Chapter 6 - THE FAMILY TABLE TURNED AGAINST ME
The first person to challenge me was Vincent’s aunt.
Carmela Moretti arrived at Belladonna House with three attorneys, two sons, and enough outrage to fill the ballroom.
“You are not a Moretti.”
I stood at the same place where Vivian had humiliated me three days earlier.
This time I wore my own clothes.
Black trousers.
Cream sweater.
My locket openly visible.
“I never said I was.”
“You are claiming Antonio’s estate.”
“No.”
One attorney whispered in Carmela’s ear.
She ignored him.
“You expect us to believe a maid’s daughter is suddenly Antonio’s legal heir?”
My jaw tightened.
“My mother was an accountant.”
Carmela laughed.
“Convenient.”
Vincent stepped between us.
“That’s enough.”
She turned on him.
“You should be the one fighting this.”
“Why?”
“Because she can take everything.”
I looked at Vincent.
He looked almost bored.
“She doesn’t want everything.”
“You believe her?”
“Yes.”
Carmela stared.
“You’ve known her three days.”
“She had the chance to exploit this immediately. She didn’t.”
“Naive.”
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“Careful.”
Family lawyers confirmed the situation.
Antonio and Elena’s Nevada divorce was valid.
Antonio’s marriage to Teresa was also valid.
The certificate had never been publicly recorded in New York but remained legally enforceable.
Antonio’s will, written two months later, named:
My wife, Teresa Romano Moretti.
My son, Vincent.
My daughter, Isabella.
There was no ambiguity.
Antonio knew Vincent wasn’t biologically his.
He still called him son.
That mattered.
The will divided personal assets equally between Teresa, Vincent, and me.
But Belladonna Holdings followed the separate family trust.
That trust remained more complicated.
A biological descendant of Antonio could claim controlling voting rights.
Me.
Carmela’s sons challenged immediately.
They argued the marriage was fraudulent.
My paternity unproven.
The locket staged.
Teresa lying.
Then DNA returned.
Antonio’s stored medical tissue was preserved from surgery a year before his death.
The result:
99.99%.
Antonio Moretti was my biological father.
No one spoke when the attorney read it.
Vincent looked at me.
“Sister.”
I swallowed.
“Apparently.”
He smiled slightly.
Carmela did not.
“This changes nothing.”
“It changes quite a lot,” the attorney said.
Under the trust, I held fifty-one percent voting authority.
Vincent held twenty-four percent through Antonio’s legal acknowledgment and additional family provisions.
Carmela’s branch held the rest.
I had become controlling shareholder of a criminal-adjacent empire I wanted absolutely nothing to do with.
“I resign.”
Everyone stared.
The attorney blinked.
“From what?”
“Whatever role I just inherited.”
“You cannot simply resign ownership.”
“Then sell it.”
Carmela nearly exploded.
“You cannot sell Moretti family holdings.”
“Watch me.”
Vincent laughed.
Actually laughed.
Carmela glared at him.
“This is amusing?”
“A little.”
I turned to the attorney.
“What does Belladonna Holdings own?”
The answer was massive.
Real estate.
Restaurants.
Shipping.
Construction.
Security firms.
Legitimate businesses.
And old entities tied historically to illegal operations Vincent claimed he had been dismantling for years.
I looked at him.
“You still run mafia businesses?”
His expression became serious.
“No drugs. No trafficking. No extortion.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.”
“What remains?”
“Old protection arrangements. Gambling interests. Political leverage.”
I stared.
“That sounds like a yes wearing a suit.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“You’re not wrong.”
“Then clean it.”
Carmela scoffed.
“Excuse me?”
I looked around the table.
“If the trust says I control fifty-one percent, then my first vote is simple.”
I turned to Vincent.
“Every illegal operation ends.”
The room went silent.
One cousin stood.
“You have no idea what that would cost.”
“Good.”
“People depend on those arrangements.”
“Then build legal ones.”
“You think the world works like that?”
“I think women shouldn’t be trafficked through warehouses while rich families call it business.”
