towering over her.

“What was in the road, Siena?”

Siena looked away, her jaw clamped shut.

“Marcus arrived after the crash, found the car burning, took the watch, and claimed credit to consolidate power,” Luca theorized, putting the pieces together out loud. “But Marcus didn’t cause the accident. He just capitalized on it.”

Luca slammed his hands onto the table, making Siena jump.

“Who drove Michael off the road?” Luca roared.

Siena stared at him, cornered, trapped by her own lies. And finally, the arrogant mask cracked.

“I did!” she screamed, her voice echoing in the small room.

I gasped, covering my mouth.

Siena was hyperventilating, tears of rage and frustration spilling down her face.

“He was going to leave me, Luca!” she sobbed angrily. “He used me for two years! I risked my life stealing Marcus’s ledgers for him, and when he finally got the offshore money, he told me he couldn’t leave the saintly Rachel! He was going to abandon me!”

“So you killed him,” Luca whispered, horrified.

“I drove out to the canyon road that morning,” Siena confessed, her voice shaking. “I parked my car across both lanes. I stood in the middle of the road. I knew he was coming around that blind curve.”

She looked up, a twisted, sick pride in her eyes.

“He had a choice, Luca. He could hit me, or he could swerve. The great Michael Moretti, the noble family man. He couldn’t run over a woman. He yanked the wheel.”

I felt physically sick. She hadn’t just murdered him; she had used his own decency as a weapon against him.

“He went over the edge,” Siena whispered. “The car rolled. I climbed down the embankment to see if he was dead. The car was upside down, and the engine was on fire.”

Siena stopped, her eyes widening as if reliving a nightmare.

“What?” Luca demanded. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Siena breathed, looking at Luca with absolute terror. “I stood there and watched. But Luca… the fire hadn’t reached the cabin yet.”

Luca froze.

“Michael was alive,” Siena whispered. “He was trapped, but he was alive. He was reaching through the broken window. He begged me to help him out.”

The room spun. I grabbed the edge of the chair to steady myself.

“And you left him to burn,” Luca choked out, tears finally breaking through his stoic facade.

“I was going to pull him out!” Siena cried defensively. “But then… someone else came down the embankment.”

Luca stopped breathing. “Who?”

“I hid in the trees,” Siena stammered. “A car pulled over on the road above. A woman climbed down to the wreckage. I thought she was going to save him.”

Siena looked directly at me, then at Luca.

“But she didn’t save him, Luca. She stood over the car, listened to him beg for his life, and then she struck a match and threw it into the leaking gas puddle.”

Siena smiled, a deranged, broken smile.