Emilio arrived late to his mother’s Mafia funeral carrying a suitcase from a tropical vacation.

I didn't sleep that night.

I lay in my childhood bed, staring at the ceiling. The house was too quiet. Too empty. Without Mother's presence, it felt like just a building. Cold walls and expensive furniture. Nothing more.

At three in the morning, I got up. I needed to see her.

I walked down the hallway to her bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. Light spilled out into the corridor.

My father was inside.

He sat on the edge of her bed, holding her favorite silk robe. His shoulders shook. Silent sobs.

I'd never seen my father cry. Not once in my twenty-eight years. Not when his own father died. Not when the business nearly collapsed. Not when I was in the hospital after a car accident.

But now, alone in the dark with my mother's things, Giovanni Moretti was finally breaking.

I quietly closed the door. I didn't want to intrude. He needed this moment. Just him and her.

I went downstairs to the kitchen. The house staff had left a plate of sandwiches on the counter, untouched. I poured myself a glass of water. My hands trembled.

I thought about Emilio. Locked in the basement. Was he crying? Was he thinking about Mother? Or was he just thinking about himself?

I thought about the airline tag. Bali. Two weeks in paradise while our mother's health deteriorated. While she called his name, asking for her son.

The anger burned in my chest. Hot and sharp.

But beneath the anger, there was something else. Confusion.

Emilio was selfish. He was reckless. He made bad decisions. But this? This was a new low. Even for him.

Something didn't add up.

Emilio had money problems. I knew that. Father had bailed him out three times in the last year. Gambling debts. Bad investments. Embezzlement from the family business, though Father had swept that under the rug to protect the family name.

But a trip to Bali? With first-class tickets? With a five-star resort? That cost money. Money Emilio didn't have.

Unless...

Unless someone else paid for it.

I set my glass down. The pieces started to click.

Clarissa.

Emilio's wife. The woman he'd married three years ago against our parents' wishes. She came from nothing. She'd set her sights on Emilio and his family name, and she'd gotten what she wanted.

But being a Moretti wife wasn't enough for her. She wanted more. More money. More status. More freedom from the family's rules.

What if she'd pushed Emilio to take this trip? What if she'd paid for it? And if she had, where did she get the money?

I needed answers.

I walked down to the basement. The bodyguard at the door nodded at me. He knew better than to refuse me.

"Is he alone?" I asked.

The bodyguard nodded. "The woman is in the next room. We separated them an hour ago. She's been screaming ever since."

I almost smiled. Almost.

"Let me in to see him," I said.

The door unlocked. I stepped inside.

Emilio was pacing the room. He looked like a caged animal. His hair was messy. His shirt was unbuttoned. His eyes were wild.

"Lucia!" He rushed toward me. "Thank God. Did you talk to Father? Is he going to let me out?"

I didn't answer. I sat at the table and gestured for him to sit opposite me.

"Emilio," I said. "I need you to tell me the truth."

"The truth about what?"

"The trip to Bali. Who paid for it?"

He hesitated. Just for a second. But I saw it.

"I did," he said. "I had some savings—"

"Don't lie to me." My voice was sharp. "I know about your debts. Father showed me the numbers last month. You're broke. You don't have savings. You don't even have enough to cover your next credit card payment."

Emilio looked away.

"Who paid for it, Emilio?"

"Clarissa," he mumbled.

I leaned forward. "Clarissa? Where did she get that kind of money? Her family is poor. She doesn't work. She doesn't have investments."

"I don't know!" Emilio's voice rose. "She said she had an inheritance. From a distant aunt. I didn't ask questions. I just wanted to get away. From this house. From the business. From watching Mother die piece by piece every day."

His words hit me. Hard.

I thought about those final weeks. Mother in the hospital bed. Her mind fading in and out. Sometimes she knew who we were. Sometimes she thought we were strangers. It was painful. Unbearably painful.

But I stayed. Father stayed. We held her hand. We told her we loved her. We were there until the very end.

Emilio ran.

"You think I didn't want to run?" I said. My voice cracked. "You think watching our mother forget my name wasn't the worst thing I've ever experienced? But I stayed. Because she needed me. Because she deserved to have someone who loved her by her side."

"I'm not strong like you," Emilio said quietly. "I'm not strong like Father. When things get hard, I run. I've always run."

"This isn't just about running, Emilio. This is about Mother's will. You said she increased your share. What if... what if someone knew that? What if someone pushed you to be away so that when the will was read, it would look like... like you didn't care about her, and Father could use that to change it?"

Emilio's eyes widened.

"Clarissa," he whispered.

"Think about it," I said. "She suddenly has money for a luxury vacation. She pushes you to go at exactly the wrong time. She makes sure you're seen arriving late to the funeral with airline tags swinging. She wants Father to be furious. She wants him to cut you out."

"But why?" Emilio looked confused. "If I'm cut out, she gets nothing."

"Unless..." I paused. The thought was terrible. But it made sense. "Unless she has another plan. Unless she doesn't need you to get what she wants."

The room went cold.

Emilio stared at me. The realization slowly dawned on his face.

"Mother's medication," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Clarissa was the one who picked it up every week. She said she wanted to help. She said it was her way of contributing to the family."

My blood ran cold.

"What are you saying, Emilio?"

He looked at me. His eyes were filled with horror.