Carmela’s face tightened.
“That was Carlo.”
“And how many people looked away?”
Nobody answered.
Vincent stared at me.
Then said, “I vote yes.”
Carmela spun.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’ve been trying to dismantle the old structure for six years.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Because every time I moved too fast, Carlo and the older families threatened war.”
I understood.
That did not excuse everything.
But again, not simple.
With my fifty-one percent and Vincent’s twenty-four, the vote passed.
Belladonna Holdings would undergo independent forensic audit.
Illegal enterprises terminated.
Victim compensation funded from frozen legacy accounts.
Protection money transformed into legitimate security contracts or ended.
Carmela called it betrayal.
I called it Tuesday.
Then Teresa entered.
She had spent two days giving statements.
She looked tired.
Carmela stared at her.
“The servant who married Antonio.”
Teresa stopped.
I expected her to react.
Instead she smiled.
“I balanced Antonio’s books while your husband failed algebra.”
Vincent choked on his coffee.
Even I laughed.
Carmela left furious.
That evening, Teresa and I finally talked alone.
“You lied about my father.”
“Yes.”
“For twenty-eight years.”
“Yes.”
“You let me think Robert Romano existed.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever plan to tell me?”
“When Carlo was dead.”
“He could have lived another twenty years.”
“I know.”
I looked away.
She sat beside me.
“I thought keeping you ignorant made you safe.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
“I took jobs where Carlo’s people could find me.”
“I watched.”
My head snapped around.
“What?”
“I had people check on you.”
Anger surged.
“So you monitored me too?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hear how insane that sounds?”
“I do now.”
I stood.
“I need space.”
She nodded.
That mattered.
No argument.
No guilt.
No “I’m your mother.”
Just acceptance.
At the door, she said:
“One thing.”
I turned.
“I never brought you into Belladonna House.”
“I know.”
“Vivian did.”
“Yes.”
“Because Carlo wanted the locket.”
“Yes.”
Teresa’s face hardened.
“But Vivian wanted something else.”
“What?”
“She knew Antonio’s will existed.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“Carlo showed her.”
“Why would she care?”
“Because if she married Vincent before your identity became public, she could challenge your inheritance through a spousal consolidation clause.”
I stared.
“This gets more ridiculous every hour.”
Teresa almost smiled.
Vivian had planned to marry Vincent.
Then reveal that Vincent might not be Antonio’s biological child.
As his wife, she could attempt to seize his trust management authority.
If Isabella never appeared, Vivian and Carlo could effectively control Belladonna Holdings.
But when Carlo learned Teresa still possessed the locket, he needed Isabella close enough to search.
Vivian selected me from the staffing agency.
She knew exactly who I was.
Her cruelty had two purposes.
Steal the locket.
And test whether I knew the truth.
The bigger I reacted to references about Teresa, the more Vivian would know.
Then Teresa added:
“Vivian is not Carlo’s biological daughter.”
I stared.
“Please stop.”
She actually laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“Of course you are.”
Vivian’s mother had been Elena’s younger sister, Sofia.
Carlo married Sofia after Antonio’s death.
Vivian was born seven months later.
Carlo publicly claimed paternity.
But Teresa believed Antonio was the real father.
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
“If that’s true…”
“Vivian is your half sister too.”
I sat down.
The woman who hit me with a riding crop might be my sister.
And the man she planned to marry—
Vincent—
might be her cousin by blood, though not Antonio’s biological son.
Family dinner was going to require a diagram.
“Proof?”
“None.”
Teresa looked toward the hall.
“But Carlo had Antonio’s old DNA results in his files.”
The truth might be there.
And if Vivian was Antonio’s daughter, the inheritance I supposedly controlled would be split again.
Suddenly Vivian’s role in the conspiracy looked different.
Maybe Carlo had not merely raised her to marry Vincent.
Maybe he had spent her entire life hiding who she really was.
May you like
And when she recognized my locket, she wasn’t only afraid of losing money.
She was looking at another woman carrying the symbol that should have belonged to her too.
