Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE WITHOUT GUARDS
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A year later, the old Sterling estate was gone.
The criminal network had been dismantled.
The foundation funded schools.
Hospitals.
Domestic violence shelters.
Small-business grants.
Every property that could be legally retained was transferred to independent trusts.
No child inherited an empire.
The children inherited something better.
Security.
Education.
Choice.
Lily started school.
Chloe started preschool.
Sophie began working with a nonprofit helping single mothers.
Luca rebuilt his life.
He sold the last private company connected to the family.
My mother opened a bakery.
My father wrote his memoirs.
He called it:
What Power Cost Us.
I teased him about the title.
He said:
“It cost me my children.”
I told him he still had time.
One evening, a package arrived.
Inside was the old silver locket.
The same one Chloe had brought to my table.
But now there was something inside it.
A tiny photograph.
My father.
My mother.
And a woman none of us knew.
On the back:
She is the reason we survived.
I looked at my mother.
She stared.
“I know her.”
“Who?”
“Isabella.”
I froze.
“Who is Isabella?”
“My sister.”
Another secret.
Another branch.
I laughed.
“You're kidding.”
“No.”
She smiled sadly.
“She saved me.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Then why send this now?”
My mother shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Lily walked into the room.
“What are you looking at?”
I showed her.
She stared.
“That woman came to my dream.”
Everyone froze.
“What did she say?”
Lily thought.
“She said…”
She looked toward me.
“Don't trust the man with the silver ring.”
I looked around.
Nobody wore a silver ring.
Except—
Luca.
My brother.
I stared at his hand.
A silver ring.
He went pale.
“That's not mine.”
He pulled it off.
Inside was an engraving.
V.
Victor.
The traitor.
But Victor was in prison.
Luca looked terrified.
“I found this in the old house.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My heart stopped.
Someone had left it there.
Someone who wanted us to know the game wasn't over.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered:
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
“You don't know me.”
“Then tell me.”
“I was your father's first wife.”
Silence.
“My mother married my father?”
“No.”
“My father married me to protect you.”
I frowned.
“Who are you?”
The woman laughed softly.
“Isabella.”
My mother dropped the photograph.
We stared at each other.
May you like
The woman was alive.
And she had been watching us.
