Chapter 6 - The Woman Behind the Murder“Her name was Celeste Marino.”
Dante spoke from his hospital bed.
Isabella stood at the window.
“The woman in the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“Your former fiancée.”
“Yes.”
“Did she kill my father?”
“No.”
“Then stop giving me pieces.”
Dante nodded.
“Celeste worked for Lorenzo.”
Isabella turned.
“What?”
“She discovered his smuggling operation. Instead of exposing him, she began blackmailing him.”
“Carlo found out.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Your father planned to expose them both.”
Dante's voice hardened.
“Celeste ordered two men to frighten him into silence. Lorenzo claims they exceeded instructions.”
“And you believed Lorenzo?”
“No.”
“Then what do you believe?”
“I believe Lorenzo didn't intend Carlo to die.”
That distinction mattered legally.
Not emotionally.
“Why is Celeste selling him the missing page?”
“Because it proves her payments funded the men at Pier Nine.”
Isabella understood.
“She wants it destroyed.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Dante hesitated.
“Boston.”
Isabella almost laughed.
So there had been a Boston after all.
Within forty-eight hours, federal investigators had Celeste's financial records.
Eleanor had quietly contacted them after the kidnapping.
The case was no longer merely Morty business.
That was precisely what Isabella wanted.
No executions.
No bodies disappearing into rivers.
Evidence.
Courtrooms.
Consequences that survived the men imposing them.
Dante hated it.
He cooperated anyway.
For the first time in decades, he gave testimony against people connected to his own organization.
Captains began abandoning him.
Business partners stopped calling.
Newspapers used words like “fracture” and “collapse.”
Dante lost millions.
Isabella watched from Providence.
He never asked her to save him.
That mattered too.
Three weeks later, Celeste Marino was arrested in Boston.
Lorenzo remained missing.
Then Isabella received an invitation.
Not from Dante.
From Maria.
Sunday dinner. The house feels too quiet.
Isabella almost refused.
Instead she drove down.
The Morty estate looked exactly the same.
That was the unsettling part.
Same gates.
Same marble.
Same chandeliers.
But when Isabella entered, no one lowered their voice.
Maria was arguing with a cook.
Someone laughed in the hall.
Music played from the kitchen.
Isabella stopped.
Dante appeared at the staircase.
His injury had left him thinner.
He wore no jacket.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Dante said, “Hello, Isabella.”
Not Bella.
She noticed.
“Hello.”
Dinner was small.
Maria.
Marco.
Father Antonio.
Two old family friends.
No politicians.
No captains.
No seating chart.
Isabella almost smiled.
After dessert, she found Dante on the terrace.
“You changed the house.”
“No.”
He looked inside.
“I stopped making everyone afraid to live in it.”
She studied him.
“Why?”
“Because after you left, I could hear how quiet it was.”
Wind moved through the cypresses.
Dante held out a folder.
“What is this?”
“Divorce papers.”
Isabella stared.
Already signed.
By him.
Her throat tightened.
“You filed?”
“No. They're yours if you want them.”
“Why now?”
“Because I realized something.”
He looked toward her.
“If I ask you to stay while the door is locked, your answer means nothing.”
She said nothing.
“So I'm opening it.”
He placed the folder on the table.
“If you leave, Bellandi Harbor remains yours. The Providence house is yours. Anything inherited from Carlo is yours. I won't contest a dollar.”
“And if I stay?”
Dante's expression softened.
“Then I'd like the chance to meet my wife.”
Her eyes burned.
“You were married to me for six years.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I was married to a version of you that required nothing from me except obedience.”
“And what makes you think the real version wants you?”
“Nothing.”
A faint smile.
“That seems to be the terrifying part.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Dante stared.
“What?”
“I don't remember hearing you laugh like that.”
Her smile faded.
“That isn't my fault.”
“No.”
He accepted it immediately.
“It's mine.”
Isabella looked at the divorce papers.
She did not sign them.
She did not tear them up either.
She left them on the table.
“I need time.”
“Take it.”
She walked away.
At the doorway she stopped.
“Dante?”
“Yes?”
“You really told Lorenzo you'd burn your companies before taking my trust?”
“Yes.”
“That was financially idiotic.”
He almost smiled.
“I've recently discovered my wife understands money better than I do.”
“Your estranged wife.”
“Right.”
She left before he could see her smile.
That night, Isabella slept in Providence.
At 2:03 a.m., her security alarm activated.
She sat upright.
Glass broke downstairs.
Her bedroom door opened.
Isabella grabbed the pistol from her nightstand.
A figure stepped inside.
She aimed.
“Don't.”
The light came on.
Lorenzo stood there.
His face was bruised.
A gun hung from his hand.
But he wasn't aiming it at her.
He looked terrified.
“Put the gun down,” Isabella ordered.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because they're coming.”
“Who?”
Lorenzo laughed breathlessly.
“You think Celeste was the top of this?”
A vehicle stopped outside.
Then another.
Lorenzo looked toward the window.
“No.”
His eyes returned to Isabella.
“She was paying someone.”
“Who?”
“The man your father was really trying to expose.”
Headlights swept across the ceiling.
Lorenzo whispered one name.
Isabella's blood ran cold.
Because she knew him.
Everyone in the state knew him.
May you like
Senator Thomas Bellini.
The man whose wife hated roses.
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