Chapter 3 - THE FIRST LIE
Three days passed.
Dante Russo stopped sleeping.
He attended meetings, signed contracts, handled two emergencies involving his businesses, and threatened a man who had been stealing from one of his warehouses.
But every night, he returned to the bridal suite.
He refused to let housekeeping touch it.
The wedding dress remained folded over the chair.
The two champagne glasses remained beside the window.
And the tiny white socks stayed inside their silver box.
On the fourth morning, Marco entered his office carrying a thick folder.
"I found something."
Dante didn't look up.
"Where is she?"
"She's safe."
"Where?"
"You told me not to give you the location."
Dante finally raised his eyes.
Marco placed the folder on the desk.
"There's something else. Valentina wasn't simply visiting the apartment last night."
Dante opened the folder.
Inside were photographs of bank transfers, phone records, and copies of messages.
Valentina had been communicating with a man named Richard Hale, a financial consultant who had previously worked for the Moretti family.
The messages were disturbing.
V: He'll come tonight. He always does.
R: And the wife?
V: She'll be too busy preparing for her perfect wedding.
Another message had been sent at 11:56 p.m.
V: Keep her occupied. Dante is with me.
Dante stared at the screen.
"What does this mean?"
"Richard Hale arranged a private meeting with someone from the Moretti organization yesterday afternoon. We haven't identified the person yet."
"Why?"
"That's what I'm trying to determine."
Dante closed the folder.
"Bring Valentina back."
"Boss, I don't think that's wise."
"I didn't ask what you think."
Marco held his gaze.
"Then let me ask you something. What happens when you discover she deliberately separated you from Isabella? What exactly are you planning to do?"
Dante stood.
"Whatever it takes."
"That's the problem."
Marco's voice was unusually firm.
"You keep talking about getting your wife back as if she's a stolen possession. She's a woman who watched her husband leave their wedding to sleep with another woman."
Dante's expression darkened.
"Careful."
"I've been careful for fifteen years. That's why I'm still standing here."
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Marco placed another document on the desk.
"There's one more thing. Isabella visited a private clinic on the morning of your wedding. She didn't just have an ultrasound."
Dante looked down.
"What else?"
"She requested a complete prenatal screening and genetic testing."
"Why?"
"We don't know."
Dante stared at the paperwork.
The date was clear.
The results had been delivered electronically the following morning.
But the report was missing.
"Find it."
At the cottage, Isabella was learning how to breathe again.
Eleanor had taken her shopping for maternity clothes. Isabella had bought two oversized sweaters, comfortable jeans, and a pair of soft slippers.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing with a designer label.
For the first time in months, she had chosen things without considering what Dante would think.
Her phone rang.
Antonio.
"How are you, sweetheart?"
"I'm okay, Dad."
"Are you eating?"
"Yes."
"Sleeping?"
"Sometimes."
He hesitated.
"Your husband has been asking questions."
Isabella closed her eyes.
"Please don't tell him where I am."
"I won't."
"Thank you."
"Isabella, I need to ask you something."
"What?"
"Did you receive the documents your mother left behind?"
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
"What documents?"
A long silence followed.
"Nothing. Forget I asked."
"Dad."
"I'll explain when I see you."
He disconnected.
Isabella remained motionless.
Her mother had died six years earlier.
She had left behind jewelry, photographs, a few handwritten letters, and a small locked box that Antonio had always said contained personal family papers.
Isabella had never been allowed to open it.
Now, for the first time, she wondered why.
That evening, Eleanor returned from the grocery store carrying two bags.
Isabella was sitting at the kitchen table when the front door opened.
A man stood outside.
He was wearing a charcoal coat and leather gloves.
"Isabella Moretti?"
She rose immediately.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who knew your mother."
He extended a small envelope.
"She wanted you to have this when you were expecting your first child."
Isabella stared at him.
"My mother has been dead for six years."
"I know."
"Who sent you?"
The man glanced toward the road.
"Your father knows."
Before she could ask another question, he placed the envelope on the porch and walked away.
Isabella stepped outside.
"Wait!"
But he was already getting into a dark vehicle.
She returned inside and opened the envelope.
There was a photograph.
Her mother, smiling beside a much younger Antonio.
And standing between them was a little boy.
On the back, written in her mother's handwriting, were seven words.
The first Russo child was never supposed to die.
Isabella's blood ran cold.
She turned the photograph over again.
May you like
The boy had Dante's eyes.
And the date written beneath the picture was twelve years before Isabella had even met him.
