Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT THE CAR CRASHED
The heavy silver rosary lay on the Persian rug, its dark beads gleaming under the crystal chandeliers.
Matteo stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the object as if it were a venomous snake.
“Matteo?” I asked softly, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. He slowly knelt down and picked up the rosary. The silver cross swung back and forth, reflecting the light.
“My father carried this every day of his life,” Matteo said, his voice barely a whisper. “When he died ten years ago, I placed it in his casket myself. I watched them close the lid.”
A cold chill swept through the dining room.
If Matteo had buried it with his father, how was it inside Bianca’s purse?
Mrs. Whitmore gripped the back of her chair, her face pale. “Arthur Voss didn’t work alone, Matteo. Your mother knew that.”
Matteo looked up at her, his jaw tightening. “What are you saying, Evelyn?”
“Arthur was just an accountant,” she said sadly. “He didn't have the power to siphon millions from the Sicily trust without authorization. Someone on the inside had to sign off on those transfers.”
Matteo stood up, the rosary clutched tightly in his fist. “My father?”
“Your father was drowning in gambling debts of his own,” Mrs. Whitmore explained, her voice trembling. “He and Arthur were working together. When your mother found the ledgers, she didn't just confront Arthur. She confronted your father.”
I felt sick to my stomach.
The man who was supposed to protect his family had betrayed them.
“That’s why she ran,” I whispered, the pieces finally clicking together. “She wasn't just running from Arthur. She was running from her own husband.”
Matteo closed his eyes, a look of profound grief washing over his face. He had spent his entire life believing his father was a stern but honorable man, and that his mother’s death was a tragic accident.
In one night, everything he knew had been destroyed.
Suddenly, the heavy dining room doors slammed open.
Bianca stood in the doorway, but she wasn't crying anymore. Her silk gown was torn at the hem, and her makeup was smudged, giving her a wild, desperate look.
In her hand, she held a large, heavy brass fireplace poker.
“Get out!” Bianca screamed at the guests, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. “All of you, get out of my house!”
The twenty-two wealthy guests, who had been sitting in stunned silence, finally panicked. Chairs scraped loudly against the floor as people scrambled toward the opposite exit, murmuring in shock and fear.
Within seconds, the dining room was empty except for me, Matteo, Mrs. Whitmore, and Bianca.
Matteo stepped in front of me and Mrs. Whitmore, shielding us.
“Put that down, Bianca,” Matteo said calmly. “You’re making this worse for yourself.”
“Worse?” Bianca laughed hysterically. “You think I care about this stupid wedding? I want what is owed to my family!”
She pointed the heavy brass poker at me.
“My father died because of your family!” she shrieked. “He was supposed to run Margaret off the road, grab the ledgers, and leave. But her car spun out and hit his! He died in the mud while your precious mother bled out in the rain!”
I covered my mouth in horror.
“And my father?” Matteo asked, his voice dead flat. “Where was he?”
Bianca smiled a terrible, twisted smile. “Your father was sitting in his warm office, waiting for the phone call. When he found out Arthur was dead, he blamed my family. He ruined my mother. He took everything from us to cover his own tracks.”
She took a step closer, her eyes wild.
“I didn't steal that rosary from a grave, Matteo,” Bianca spat. “Your father gave it to my mother the night he fired her, right before he threatened to kill me if she ever spoke the truth. It was a bribe. A sick, twisted bribe.”
Matteo looked down at the rosary in his hand, his expression unreadable.
“I want the deed to the Sicily estate,” Bianca demanded, gripping the poker tighter. “Your mother’s will requires both heirs to unlock it. You and the maid. Sign it over to me right now, or I swear to God, I will burn this house to the ground with all of you in it.”
Matteo didn't move. He didn't blink.
He just slowly raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto his former fiancée.
“No,” he said.
Bianca let out a furious scream and lunged forward, swinging the heavy brass poker directly at Matteo’s head.
But before she could connect, a small, terrified voice echoed from the hallway.
“Dad?”
It was Leo.
Bianca froze mid-swing, her eyes darting toward the doorway.
May you like
Leo was standing there, clutching his favorite stuffed bear, tears streaming down his face.
And in that one split second of distraction, Matteo moved.
