Chapter 2 - THE GRAVE BENEATH THE ROSES
The rain was falling harder now, a steady, driving downpour that washed the dirt from the shovels the groundskeepers had just dropped.
Vincent Bellini didn't take his eyes off the freshly disturbed soil.
His dark suit was already soaked, clinging to his broad shoulders. He looked like a statue carved from granite, terrifyingly still.
“Matteo,” Vincent said, his voice quiet but carrying clearly over the sound of the rain.
A massive man in a wet trench coat stepped forward from the line of SUVs.
“Yes, Boss.”
“Give me a shovel,” Vincent ordered.
Matteo handed him one of the mud-caked spades.
Mrs. Hargrove took a step backward on the wet terrace, her face turning a sickly shade of gray. “Mr. Bellini, please! It’s pouring. We can discuss the landscaping tomorrow.”
Vincent didn't look at her.
He walked into the garden, his expensive leather shoes sinking into the mud. He stopped directly beneath his father’s window, right beside the oldest, largest yellow rosebush.
He drove the shovel into the soft earth.
Upstairs, Sophie stood beside Nicholas’s wheelchair.
The old man’s breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his wool blanket. His eyes were wide, fixed on his son.
“It’s okay, Mr. Nicholas,” Sophie whispered, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He’s listening to you now.”
Nicholas let out a sound. It wasn't a word, just a low, guttural vibration in his throat, but it was filled with absolute desperation.
Vincent dug deeper.
The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead. He threw aside clumps of wet earth, the hole growing wider.
Two feet down, the shovel hit something hard.
A dull thud echoed in the damp air.
Vincent stopped.
He dropped the shovel and fell to his knees in the mud. He began tearing the dirt away with his bare, tattooed hands.
“Boss, let me,” Matteo said, stepping forward.
“Stay back,” Vincent growled.
He pulled the last layer of soil away.
Resting in the earth was a heavy, rusted metal lockbox.
Vincent dragged it out of the hole. It was heavy, covered in mud and old roots.
He carried it up to the stone terrace and dropped it with a heavy clang at Mrs. Hargrove’s feet.
“Open it,” Vincent commanded.
The housekeeper was shaking so violently her teeth were chattering.
“I… I don't have the key, sir,” she stammered.
Vincent didn't ask twice. He pulled a heavy tactical knife from his belt and drove the hilt down violently onto the rusted padlock.
The lock shattered.
Vincent flipped the lid open.
Sophie leaned closer to the window upstairs, trying to see.
Inside the box were dozens of small, velvet pouches.
Vincent grabbed one and dumped its contents into his muddy palm.
A glittering cascade of diamonds, emeralds, and heavy gold chains fell out.
Sophie gasped.
They weren't just any jewels. She recognized them from the portraits hanging in the grand hallways of the estate.
“My mother’s jewelry,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, contained rage.
He looked up at Mrs. Hargrove.
The housekeeper was crying now, stepping backward toward the French doors.
“Sir, I can explain! The insurance adjusters—”
“You reported these stolen three years ago,” Vincent said, standing up. “You said the house had been burglarized while I was in Chicago.”
Mrs. Hargrove sobbed, shaking her head. “Please, Mr. Bellini.”
Vincent didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.
“You stole my dead mother’s jewelry, buried it under the roses she planted, and you planned to dig it up before I arrived to sell it.”
He took a step toward her.
“And my father,” Vincent said, glancing up at the second-story window, “had to sit there, trapped in his own body, and watch you violate his wife’s memory every single night.”
Mrs. Hargrove fell to her knees. “I’m sorry! I just… the medical bills for your father were so high, and I thought—”
“Do not insult my intelligence,” Vincent interrupted.
He looked at Matteo.
“Put her in the basement,” Vincent ordered. “We’ll find out who she was planning to fence these to. Then, call the police. I want her charged with grand larceny and elder abuse.”
Two guards stepped forward, grabbing the screaming housekeeper by the arms and dragging her into the mansion.
Vincent stood on the terrace, the rain washing the mud from his hands.
He looked up at the window again.
He looked at his father.
And then he looked at the young, pregnant maid standing faithfully by his side.
Vincent walked back into the house and headed straight for the stairs.
When he pushed open the door to his father’s bedroom, Sophie immediately stepped back, lowering her head respectfully.
Vincent walked over to his father’s wheelchair.
He knelt down, resting his muddy hands on the arms of the chair.
“You saw her,” Vincent said softly.
Nicholas blinked. A single tear fell.
“You saw her burying them.”
Nicholas blinked again.
Vincent buried his face in his father’s lap, his broad shoulders shaking. The ruthless mafia boss was completely broken in front of the man he thought he had lost.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Vincent choked out. “I left you with monsters. I’m so sorry.”
Nicholas’s trembling, frail hand slowly lifted from the blanket.
It took all the strength he had left in his body, but he managed to rest his hand on the back of his son’s head.
Sophie wiped her own eyes, turning away to give them privacy.
“Sophie,” Vincent said.
She turned back. “Yes, sir?”
Vincent stood up. His eyes were red, but the ruthless edge had returned to his jaw.
“Pack your things,” he said.
Sophie’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“Sir? Please, I need this job. I have a baby coming.”
“You are not fired, Sophie,” Vincent said, his voice softening slightly. “But you are not a maid anymore.”
He looked at the yellow rose resting in the glass beside his father’s bed.
“Mrs. Hargrove is gone. I need someone I can trust to oversee my father’s care. Someone who actually sees him.”
Vincent looked at her pregnant belly.
“You will move into the guest suite down the hall. You will have full medical benefits, and whatever salary you need for your daughter.”
Sophie covered her mouth, a sob escaping her lips. “Sir, I… thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Don't thank me,” Vincent said. “You saved his life.”
He turned back to his father.
“We’re going to get you the best doctors in the world, Dad. We’re going to figure out exactly what’s happening in your head.”
Nicholas’s eyes moved frantically.
He wasn't looking at Vincent.
He was looking at the small bedside table.
Vincent frowned. “Dad? What is it?”
Nicholas’s trembling fingers pointed at a small, silver tray where his daily medications were kept.
Sophie stepped forward. “It’s his afternoon medicine, sir. Mrs. Hargrove usually gives it to him, but she was too busy preparing for your arrival today.”
Vincent picked up the small plastic cup. Inside was a single, unmarked blue pill.
“What is this?” Vincent asked.
Sophie shook her head. “I don't know, sir. Mrs. Hargrove locked his medical file in her office.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
May you like
He picked up the pill, holding it up to the light.
And as he did, Nicholas let out another guttural, desperate sound, his eyes wide with absolute terror.
