Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Attic
I took two slow steps toward the bed, my presence filling the room with an intimidating gravity that made Marco instinctively place a hand over his weapon.
“You know my name,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You know my late wife. And you dropped a photograph that suggests you were holding onto secrets that could destroy what’s left of my world. Who the hell are you?”
The woman let out a dry, humorless chuckle that turned into a hacking cough. She pulled the thick blankets tighter around her shivering shoulders, glaring at me with a fierce defiance that mirrored the storm outside.
“My name... is Elena,” she whispered, pausing to catch her breath. “Elena Vance. Though your beloved Isabella used to call me something else entirely before you ever met her in Milan.”
My eyes narrowed. “What did she call you?”
“Sister,” Elena said softly.
The word hung in the air like a physical blow.
“Liar,” I hissed, closing the distance between us until I stood right at the edge of the mattress. “Isabella was an only child. Her parents died in Italy before we were even married. She had no family.”
“That’s what you were meant to believe,” Elena shot back, her eyes flashing with sudden, venomous fire. “Isabella wasn’t an ordinary girl from a quiet Italian village, Alessandro. You thought you married a delicate, innocent florist’s daughter. But she grew up in the exact same syndicate underworld that you did. Our father was Dominic Vance—one of the founding capos of the Sicilian syndicate before your own father had him wiped off the board.”
The room seemed to tilt on its axis.
Dominic Vance. The name was a legendary ghost story from the old country—a ruthless boss who vanished into thin air decades ago during a bloody turf war.
“Isabella hid her past from me to protect me,” I growled, though doubt began to gnaw at the edges of my mind. “We left all that behind.”
“She didn't hide it to protect you,” Elena whispered bitterly, a tear finally cutting a clean path down her soot-stained cheek. “She hid it because she knew that if you ever found out who she really was, you’d use her as a weapon. And the night she ‘died’ in that car bombing three years ago? It wasn’t a rival gang that tried to kill her, Alessandro. It was our uncle. And Isabella didn't die.”
Marco stepped forward, his eyes wide. “Are you saying your sister faked her own death?”
“She had to,” Elena breathed, clutching her chest as another wave of pain hit her. “She was pregnant with your child when the hit was ordered. She walked away from the burning car before it blew, leaving me to take her place in the wreckage so our uncle would think she was dead. She went into hiding to keep your baby safe from your enemies... and from you.”
The blood drained entirely from my face.
My knees felt weak. The iron-clad control I had maintained over my empire for decades fractured in a single second.
“My child,” I repeated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “Where is my child?”
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Elena looked up at me, her gaze heavy with a sorrow so deep it felt bottomless.
“She’s dead, Alessandro,” Elena whispered, her voice breaking completely. “Our uncle found her last week. And if you don’t move fast, he’s coming for Lily next.”
