Chapter 5 - THE HEAVY GOLD RING
The heavy gold signet ring rolled across the white linen tablecloth, coming to a stop just inches from Alessandro’s hand.
The crest on the ring was unmistakable. A shield divided in two, with a sword cutting down the middle. The emblem of the Romano syndicate. It was the ring worn by the head of the family, passed down from father to son.
Alessandro stared at it as if a ghost had just materialized on the table.
“Where did you get this?” Alessandro whispered, his voice entirely devoid of anger, replaced by a profound, hollow shock.
I recognized the ring immediately. Eleven years ago, on my very first day working in this house, Mrs. Romano had shown me a photograph of her late husband. He was wearing that exact ring. But when he was gunned down in the streets twenty-six years ago, the ring had been stolen from his corpse.
“Your mother gave it to me,” Isabella wept, still kneeling on the marble floor. “She gave it to me the night she died.”
Answer One. Mrs. Romano possessed the stolen ring of her murdered husband all along.
Open Two. Why did Mrs. Romano have it? And why did she give it to the daughter of the man accused of betraying the family?
Alessandro picked up the ring. It was heavy, solid gold, the edges worn smooth by time. “My mother didn’t have this ring. It was stolen by Arthur Rossi—your father—when he betrayed us.”
“My father didn’t steal it, Alessandro!” Isabella cried out, desperation cracking her voice. “Your mother gave it to him! Twenty-six years ago, your mother and my father were working together!”
The guests murmured in shock. Uncle Frank, still leaning against the wall, shook his head vehemently. “Lies! She’s spinning lies to save herself! Dom, shoot her right now!”
“Shut up, Frank!” Alessandro roared. He looked back at Isabella. “Explain.”
Reversal.
Isabella stood up slowly, her hands shaking. She looked at Alessandro with an expression of deep, tragic sorrow.
“Your mother hated this life, Alessandro,” Isabella said softly. “She hated the violence. She hated the blood. When you were a teenager, she saw you turning into your father. Cold. Ruthless. She wanted to save you from it. So, she conspired with my father—the family notary—to drain the trust accounts and hide the assets. She was trying to bankrupt the syndicate so you couldn’t inherit it.”
I gasped. The matriarch of the Romano family, the woman who ruled the household with quiet dignity, had secretly tried to destroy her own empire to save her son’s soul.
“But they were caught,” Isabella continued, wiping her tears. “Someone found out about their plan. My father had to run. He gave your mother his watch as a promise that he would return. She gave him the signet ring as a promise that she would protect his family. But he never made it out of the city. He was murdered. And your mother spent the next twenty-six years trapped in this house, pretending to be the loyal mafia widow, paralyzed by fear.”
Alessandro stood perfectly still. The foundation of his entire life—his belief in his father’s legacy, his mother’s loyalty, his own destiny—was crumbling before his eyes.
“And the poison?” Alessandro asked, his voice trembling for the first time. “The recipe card in your handwriting?”
Isabella looked down at her hands. “Your mother had terminal bone cancer, Alessandro. The doctors wouldn’t tell you how bad it was because they were terrified of you. She was in agony. She knew she was dying. Three years ago, she tracked me down to fulfill her promise to my father. She brought me here. But by the end… she couldn’t take the pain anymore. She asked me to find a way to end it peacefully.”
Isabella looked at the recipe card.
“I wrote the formula. I procured the botanicals. But I swear to God, Alessandro, I couldn’t do it. The night she died, I went to her room. I brought the vial, but I backed out. I told her I couldn’t kill her. We argued. I dropped my father’s watch. She was furious with me. She threw the signet ring at me and told me to get out.”
Isabella looked over at Frank, her eyes narrowing with pure venom.
“I ran out of the room crying. The vial was still on her bedside table. And Frank was the next person to go in.”
Answer One. Isabella didn’t administer the poison. She provided it, but couldn’t go through with it.
Frank pushed himself off the wall, panic wild in his eyes. “She’s lying! She’s framing me! I went in and she was already foaming at the mouth!”
“Then how do you explain this, Frank?”
I turned around. It was Leo.
The ten-year-old boy had stepped away from my skirt. He walked over to the serving buffet and picked up the heavy, cracked walnut chair—his grandmother’s chair.
“Margaret, help me,” Leo said quietly.
I rushed over, unsure of what he was doing. Leo pointed to the small crack on the armrest. “Grandma showed me this secret before she died. She said if I ever needed to prove who the bad man was, I should push here.”
My heart stopped. I placed my thumb over the crack in the antique wood and pressed down hard.
There was a sharp click.
A small, hidden panel beneath the armrest slid open.
Inside the narrow compartment was a folded, blood-stained handkerchief.
Leo reached in and pulled it out. He carefully unfolded it on the dining table, right next to the gold signet ring and the silver pocket watch.
The guests leaned in. Alessandro stepped closer.
Inside the bloody handkerchief was a man’s heavy, silver cufflink. It was shaped like a wolf’s head, with small ruby eyes.
“I saw the man with the pillow,” Leo said, his voice ringing clear and brave in the silent room. “He dropped this when he was suffocating her. I picked it up after he left and hid it in Grandma’s chair.”
Alessandro stared at the silver wolf cufflink.
Then, very slowly, Alessandro turned his head and looked at Uncle Frank’s wrists.
May you like
Frank’s French cuffs were exposed. On his right wrist, he wore a silver wolf cufflink with ruby eyes.
On his left wrist, there was nothing. The buttonhole was empty.
