Chapter 4
Helena screamed when she realized the guards were not taking her to her suite.
She screamed in the marble hallway.
She screamed past the portraits of Bellucci men who had all done terrible things in expensive suits.
She screamed until Leo covered his ears against my shoulder.
That was when I looked at Marco.
He understood.
“Enough,” he said.
Helena stopped screaming.
Marco was not a loud man.
He never had to be.
“You can’t throw me out,” Helena said, but her voice was smaller now. “I am your wife.”
I kept one hand on Leo’s back.
“You were my wife when you protected my child. You became a stranger when you hurt him.”
“My family will hear about this.”
“Good. I called them.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“They’re on their way.”
Panic flashed across her eyes.
Helena’s family was old money with clean hands in public and dirty habits in private. Her father, Renato Greco, liked to pretend he had given me status by letting his daughter marry me.
He had forgotten I never needed his name.
Helena glanced toward the front doors.
“You called my father?”
“I did.”
“You had no right.”
“I wanted him to hear the evidence before the police receive it.”
She stared at me.
“Police?”
Leo lifted his head.
I felt him tense.
I softened my voice.
“Go with Rosa, little lion. She made chocolate milk.”
He looked at Helena.
Then at me.
“Will she come too?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Rosa took him gently. He clung to my neck for a second, then let go.
That small act of trust nearly finished me.
When he disappeared down the hall, I turned back into the man the rest of the world knew.
Helena saw it happen.
She backed away.
“Carmine, please. We can talk.”
“We are done talking.”
The front doors opened.
Renato Greco walked in with his wife, Claudia, and Helena’s older brother, Dante. Renato wore a charcoal coat and fury like a second skin. He was a tall man with silver hair and a permanent look of offense.
“My daughter called me crying from a guard’s phone,” Renato barked. “What madness is this?”
Helena ran to him.
“Papa, he hit me.”
Claudia gasped and touched Helena’s cheek.
Dante looked at me with open dislike.
“You put hands on my sister?”
“I did.”
Renato’s face darkened.
“You admit it?”
“I admit I slapped a woman who put my three-year-old son on his knees and denied him food.”
The hall went silent.
Claudia’s hand dropped from Helena’s cheek.
Renato blinked.
“What?”
Helena spun toward him.
“He is twisting everything. The child scratched my car. I disciplined him.”
Dante frowned.
“Leo scratched your car?”
“There was no scratch,” I said.
Helena snapped, “You are not helping.”
Dante looked at her.
Something passed over his face.
Not belief yet.
But doubt.
I gestured toward the dining room.
“Come.”
Renato squared his shoulders.
“I will not be ordered in your house.”
“You came to defend your daughter,” I said. “Defend her after you watch.”
He hated that.
But pride dragged him after me.
We returned to the dining room. Father Matteo was still there. Luca had prepared the footage.
Helena stood in the corner like she wanted to disappear into the wall.
Renato watched the garage clip first.
His jaw worked.
Claudia began to cry before it ended.
Dante whispered a curse.
Helena kept saying, “It looks worse than it was.”
No one answered her.
Then the nursery clip played.
Then the kitchen.
Then the ring.
Then Rosa’s note.
When it ended, Renato sat down slowly.
The old man looked ten years older.
Claudia covered her face.
Dante stared at his sister as if seeing a stranger wearing her skin.
“Helena,” he said quietly.
She crossed her arms.
“What? You all act like I murdered someone.”
I stepped forward.
“You tried to break him.”
“He is fine.”
That was when Dante moved.
He walked straight to Helena and grabbed her wrist.
“Did you threaten Rosa’s grandson?”
She pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Did you?”
“She would not stay in her place.”
Claudia sobbed.
Renato closed his eyes.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked ashamed.
“My daughter,” he said, voice rough, “you will apologize to that child.”
Helena looked at him like he had insulted her.
“No.”
“Now.”
“I said no.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Helena.”
She laughed.
All the sweetness left her.
“You too? All of you? For that boy?”
I had heard enough.
“That boy is my son.”
She turned on me.
“And what am I? Decoration? A replacement? A woman you dressed in your dead wife’s house and expected to smile?”
I stepped closer.
“You could have left.”
“You would have let me leave with nothing.”
“You married me with a contract.”
Her eyes flashed.
Renato looked sharply at her.
“What contract?”
Helena went still.
I looked at Luca.
He placed a folder on the table.
“Your daughter signed a prenuptial agreement,” I told Renato. “Full forfeiture in the event of proven abuse, fraud, coercion, or threats against household members.”
Renato stared at Helena.
“You told me there was no contract.”
Helena said nothing.
Claudia looked horrified.
“Why would you lie?”
Helena’s face twisted.
“Because none of you understand. I deserved security.”
Dante let out a bitter laugh.
“You married Carmine Bellucci and still felt poor?”
“I felt powerless.”
I leaned both hands on the table.
“You wanted power over someone smaller. That is not the same thing.”
Before Helena could answer, my phone rang.
Only a few people could reach that phone.
I looked at the screen.
My stomach tightened.
It was the nursery number.
Rosa.
I answered.
“Speak.”
Her voice came shaking through the line.
“Signore, Leo is crying. He says there is a dark room. He says Helena locked him there when you were gone.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What dark room?”
Rosa sobbed.
“The storage room under the east stairs.”
Helena made a tiny sound.
I looked at her.
Now she was truly terrified.
Not for the car.
Not for the money.
For the thing she thought would stay hidden.
I ended the call.
“Luca,” I said.
He was already moving.
Helena rushed toward the door.
Dante caught her before she made it three steps.
“Let me go!” she screamed.
I walked past her.
The east stairs were at the back of the house, near the old service corridor. We hardly used that part anymore. It smelled of stone, dust, and cold air.
Luca reached the storage door first.
It was locked.
“Open it,” I said.
He broke the lock with one kick.
The door flew inward.
The room was dark.
Small.
Windowless.
A blanket lay in the corner.
Beside it sat a plastic cup.
A child’s blue sock.
And on the wall, scratched into the paint with something small and desperate, were five crooked letters.
PAPA.
I stared at that wall.
I could not breathe.
May you like
Behind me, Helena began to cry.
But this time, she was not acting.
