Chapter 4 - The Fiancée Who Knew Too Much
Isabella Romano arrived at the estate the following morning wearing a cream-colored cashmere coat and a diamond engagement ring large enough to catch the winter sunlight.
She stepped out of her chauffeured sedan as though the blizzard had been arranged for her inconvenience.
“Where is Lorenzo?”
A guard opened the front door.
“In his study, ma'am.”
“Tell him I'm here.”
She swept past him.
Inside, the mansion was unusually quiet.
Two unfamiliar security officers stood near the staircase.
Mrs. Gable was nowhere to be seen.
Isabella noticed immediately.
“What happened to the staff?”
No one answered.
She removed her gloves.
“I asked a question.”
Lorenzo appeared at the end of the corridor.
“Isabella.”
She smiled.
“Darling.”
She approached to kiss him.
He turned his cheek.
Her smile faltered.
“What's wrong?”
“We need to talk.”
Lorenzo showed her the photograph.
For the first time in their three-year relationship, Isabella seemed genuinely surprised.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father's room.”
She stared at the image.
“That's my uncle.”
“Matteo Romano?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother's brother?”
Isabella nodded slowly.
“He died before I was born.”
Lorenzo watched her carefully.
“Did you know he was my father's son?”
Her face drained of color.
“What?”
“Giovanni says Matteo was his son.”
Isabella sat down.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she laughed once, without humor.
“That would make your father my grandfather.”
“Possibly.”
“Lorenzo, do you hear how insane that sounds?”
“I'm asking whether you knew.”
“No.”
He placed another document on the table.
A medical access log.
Her name appeared beside an authorization timestamp.
“You accessed my father's records yesterday.”
Isabella stared at the screen.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I was worried.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
She leaned forward.
“Your father has been declining for years. You barely sleep. You spend millions keeping him alive. And now some pregnant maid has convinced everyone he's suddenly communicating?”
“He is communicating.”
“Are you certain?”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“I've seen it.”
Isabella lowered her voice.
“Then perhaps you should ask why nobody told you sooner.”
He watched her.
She reached into her handbag and removed a small flash drive.
“I came because I found something.”
“What?”
“Evidence that Marcus has been stealing from your father.”
The files on the drive contained bank transfers, security access logs, and messages apparently exchanged between Marcus and an offshore financial adviser.
The amounts matched the missing trust funds.
Lorenzo studied the documents.
“Where did you get these?”
“An investigator.”
“Who?”
“Someone my family has used for years.”
“Name.”
Isabella hesitated.
“Lorenzo—”
“Name.”
“Daniel Mercer.”
Lorenzo knew Mercer.
A former federal financial investigator who now worked privately for wealthy families.
The documents looked convincing.
Too convincing.
“Why didn't you tell me earlier?”
“Because Marcus is your best friend.”
She touched his hand.
“I didn't want to destroy your relationship without proof.”
Lorenzo withdrew his hand.
“You should have brought this to me immediately.”
“I am bringing it to you.”
He stood.
“I'll verify it.”
Isabella watched him walk away.
Then her expression changed.
For a moment, the polished smile disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
Nora was sitting beside Giovanni when Isabella entered room 4B.
The two women looked at each other.
“So,” Isabella said softly. “You're the maid.”
Nora stood.
“I'm Nora Bennett.”
“I know who you are.”
Isabella approached the wheelchair.
“Hello, Grandfather.”
Giovanni's eyes widened.
Nora felt the air change.
Isabella smiled.
“Oh, don't look so surprised. Family secrets never stay buried forever.”
She turned toward Nora.
“You've caused quite a disturbance.”
“I didn't mean to.”
“Of course not.”
Isabella glanced at Nora's stomach.
“Six months?”
Nora nodded.
“Such a vulnerable time.”
Giovanni's device clicked.
LEAVE.
Isabella looked at the screen.
Her smile vanished.
“How charming.”
Nora stepped closer to the wheelchair.
“Mr. Moretti doesn't want visitors.”
“Mr. Moretti?”
Isabella laughed softly.
“You really don't understand whose house you're standing in, do you?”
Nora held her ground.
“He asked you to leave.”
For a moment, Isabella simply stared.
Then she leaned closer.
“You should be careful, Nora. Women with children have much more to lose.”
Nora felt her stomach tighten.
“Is that a threat?”
Isabella straightened.
“It's advice.”
She turned and walked out.
Giovanni's device immediately began selecting letters.
BAD.
Nora sat beside him.
“I know.”
DANGER.
“I know that too.”
His eyes moved urgently.
MARCUS.
Nora froze.
“Is Marcus dangerous?”
YES.
“Is he helping Isabella?”
Giovanni struggled.
The device selected one word.
BOTH.
That evening, Lorenzo confronted Marcus in the security office.
He placed the financial records on the desk.
“Explain these.”
Marcus scanned them.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Isabella's investigator.”
Marcus looked up sharply.
“Then it's a setup.”
“Prove it.”
Marcus opened his laptop.
He compared the timestamps.
Then he turned the screen toward Lorenzo.
“These messages were supposedly sent from my encrypted account.”
“And?”
“I wasn't using that account.”
“Someone could have stolen your credentials.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Look at the date.”
Lorenzo leaned forward.
The message had been sent on a Tuesday afternoon.
Marcus opened another file.
A hospital admission record.
“I was undergoing emergency surgery that day. You were there.”
Lorenzo remembered.
A gunshot wound from an ambush in Brooklyn.
He had spent six hours outside the operating room.
Marcus continued.
“Someone fabricated these records.”
Lorenzo stared at the screen.
Then his phone rang.
Evelyn.
“Mr. Moretti, you need to come upstairs.”
“What happened?”
“Your father is having trouble breathing.”
Lorenzo ran.
When he reached room 4B, Giovanni was pale and struggling.
Evelyn was already checking his airway and calling emergency medical services.
Nora stood beside the bed, terrified.
“What happened?” Lorenzo demanded.
Evelyn held up a small medication cup.
“Someone left this beside his wheelchair.”
Lorenzo looked at it.
A faint blue residue coated the bottom.
The missing medication.
He turned toward the doorway.
Isabella stood there.
Her expression was perfectly composed.
“Oh, Lorenzo,” she whispered.
“How terrible.”
Then Giovanni's communication device spoke.
May you like
One word.
MURDER.
