Chapter 9 – The Wooden Rosary on the Pillow

The silk sheets of the bed felt like ice beneath my hands.

I stared at the neatly folded piece of paper, the single sentence burning itself into my brain.

Your mother didn’t die of a sickness, Emily.

The room suddenly felt completely devoid of air. I dropped the wooden rosary onto the mattress, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

My mother had died of aggressive lung cancer. That was what the doctors had told me. That was what the hospital charts had said. I had sat by her bed for six months, watching her waste away, working double shifts to pay for the treatments that ultimately failed.

If this note was true, if someone had lied about how my mother died, then the entire foundation of my life was once again crumbling beneath my feet.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. A cold, terrifying numbness washed over me. I grabbed the note and the rosary, threw on a heavy cashmere robe over my silk pajamas, and bolted out of the East Wing suite.

The hallways were quiet, patrolled only by Luca’s most trusted guards. They nodded respectfully as I passed, their eyes catching the silver bracelet on my wrist. I didn’t stop to acknowledge them.

I ran to the third floor, bursting through the heavy oak doors of Luca’s private study without knocking.

Luca was sitting at his mahogany desk, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand, reviewing a stack of syndicate documents. He looked up, his expression instantly shifting from tired focus to sharp alarm when he saw my face.

“Emily?” Luca stood up quickly, setting the glass down. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

I marched across the room and slammed the wooden rosary and the note onto his desk.

“Who put this in my room?” I demanded, my voice shaking with a rage I didn’t know I possessed.

Luca frowned, looking down at the objects. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s my mother’s rosary,” I said, tears of frustration finally spilling over my eyelashes. “It was supposed to be buried with her four years ago. And someone left it on my pillow with a note saying she didn’t die of cancer.”

Luca’s face went entirely still. The Don of the Moretti family had faced bullets and assassins with less reaction than he showed in this moment.

He carefully picked up the note. He read the elegant cursive script, his jaw tightening until the muscles corded against his neck.

“Luca,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Did you know? Did your family lie to me about my mother, too?”

Luca looked at me, his dark eyes filled with absolute, horrifying clarity.

“I didn’t lie to you, Emily,” Luca said quietly, his voice dangerously low. “But I know who wrote this note.”

“Who?” I demanded.

Luca set the note down. He didn’t look at me. He looked toward the heavy oak door I had just left open.

“My grandmother,” Luca said.

My breath caught. “Rosa? Why would Rosa put this in my room?”

“Because Rosa didn’t want you to find it,” a voice echoed from the hallway.

We both turned.

Standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on a polished wooden cane, was the silver-haired Elder from the night before.

I stared at him in shock. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The Elders had left hours ago.

Luca immediately stepped in front of me, his hand instinctively dropping to the heavy pistol holstered at his hip.

“What are you doing in my house, Silas?” Luca demanded, the respect he had shown the Elder the night before entirely gone, replaced by lethal hostility.

Silas stepped into the study, flanked by two massive guards wearing the deep burgundy ties of the Syndicate High Council.

“I am here to correct a mistake, Luca,” Silas said smoothly, his cane tapping rhythmically against the hardwood floor. He looked directly at me. “Or rather, to ensure that the daughter of Thomas Carter finally knows the truth about the family she is so desperately trying to protect.”

“Get out,” Luca roared, pulling his weapon and aiming it directly at the Elder’s chest. “You have no jurisdiction here without a formal tribunal.”

“I don’t need a tribunal to tell the truth,” Silas replied calmly, unfazed by the gun. He pointed his cane at the rosary on the desk.

“Your mother didn’t die of cancer, Emily,” Silas said, his voice cold and clinical. “She was poisoned. Slowly. Over the course of six months, using a synthetic toxin designed to mimic the exact symptoms of organ failure.”

The room spun violently. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing. “Poisoned? By who? She was a cashier at a grocery store! She didn’t know anyone!”

“She knew Antonio Moretti,” Silas said, his eyes locking onto mine with ruthless intent.

Luca’s gun wavered for a fraction of a second. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Silas challenged, turning to Luca. “Fourteen years ago, Thomas Carter died protecting Antonio. Antonio felt immense guilt. So, he paid for Emily’s mother to move, bought her a house, and provided a generous monthly stipend. He took care of her from the shadows.”

Silas took a step closer, leaning on his cane.

“But four years ago, Antonio died,” Silas continued. “And the woman who took control of the family finances realized that a massive sum of money was bleeding out of the syndicate’s accounts every month to a civilian woman.”

My heart stopped.

I looked at Luca. The realization hit me like a freight train.

“Vanessa,” I whispered, my voice hollow. “Vanessa Bellini was the accountant four years ago.”

“Yes,” Silas nodded. “Vanessa saw the payments. She didn’t know why Antonio was paying your mother, but she knew she wanted that money for herself. So, she cut the payments off. And to ensure your mother never came asking questions, Vanessa paid a nurse at the hospital to administer the toxin.”

I couldn’t breathe. The woman who had slapped me, the woman who had humiliated me, had murdered my mother for a monthly stipend.

“Why are you telling me this?” I choked out, staring at the Elder. “If Vanessa is already excommunicated, why leave the note?”

Silas looked at Luca, a cruel, calculating smile spreading across his aged face.

“Because Vanessa didn’t act alone, Emily,” Silas said softly. “She needed an authorization signature to access the lethal toxin from the syndicate’s black market contacts.”

Silas pointed his cane directly at Luca.

“And the only person with authorization to sign for that toxin… was the current Don of the Moretti family.”