Chapter 2 – THE NOTARY IN THE SHADOWS

The name hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

Isabella gasped. “Uncle Marco?”

From the back of the room, near the towering ice sculpture that was slowly melting onto the linen tablecloth, a man stepped forward.

He was older, in his late sixties, wearing a tailored charcoal suit. His silver hair was perfectly combed, but his eyes were darting toward the exits. This was Marco Moretti.

“Luca,” Marco said, holding his hands up as he approached the head table. “Let me explain. This man—Patrick—he came to me with a tragic story.”

Luca didn’t raise his voice, but the entire room seemed to shrink away from him. “You notarized a document transferring property without the signatory present, Marco?”

Marco swallowed hard. “Patrick told me his wife was terminally ill. He said she was in hospice care, heavily medicated, and unable to travel. He showed me medical records, Luca. I bent the rules to help my future brother-in-law secure his child’s future.”

I stared at Patrick. “Terminally ill?”

Patrick wouldn’t look at me. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping in his cheek.

“Medical records?” Luca asked. “What medical records?”

Marco reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the table toward his nephew.

Luca unfolded it. His eyes scanned the text.

“A diagnosis of early-onset dementia and severe paranoia,” Luca read aloud. The silence in the room was absolute. “Signed by a Dr. Aris.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Dr. Aris.

Ten years ago, when Sophie was diagnosed as deaf, I had fallen into a deep postpartum depression. Patrick had hired a private psychiatrist—Dr. Aris—to treat me. I had seen her for six months. I recovered. I hadn’t spoken to her in a decade.

“He kept the letterhead,” I whispered, the sickening reality washing over me. “He forged a diagnosis to take my grandmother’s house.”

Isabella turned on Patrick. “You told me she abandoned you! You told Marco she was dying! How many lies have you told?”

Patrick’s polished veneer finally cracked. “Isabella, everything I did, I did to build a life for us. That house was meant to be our sanctuary. The money from its sale was going to fund my buy-in to your family’s business!”

“With my daughter’s inheritance!” I yelled, stepping toward him. “You stole her future!”

“She doesn’t need it!” Patrick shouted back, losing his temper. “She’s damaged, Julia! She’s never going to have a normal life anyway!”

The room froze.

I stopped breathing.

I looked down at Sophie. She hadn’t heard the words, but she felt the vibration of his shout. She saw the rage on his face. She shrank against my leg.

Luca moved so fast I barely saw it happen.

In one second, he was behind the table. In the next, his hand was wrapped around Patrick’s throat, slamming him back against a marble pillar.

“Never,” Luca whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intent, “speak about a child that way in my presence again.”

Patrick gagged, his hands clawing uselessly at Luca’s grip.

“Luca, stop!” Marco yelled. “He owes people! He promised me the lake house to cover his debts!”

Luca didn’t let go of Patrick, but he turned his head toward his uncle. “What debts?”

“He owes the Chicago syndicate,” Marco confessed, sweat beading on his forehead. “He gambled away his company’s funds. He was going to use Isabella’s dowry and Julia’s house to pay them off. I notarized the deed because he promised me a cut to save his life.”

I pulled Sophie tighter against me. My husband wasn’t just a liar. He was desperate, indebted to dangerous people, and he had used my child as collateral.

Then, Sophie tugged on my skirt.

I looked down.

She was staring at Marco Moretti.

Her small hands moved quickly, signing a sentence that made the blood freeze in my veins.

Mom, she signed. That man didn’t just sign the papers. He was in our house today.

I stared at her. What?

She pointed directly at Marco’s wrist.

He was in Dad’s office this morning. I recognize his gold watch.