ELENA
The moment we arrived at Lorenzo's mansion, my mind was fixated on the not-so-tiny box in my hands.
Lorenzo had always been generous with gifts, often surprising me with presents whenever he returned from a business trip. But this one was different. Why? Because it could either hold the answers I desperately sought—or something far more dangerous.
As soon as I stepped out of the car, I ignored the staff's greetings and headed straight to my room, my pulse quickening with every step.
Inside the master bedroom I once shared with Lorenzo, I swiftly locked the door and tore the box open with urgency.
A small note fluttered to the floor.
"Be careful. They are watching your every move."
My breath hitched. My gaze snapped back to the box, and my stomach dropped when I saw what lay inside—a pistol.
A sudden knock on the door nearly made me jump out of my skin.
Heart pounding, I realized I was still wearing my heels. I quickly slipped them off and shoved the box's contents under my pillow.
"I'm coming!" I called out, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.
When I opened the door, shock coursed through me. It wasn't the cook which I was expecting to see—it was Dante.
"Sorry, I know you weren't expecting me," he said, his tone unreadable. "I told the cook not to disturb you. I wanted to check on you myself."
His gaze flickered past me, attempting to peer into my room.
"Would you like anything to eat?" he asked casually, but there was something in his eyes—something calculating.
What was he looking for?
Is something wrong?" I asked, studying him closely.
He immediately avoided my gaze. "Not at all. I'll be in my quarters if you need me."
"The documents I asked for—when can I get them?" I asked before he could hurry away.
"Tomorrow." He hesitated for a moment before walking off.
I had never really dealt directly with my husband's workers before, but was this how they all behaved? Or was I missing something? The thought nagged at me.
I locked the door as soon as Dante was out of sight and quickly retrieved the contents I had hidden under my pillow.
My fingers tremble slightly as I unfolded the note once again, scanning the words carefully. Then, I lifted the pistol from the box, its cold weight settling into my palm.
The touch of the weapon sent a flash of memory surging through me.
"Hold the gun firmly in your right hand and focus on your target." Lorenzo had stood at my side that day, his voice steady as he guided me. I had reluctantly told him that violence wasn't my thing, that I had no need for a gun. But he had insisted.
"At the count of one, two, and three… shoot." His command echoed in my mind.
A sudden buzz from my nightstand yanked me back to the present. I grabbed my phone, Sarah's name flashing on the screen.
"Sarah?"
"Elena, I'm so sorry," Sarah rushed out, emotion thick in her voice. "My flight got delayed, and I—" She swallowed. "I should've been there."
A pause. Then a quiet chuckle, though it lacked warmth. "You don't have to apologize. I understand."
But Sarah knew Elena. Knew how she masked her pain, how she always put others at ease, even when she was drowning.
"El, I should have been by your side," Sarah said, her voice softer now. "I can't imagine how hard this is for you."
"I'm okay," Elena replied quickly. Too quickly. "Everyone was here. My father,his business associates, some friends from the neighborhood…" Her voice trailed off, and Sarah could almost see her, sitting in that too-quiet house, wearing that brave smile she always put on when things got tough.
"You don't have to be strong for me," Sarah whispered.
A shaky breath came through the line, but Elena didn't break. Not again. She has cried enough for one day.
Sarah sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Remember when we used to talk for hours in college? You'd always be the one keeping me grounded, reminding me to eat, to stop stressing over exams. And when I moved abroad, you were the only one who still called me every Sunday without fail."
Elena let out a soft laugh. "Because you were terrible at keeping in touch."
Sarah smiled despite the ache in her chest. "Exactly. And now, it's my turn to be there for you." She took a breath. "I'm coming tomorrow, first thing in the morning. You don't have to go through this alone."
Another silence. This time, heavier. Then, finally, Elena whispered, "Thank you, Sarah."
And Sarah knew—deep down, her friend was holding back something bigger than grief. But she wouldn't push. Not yet. Tomorrow, when she saw her, she'd find out.
