Chapter 4 - THE DEATH MY FAMILY CALLED NATURAL
My father's medical records should have been simple.
A fifty-two-year-old man.
Chest pain.
Cardiac arrest.
Death.
But nothing about the file was simple.
Several pages were missing.
The original toxicology report had been replaced by a later summary.
And the physician who signed my father's death certificate left Italy three months later.
Lucia frowned as she read.
“This doesn't prove murder.”
“I know.”
“But it justifies asking questions.”
I nodded.
Questions were enough.
I was done building my life around explanations powerful men handed me.
Alessandro remained out of the investigation unless Lucia requested documents from his family's archives.
He didn't like staying outside it.
I could tell.
But he respected the boundary.
That mattered.
Then Bianca asked to meet me.
My first instinct was no.
The image of her hotel shoes beside Alessandro's bed still lived behind my eyes.
But Lucia advised that Bianca might have information relevant to Carlo's payments.
So we met in a lawyer's conference room.
No Alessandro.
No Moretti guards.
Just two women and our attorneys.
Bianca looked different.
No diamonds.
No perfect makeup.
She sat across from me wearing a black sweater.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
I almost laughed.
“For eleven months?”
Her eyes filled.
“For all of it.”
I folded my arms.
“You knew about me.”
“Yes.”
“You knew we were engaged.”
“Yes.”
“And you continued.”
“Yes.”
The honesty was brutal.
Then she whispered:
“I thought if Alessandro chose me, my father would finally believe I was useful.”
I stared.
“Your father?”
“Vittorio Moretti.”
The alliance patriarch.
Bianca explained that her father had been working with Carlo for years.
The affair wasn't ordered at first.
But once it began, both men realized it could be useful.
Carlo wanted our wedding delayed.
Vittorio wanted leverage over Alessandro.
They encouraged Bianca to stay close.
Ask questions.
Copy schedules.
Pass messages.
I felt sick.
“But you loved him?”
Bianca looked down.
“I wanted to.”
That answer hurt less than I expected.
Maybe because by then, I understood the affair wasn't a love story.
It was two damaged people using each other while I waited in Rome for a wedding.
Then Bianca pushed an envelope toward me.
“Carlo gave me this.”
Inside was a photograph of my father entering a private clinic the night before he died.
Beside him stood Vittorio Moretti.
My heart pounded.
“What were they doing?”
Bianca shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she added:
“But my father once told Carlo that your father should've taken the warning seriously.”
My blood ran cold.
“Which warning?”
May you like
Bianca looked at me.
“The one telling him to choose between his daughter and his company.”
