Chapter 2 - The Locket in the Flowers
The silence in the grand ballroom was so heavy that the gentle splash of rain against the tall windows sounded like breaking glass.
Victor stood motionless on the landing, his broad shoulders squared, his dark eyes locked onto Celestine. He took three slow, deliberate steps into the mound of ruined white roses, standing directly over his fiancée.
"Repeat what you just said," Victor commanded, his deep voice carrying a rumble that made the surrounding bodyguards step back.
Celestine reached into the satin lining of her ruined wedding dress, pulling out a small, antique silver locket attached to a delicate chain. She held it up between her manicured fingers, allowing it to dangle in the chandelier light.
"Your father told you she died in the car explosion on the harbor turnpike in 1986," Celestine whispered, her voice laced with venomous triumph. "He buried an empty steel casket in the family plot and kept you in the dark for forty years."
Victor reached out his broad hand, snatching the locket from her fingers. He popped the thumb-latch open.
Inside was a microscopic, high-resolution photograph taken less than forty-eight hours ago. It showed an elderly woman with soft white hair and piercing dark eyes, sitting in a velvet armchair inside a high-security room, holding a newspaper dated yesterday.
The woman’s features were identical to the oil portrait hanging in the Santoro estate gallery—Victor’s mother, Eleanor Santoro.
Victor’s chest heaved. His knuckles turned white around the silver metal.
Down at the base of the stairs, eighty-two-year-old Beatrice leaned heavily against Frank, Victor's chief lieutenant. Her frail hands trembled against her navy suit as tears welled in her dark eyes.
"It's a fake, Victor!" Beatrice called out, her voice cracking with desperation. "She’s lying to divide us before the contract is signed!"
Celestine rose smoothly to her feet, brushing white rose petals from her silk gown. She adjusted her diamond earrings, her posture regal and completely unbothered by the blow she had taken.
"Is it a fake, Aunt Beatrice?" Celestine mocked, looking down over the banister at the elderly woman. "Then tell Victor why the private trust fund in Zurich has been transferring fifty thousand dollars a month to Saint Mary’s Sanctuary in upstate New York since 1986."
Victor turned his gaze slowly toward Beatrice. "Aunt Beatrice... is that true?"
Beatrice looked down at the marble floor, unable to meet her nephew's piercing eyes. The quiet confession in her silence hit Victor harder than any bullet ever could.
May you like
"Frank," Victor ordered softly, without looking away from Celestine. "Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves the grounds."
Celestine smirked, stepping closer to Victor until her perfume filled his senses. "You can lock the gates, Victor, but at midnight, my father’s syndicate receives the master key to Eleanor’s room. If I don't sign the marriage certificate before twelve, the life support systems in that sanctuary are turned off."
