My Fiancée Claimed My Sister Ran Away Years Ago—Then I Found Her Bracelet Beside a Hidden Trapdoor in My Own Mansion.

The silence in the library was suffocating.

"Who died, Celeste?" Victor asked, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.

"Father Thomas," Celeste said, crossing her arms over her ruined silver gown. "The parish priest at Saint Jude’s. The dear old man suffered a sudden stroke in his rectory fourteen days ago. If Adriana gave him anything, it went straight into the parish furnace with the rest of his worldly possessions."

Adriana shook her head vigorously, tears welling in her eyes. "No. Father Thomas was healthy. He promised me he would keep it in the sanctuary lockbox until you came for it."

Victor looked between his sister’s desperate gaze and his fiancée’s smug expression. He adjusted the gold cufflink on his left wrist, checking the face of his wristwatch. It was eleven-forty at night.

"Luca!" Victor barked.

The heavy library door cracked open instantly. Luca, Victor’s personal driver and a twenty-year veteran of the family, stepped inside. His eyes widened slightly at Adriana, but he kept his head down.

"Take my sister to the third-floor master suite," Victor ordered. "Post four armed men at the door. If anyone approaches that room without my direct word, shoot them."

"Victor, please don't leave me alone," Adriana pleaded, clutching his arm. "Celeste has people inside this house. The guards who brought me food down there... they wore Bellandi crests on their jackets."

Victor’s gaze snapped back to Luca. "Who had access to the east wing basement keys?"

Luca swallowed hard, his skin paling. "Only the senior staff, Boss. And... Miss Celeste."

"Get her upstairs, Luca. Now."

Luca escorted Adriana out into the hallway. Victor waited until the sound of their footsteps faded before turning back to Celeste. He pulled a heavy leather chair out from the shattered desk and sat down.

"Sit," Victor said.

Celeste didn't move. "I'd rather stand."

Victor drew a heavy black pistol from his tuxedo holster and set it flat on the desk between them. The steel clicked sharply against the polished wood.

"I said sit."

Celeste swallowed her pride and sat across from him, her posture rigid.

"You're going to tell me who helped you," Victor said quietly. "You didn't feed a grown woman beneath floorboards for three years by yourself. You didn't bribe my perimeter guards on your own allowance. Who gave you the order, Celeste?"

"Nobody orders me, Victor," she said, raising her chin. "I did what was necessary to preserve our status. If the Commission found out you weren't Salvatore's bloodline, the Moretti family would have burned our docks to ash."

"You did it for yourself," Victor said. "Because my father’s will stated that if I had no legitimate Bellandi bloodline successor, half the trust defaulted to you upon marriage."

Celeste remained silent, but her jaw clenched.

Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a private number. "Paulie. Pull the medical examiner's report on Father Thomas from Saint Jude Parish. Two weeks ago."

A pause on the line. Then a raspy voice replied: "Boss, Father Thomas didn't die of a stroke. The death certificate was signed this morning. It says blunt force trauma from an accidental fall."

Victor's eyes locked onto Celeste. "Who signed the certificate, Paulie?"