"I'll send someone to pick you up tomorrow," Elena said, breaking the silence.
"See you tomorrow," Sarah replied softly before hanging up.
I held the phone to my chest for a long moment after Sarah hung up, letting the warmth of her voice linger. She was coming, finally.
A breath shuddered out of me as I placed the phone on the nightstand and lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the day pressed down on me, but sleep felt like an impossible luxury.
My mind kept circling back to the cemetery.
Those men. The ones who arrived last with Dante. The one that had caught my attention, Deluca.
I had never seen him before, yet something about him felt disturbingly familiar. The way his eyes lingered on me, assessing, as if he knew something I didn't. As if he knew me.
A shiver ran down my spine.
What was his connection to my husband?
My chest tightened, and I forced a deep breath, willing my thoughts to quiet. But the questions wouldn't stop. They gnawed at me, pulling me deeper into uncertainty.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the exhaustion creeping over me.
But even as sleep claimed me, his face remained—haunting the edges of my dreams.
The next day, Dante brought the documents, just as I had instructed. He placed them on the table with a curt nod, his expression unreadable.
Knowing Sarah would be here any moment, I barely spared the files a glance before hurrying toward the kitchen. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air as I stepped inside, where the cook was putting the final touches on the meal.
"How much longer?" I asked, scanning the dishes laid out. Everything had to be perfect.
"Just five more minutes," the cook replied.
I exhaled sharply, smoothing my hands down my dress. Five minutes. That was all the time I had to gather myself before Sarah walked in.
El!"
I heard my name echo from the living room, Sarah's voice unmistakable.
Without hesitation, I rushed over, my heart pounding with anticipation. The moment I stepped out of the kitchen, Sarah launched herself at me, her arms wrapping tightly around my shoulders as she giggled, her excitement infectious.
I laughed, gently pulling away to get a better look at her. She hadn't changed one bit—her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders just as perfectly as I remembered, and she still had that same curvy figure and confident stance.
"How was your trip?" I asked, drawing her attention back to the present as she glanced around the house, taking in every detail with curious eyes.
This house is massive!" Sarah exclaimed, spinning around to take it all in. "How do you even cope living here?"
I knew she hadn't been here since I married Lorenzo, though she had met him on countless occasions during our trips abroad.
I offered a small smile, but before I could respond, she continued, shaking her head in amazement. "I knew Lorenzo had money, but I had no idea he was this filthy rich. No wonder you were always on the front pages of every Chicago magazine."
She marveled at the grandeur, but her excitement faltered when she noticed the shadow crossing my face.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her expression turning apologetic. "I know you're still grieving your late husband. I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," I cut in gently, forcing a reassuring smile. "Come on, let me show you to your room."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and led her upstairs, grateful for the excuse to shift the conversation away from the ache still lodged in my chest.
After making sure Sarah had everything she needed to be comfortable in her room, I quickly headed to mine, hoping to go through some of the files Dante had brought earlier before she was ready for breakfast.
I sat on the bed, pulling out the stack of documents. Though several required my attention, one, in particular, caught my eye.
Carefully, I slid it out from the pile— DEAL OF AGREEMENT—boldly printed across the top. My breath hitched as my gaze traveled down the page, stopping at two familiar names: ADRIAN DELUCA and LORENZO RUSSO. Both signatures were scrawled at the bottom in ink.
My hands trembled as I scanned the contents.
Half of the casino and roulette business… belonged to Adrian Deluca.
The paper slipped from my grasp as a wave of disbelief washed over me. My late husband had been business partners with Adrian Deluca?
A sharp gasp escaped my lips as a chilling thought crept in.
Could Adrian have killed Lorenzo to claim full control of the business?
At the thought of that sickening possibility, my vision blurred, and before I knew it, my legs gave out beneath me. I sank to the floor, the weight of the revelation pressing down on my chest like an iron fist.