Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE CASKET
“Because the woman we buried in that casket wasn't Sofia.”
The chandelier’s light seemed to dim as June’s words settled over the room. Adrian stared at the silver beads gleaming on the tablecloth, then slowly raised his eyes to the seventy-eight-year-old housekeeper.
“What did you just say?” Adrian asked, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
Aunt Evelyn swayed on her feet. I rushed forward, catching her arm and easing her back into her armchair. “June,” Evelyn breathed, “I saw her. We all saw her. She was sick for months.”
“You saw a woman heavily veiled, wasted away by illness,” June said, her voice gaining strength. She stepped away from the table, her hands no longer trembling. “You saw what you were meant to see.”
Cassandra let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “This is absurd. Adrian, she’s senile. She’s making up ghost stories to distract you from the fact that she’s a squatter.”
“Shut up, Cassandra,” Adrian snapped. He walked slowly toward June, stopping just a few feet away. “June. Where is my mother?”
Before June could answer, Daniel lunged forward.
“Don’t listen to her!” Daniel yelled, his face flushed with panic. He grabbed the leather property folder off the table. “She’s lying! She’s trying to protect herself because she’s been stealing from this family for thirty years!”
“The only thief in this room is you, Daniel,” I said. The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Daniel glared at me. “You’re just a maid, Margaret. Keep your mouth shut.”
“She’s right,” Adrian said. He grabbed his brother by the collar of his expensive suit, yanking him forward. “You knew about this. You needed the cottage demolished by Monday because of whatever is under the floorboards. What is it, Daniel? Is it proof?”
“Adrian, please—”
Adrian shoved him backward. Daniel stumbled, colliding with the sideboard and sending a silver tray crashing to the floor.
“Talk,” Adrian commanded.
Daniel breathed heavily, rubbing his neck. He looked terrified, but not of Adrian. He was looking at Cassandra.
“Cassandra found out,” Daniel muttered, staring at the floor. “Six months ago. She found a discrepancy in the family foundation’s medical records. There was a private clinic in Switzerland. Weekly payments. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, authorized by Dad before he died.”
“So?” Adrian asked. “Dad paid for medical care. That’s not a crime.”
“The payments didn't stop when Dad died,” Cassandra said smoothly, stepping into the light. She looked entirely too calm. “They’re still happening, Adrian. Your family has been wiring fifty thousand dollars a month to a secure facility in Geneva for the last six years.”
Adrian looked at June. “Is she alive?”
June took a deep breath. “Yes.”
The room spun. I had worked in this house for twenty-four years. I had grieved alongside this family. I had polished the brass nameplate on Sofia Moretti’s mausoleum.
“Why?” Adrian asked, his voice finally breaking. “Why would she fake her death? Why would she leave us?”
“She didn't leave you by choice,” June said softly. “She was hiding. From the people who murdered your father.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell. The official story had always been a heart attack. The entire city believed the former Mafia boss had died peacefully in his sleep.
“That’s a lie,” Daniel sneered. “Dad had a heart attack. The coroner signed the papers.”
“The coroner was bought,” June said. She walked back to her old walnut recipe box. She lifted the false bottom of the box—a compartment I had never noticed in my two decades of working alongside her.
She pulled out a faded, folded train ticket from 1992. It was stamped for a sleeper car to Chicago.
“Your father bought this ticket for me,” June explained, handing it to Adrian. “He knew there was a mole in his inner circle. Someone selling him out to the rival families. He told me to take you and Daniel and run if anything happened to him.”
Adrian stared at the ticket. “But we didn't run. He died, and we stayed.”
“Because your mother made a deal,” June said. “She offered her own life in exchange for yours. She faked her death to remove herself from the chessboard, letting the enemies believe the Moretti empire was weakened. But she stayed alive to quietly fund a war against them from the shadows.”
“And the cottage?” Adrian asked. “What’s under the floorboards?”
June looked at Daniel with deep pity.
“The evidence,” June said. “The proof of exactly who sold your father out.”
Daniel turned pale. He bolted for the door.
Adrian moved faster. He slammed his brother against the heavy oak panels, his forearm pressing into Daniel’s throat. “It was you?” Adrian roared. “You sold out our father?”
“No!” Daniel choked out, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Adrian, no! I was a kid! I didn't do it!”
“Then why are you trying to destroy the evidence?”
Daniel gasped for air, his eyes darting frantically.
“Because I didn't sell Dad out,” Daniel cried. “But I know who did.”
May you like
Daniel pointed a trembling finger across the room. Not at Cassandra.
He pointed straight at Aunt Evelyn.
