Chapter 4 - The Masquerade of Lies
At 2:00 AM, the master suite on the third floor of Villa Moretti was cocooned in luxury and silence. Bianca Vitali lay awake in the oversized king-size bed, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. A glass of celebratory champagne rested on the nightstand. She felt invincible. The troublesome maid was gone, her body buried deep beneath the lake silt, and within three weeks, she would be walking down the aisle as Mrs. Dante Moretti—only to inherit the entire estate once the federal indictments dropped the following month.
A soft knock echoed at the heavy double doors of her suite.
Bianca frowned, sitting up and pulling a silk robe tightly around her shoulders. “Who is it?” she called out, irritation lacing her voice.
“Signorina Vitali,” a guard’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Mr. Moretti requests your presence in the main ballroom immediately. There’s... an urgent security issue regarding the estate funds.”
Alarm spiked in Bianca’s chest. Funds? Federal timing?
“Tell him I’ll be down in five minutes,” she snapped, throwing off the duvet.
She dressed quickly in a velvet black evening gown, her heart hammering against her ribs. As she swept down the grand staircase into the dimly lit ballroom, she expected to see Dante pacing with Marcus and the legal team.
Instead, the massive crystal chandelier above the room was dark.
Only a single spotlight illuminated the center of the polished marble floor.
Standing in the beam of light was Dante Moretti. But beside him, wearing a sharp, tailored ivory suit that radiated effortless power and commanding presence, stood Elena Rossi.
Bianca stopped dead on the bottom step, her breath catching in her throat. Her knees buckled slightly.
“Dante... what is the meaning of this?” Bianca forced a shaky laugh, pasting a bright, plastic smile onto her face. “Why is the domestic staff standing in the ballroom in the middle of the night? And why does she look—?”
“Alive?” Elena finished for her, stepping forward into the light.
Bianca’s face turned the color of ash. She clutched the banister for support. “You... you drowned! I saw you go under!”
“You pushed me under, Bianca,” Elena corrected, her voice echoing off the marble walls with crystalline clarity. “You assumed that because I was quiet, I was weak. You assumed that because I wore a maid’s uniform, my life had no value.”
Bianca turned frantically toward Dante, her eyes wide with manufactured panic. “Dante, she’s lying! She’s insane! She slipped and fell, and now she’s making up stories to extort us! Have Marcus throw her out—have her arrested!”
Dante didn't move. He stood like a granite statue, his cold amber eyes fixed on the woman he had trusted as his future wife. Slowly, he lifted a heavy manila folder and dropped it onto a glass pedestal beside him.
“The federal prosecutor’s office called me thirty minutes ago, Bianca,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a deadly, freezing register. “They confirmed that my fiancée has been feeding them internal shipping logs in exchange for a clean slate when the RICO indictments drop next month.”
Bianca stared at him, the mask completely shattering. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps. “Dante, let me explain—they forced me—the feds approached me—!”
“You sold out my family to save your own skin,” Dante interrupted, stepping toward her like a predator closing in on wounded prey. “And to top it off, you attempted murder on my estate.”
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“Dante, please!” Bianca shrieked, stumbling backward down the steps.
“You don’t beg him,” Elena said, stepping smoothly into Bianca’s path, cutting off her escape. “You deal with me.”
