Chapter 2 - THE SISTER I NEVER REALLY KNEW
My mafia boss husband had just admitted that someone in our house ordered my mother's murder.
Then his 29-year-old mistress looked me straight in the eyes and whispered five words.
"Ask him about your sister."
For a moment, I forgot about the gun in Dominic's hand.
My sister?
Claire was thirty-four. My baby sister. The girl I'd practically raised after our father abandoned us.
She'd been living in our guesthouse for eight months while recovering from a painful divorce.
What could she possibly have to do with my mother's death?
"Don't listen to her, Evelyn," Vincent said.
My forty-four-year-old husband had faced federal investigations, rival crime families, and men who wanted him buried.
I'd never seen him look afraid.
Until now.
Dominic lowered his pistol slightly.
"Vincent, we need to end this conversation."
"No," I said.
My voice surprised even me.
"For seventeen years, I've cooked your dinners, raised your son, entertained your business partners, and smiled beside you while people whispered about what kind of man you really are."
I stepped closer.
"I buried my mother three years ago. You stood beside me at her funeral. You held my hand while I cried."
Vincent looked away.
"Now you're going to tell me exactly what happened to her."
Celeste started crying.
I almost laughed.
Imagine having an affair with another woman's husband for seven years and somehow believing you're the victim.
"Your mother found something," Vincent finally said.
"What?"
"Documents. Bank accounts. Money Dominic had been moving without my permission."
Dominic's face hardened.
"Careful, Vincent."
"She threatened to take everything to the authorities," my husband continued. "I told her to stay out of it."
My stomach twisted.
"And when she wouldn't?"
Silence.
Then Dominic spoke.
"I gave the order."
Three years.
For three years, I'd believed my mother died from a sudden heart attack.
Now the man who'd carried her coffin was admitting he'd arranged her death.
I looked at Vincent.
"Did you know?"
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
I removed my wedding ring and placed it on the table.
Vincent stared at it.
"Evelyn, don't."
"Don't what? Stop pretending we're a happy family?"
He reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
At that exact moment, my phone vibrated.
Anthony.
My seventeen-year-old son.
MOM, PLEASE COME TO THE BALLROOM. I FOUND GRANDMA'S RECORDING. DON'T TELL DAD.
I looked toward the doors.
Vincent noticed.
"Who texted you?"
"Nobody."
I'd spent seventeen years learning how to recognize my husband's lies.
Apparently, he'd never bothered learning how to recognize mine.
I walked past him.
Dominic moved to block the doorway, but Vincent raised one hand.
"Let her go."
Outside, the anniversary celebration continued.
Music played. Guests laughed. Champagne flowed.
Eighty people celebrating a marriage that had been dead long before tonight.
Anthony stood near the grand piano.
His face was pale.
"Mom," he whispered, "Grandma knew."
He handed me his phone.
There was an audio recording dated four days before my mother's death.
I pressed play.
Her voice filled my ears.
"Evelyn, sweetheart, if you're hearing this, something has happened to me."
My knees weakened.
"There's something I should've told you months ago. Vincent isn't just lying about his business. He's been hiding a woman from you."
I closed my eyes.
Celeste.
Of course.
But then my mother continued.
"And honey, that woman isn't the one you think."
I stopped breathing.
"Please, whatever you do, don't let Claire convince you to sign anything. She knows exactly what Vincent has done."
Claire.
My sister.
The woman who'd held me while I cried at my mother's funeral.
Anthony touched my shoulder.
"Mom, there's something else."
He opened a photograph on his phone.
Vincent was standing outside a private medical clinic.
His arm was wrapped around a woman.
She was visibly pregnant.
The photograph had been taken six weeks earlier.
I enlarged the image.
The woman's face was turned toward the camera.
It wasn't Celeste.
It was Claire.
My sister.
I couldn't speak.
Then Anthony whispered something that made the entire room seem to disappear.
"Mom, Aunt Claire isn't divorced. She was never married."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He swallowed.
"Grandma found a marriage certificate in Dad's safe."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Anthony turned his phone toward me.
There it was.
A marriage certificate.
Vincent Moretti.
Claire Bennett.
Dated eight years ago.
Eight years.
My husband hadn't simply cheated with my sister.
He had secretly married her while he was still married to me.
And as I stood there staring at the proof, the ballroom doors opened.
Claire walked inside, one hand resting on her pregnant stomach.
She smiled at me.
May you like
Then she said the words that finally broke me.
"Evelyn, I'm glad Anthony told you. Now we can discuss what happens to your son."
