Chapter 11 - the return to the estate
Dawn broke over the Bellaro estate in pale shades of gray and charcoal. The storm had passed, leaving the massive stone manor glistening with cold morning dew.
Two black SUVs pulled up to the front entrance. Victor stepped out first, his tux damp, his jaw set in stone. He walked around the sedan and opened the passenger door for Clara.
“Go to the guest wing on the second floor,” Victor told her quietly. “Take the master suite next to mine. My personal guards are outside. No one touches you.”
Clara looked at him, her fair face pale with exhaustion, but her eyes held a steady warmth. “What are you going to do with Celeste?”
“The family council convenes at eight o’clock,” Victor said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “She will face Bellaro justice.”
Clara touched his forearm lightly—a simple, instinctual gesture. “Victor. Don’t do something that turns you into your father.”
Victor paused, looking down at her hand against his sleeve. For the first time in six months, the tension around his mouth softened, if only for an instant.
“My father kept secrets that killed the people he loved,” Victor said. “I don’t.”
He turned and strode through the grand foyer.
Upstairs in the private parlor, Celeste was pacing across the Persian rug. She had washed the wine from her hair and changed into a crisp silk blouse and tailored trousers, but the swelling on her cheek was still dark and red.
The door opened. Victor walked in, followed by Marco, who held Julian by the scruff of his collar, shoving him roughly onto the sofa.
Celeste gasped, looking at her bruised, mud-covered brother. “Julian! What have they done to you?”
“He showed me the cabin, Celeste,” Victor said, closing the door behind him. He walked over to the marble fireplace, pulled the rusted iron box from under his arm, and set it on the mantle.
Celeste’s eyes locked onto the box. The haughty, manipulative sneer vanished from her face, replaced by a cold, desperate calculation.
“You have no right to open that,” Celeste whispered. “That belongs to the Moretti estate.”
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“There is no Moretti estate anymore,” Victor replied, leaning against the mantelpiece. “There is only murder. And you’re going to confess to every word of it before the capos arrive.”
***
