Chapter 12 - The Traitor Under Giovanni’s Roof
The estate locked down.
Thirty-two employees were moved into the ballroom and searched by security teams. Cars were blocked at both gates. Delivery records were pulled. Camera feeds were reviewed frame by frame.
Nothing.
Whoever had entered Helena’s room knew the house.
Knew the blind spots.
Knew which camera had been offline since Monday because of storm damage.
Lucia stood in her mother’s bedroom staring at the empty space in the jewelry box.
“She never took that ring off.”
Giovanni touched the indentation in the velvet.
“Not once in forty-one years.”
Emilio leaned against the doorway, still bruised from the warehouse fight.
His face was pale with guilt.
“I should have been here.”
Lucia did not turn around.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
She continued, quieter. “I’m not going to tell you it’s okay just because someone tried to frame you.”
“I know.”
“You left her calls unanswered.”
“I know.”
“She died before you said goodbye.”
His voice cracked. “I know.”
Lucia finally looked at him.
For the first time since he entered the chapel with a suitcase, she saw her brother instead of the man who failed their mother.
Still guilty.
Still selfish.
Still her brother.
She crossed the room and slapped him.
Hard.
Emilio’s head moved a little.
He did not raise a hand.
Lucia burst into tears.
Then she hugged him.
He held her so tightly she could barely breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Giovanni turned away toward the window.
He gave them the privacy of pretending he was not crying too.
A knock came at the door.
Marco entered with a tablet.
“We found the breach.”
On security footage from three nights earlier, an employee used Helena’s service staircase at 2:13 a.m.
The image was grainy.
But the person was unmistakable.
Teresa Valli.
Helena’s personal assistant for eighteen years.
Lucia stared. “No.”
Teresa had chosen Lucia’s prom dress.
Teresa had sat at the hospital with Helena.
Teresa had organized every birthday dinner since Lucia was twelve.
Giovanni’s face went empty.
“Bring her.”
They found Teresa in the kitchen pantry preparing tea for the household staff.
She did not run.
When Marco placed the tablet in front of her, she sat down slowly.
“I wondered when you’d see that.”
Lucia whispered, “Why?”
Teresa looked at her with genuine sadness. “Because your mother asked me to.”
Everyone froze.
Giovanni’s voice sharpened. “Helena asked you to steal her wedding ring?”
“No.”
“Then stop speaking in riddles.”
Teresa reached beneath her apron and removed the ring from a chain around her neck.
Lucia covered her mouth.
“I took it before Rafael’s people could.”
Marco frowned. “How did you know they were coming?”
“Because one of them called me.”
Giovanni took the ring.
“Who?”
Teresa looked at Clarissa.
“Her brother.”
Clarissa stumbled back.
“I don’t have a brother.”
Teresa shook her head. “Yes, you do.”
Clarissa’s face emptied.
“Rafael has a son?”
“Had one before you were born. Different mother. His name is Adrian Sanz.”
Sloan, standing behind Marco, went rigid.
“You know that name?” Giovanni asked.
She nodded. “Adrian Sanz was declared dead eight years ago.”
Teresa said, “He isn’t dead.”
Clarissa whispered, “How do you know?”
Teresa looked at Emilio’s suitcase.
“Because he was sitting beside your father in St. Maarten when Helena’s investigator took the photograph.”
Lucia grabbed the photo from Box 314 and studied it again.
Rafael sat across from Clarissa.
At the edge of the frame, barely visible in a mirrored restaurant window, was another man.
Young. Dark hair. Scar across one cheek.
Sloan enlarged the image.
Then she swore.
“That’s Adrian.”
Teresa nodded.
“And Rafael isn’t the one running Black Rose.”
Clarissa stared at the reflection of the brother she never knew existed.
Teresa’s voice dropped.
“Adrian is.”
The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.
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