Chapter 1 - The Slap Heard Through the Chapel
The slap cracked through the funeral louder than the priest’s last prayer.
Emilio Vescari’s head snapped sideways.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then his heel caught the wheel of his own suitcase, and the oldest son of Giovanni Vescari went down hard in front of his mother’s coffin.
Clarissa gasped. “Giovanni!”
Giovanni did not even look at her.
He looked at the bright airline tag swinging from Emilio’s luggage.
ST. MAARTEN — SXM.
A little palm tree was printed beside the airport code.
Behind Giovanni, two bodyguards closed the chapel doors.
Emilio pushed himself up on one elbow, red-faced. “Dad—I can explain the trip.”
“Good.” Giovanni’s voice was quiet enough to make the room colder. “Start with why you were drinking rum on an island while your mother was dying.”
“I wasn’t drinking rum.”
Clarissa whispered, “Emilio.”
Too late.
Lucia turned from Helena Vescari’s coffin, her mother’s framed portrait pressed against her black dress. Her eyes were swollen from three days without sleep.
“You posted it,” Lucia said.
Emilio stared at her.
She continued. “Pool bar. Blue drink. White cabana. Tuesday afternoon.”
The mourners shifted uneasily.
Emilio’s jaw tightened. “You were checking my social media during Mom’s funeral week?”
“No. Noah from accounting sent it to me because he thought your account had been hacked.” Lucia’s voice cracked. “He couldn’t believe you would actually be there.”
Clarissa stepped forward. “This is disgusting. Helena would never want her funeral turned into a public humiliation.”
Lucia’s gaze moved to her. “My mother called Emilio seven times on Monday.”
Emilio stopped breathing for a beat.
Giovanni noticed.
“So you did see the calls,” he said.
“I was in a meeting.”
“In St. Maarten?”
“It was business.”
Clarissa jumped in. “We were looking at a hospitality investment.”
Giovanni bent, picked up the suitcase Emilio had fallen over, and stood it upright.
A strip of white sand spilled from the wheel housing onto the dark chapel carpet.
Nobody laughed.
Giovanni brushed the sand with the toe of his shoe. “Very demanding meeting.”
“Dad, please.” Emilio got to his feet. “I didn’t know she was that sick.”
Lucia made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a sob.
“You knew she was in intensive care.”
“No one told me she was dying.”
“I texted you: COME HOME NOW.”
Emilio looked away.
That look hurt Lucia more than any answer.
Giovanni’s eyes hardened. “When did your plane land?”
Emilio hesitated.
Clarissa said, “About an hour ago.”
One of the bodyguards, Marco, spoke from the wall. “Their charter landed at Kennedy at three forty-two.”
Clarissa turned sharply. “Why are you checking our flight?”
Giovanni finally looked at her.
“Because my wife died yesterday morning at six seventeen, and my son’s phone remained off until nine tonight.”
Emilio rubbed his cheek. “I needed space.”
“From what?” Lucia asked. “Her dying?”
“From this family!” he snapped.
The chapel went still again.
Emilio seemed to realize what he had said, but pride stopped him from taking it back.
Giovanni stared at him for a long time.
Then he reached toward the matching suitcase beside Clarissa.
Clarissa grabbed the handle first.
“No.”
It came out too fast.
Giovanni’s gaze dropped to her hand.
Clarissa forced a smile. “It’s just personal things.”
“Then you won’t mind.”
“I do mind.”
Marco stepped closer.
Clarissa’s knuckles whitened around the handle.
Emilio moved between them. “Dad, enough. She said no.”
Giovanni looked at his son, then at the coffin.
“Your mother asked me for one thing before she lost consciousness.”
Lucia’s grip tightened around the portrait.
Emilio swallowed. “What?”
Giovanni answered without blinking.
“She said, ‘If Emilio comes home with Clarissa, don’t let them leave with the luggage.’”
Clarissa’s face went completely white.
And for the first time since entering the chapel, Emilio looked afraid.
The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.
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