Chapter 7 - They Stole Helena’s Coffin
Lucia made a sound Giovanni would remember for the rest of his life.
Not a scream.
Something deeper.
Something broken.
She ran for the door.
Giovanni caught her arm. “Lucia.”
“They took her!”
“I know.”
“Let me go!”
“You running into a trap will not bring your mother back.”
“She is not property!” Lucia shouted. “She is not evidence! She is my mother!”
Giovanni pulled her into his chest.
For three seconds she fought him.
Then she collapsed against him, sobbing.
Emilio stood frozen by the desk.
Clarissa stared at the security feed.
The mausoleum doors hung open.
One camera had caught the rear of a white funeral van leaving the service road.
Marco enlarged the image.
The license plate was stolen.
Giovanni’s voice turned mechanical. “Track traffic cameras. Toll readers. Every bridge.”
Marco nodded and left.
Emilio looked at Clarissa. “Would your father do this?”
“No.”
Lucia spun. “Stop protecting him!”
“I’m not.” Clarissa’s eyes were wet. “Rafael would threaten the living. He would not steal a dead woman’s body. That is not his style.”
Giovanni glared. “You speak about his style with impressive confidence.”
“I grew up being afraid of it.”
Emilio looked away.
Clarissa stepped toward the laptop. “Whoever took the coffin wants something Helena had on her.”
Lucia wiped her face. “She was buried with her wedding ring.”
Giovanni shook his head. “Not valuable enough.”
“The cross?”
“No.”
Clarissa’s expression changed.
“What?” Emilio demanded.
She stared at Lucia. “The portrait.”
Lucia looked confused. “The portrait is here.”
“No. Helena’s portrait at the chapel.”
Father Matteo had placed a second photograph beside the coffin: Helena and Giovanni on their wedding day.
Giovanni understood first.
“There was another compartment.”
Lucia ran to the desk and grabbed the framed portrait she had carried from the funeral.
The brass latch on the back had opened one panel.
But when Giovanni pressed along the frame, a second strip of wood shifted.
Inside was a folded note.
Helena’s handwriting again.
IF THEY TAKE ME, FOLLOW THE ROSES.
Emilio stared. “She knew somebody might steal her coffin?”
Giovanni’s face went gray. “Your mother knew more than she told any of us.”
Lucia unfolded the rest.
There was a hand-drawn symbol: a black rose inside a circle.
Clarissa stumbled back.
Giovanni saw it. “You know that mark.”
She nodded slowly.
“Blue Heron uses it on internal shipments.”
Emilio frowned. “Money-laundering companies have logos now?”
“Not the company. The people behind it.”
“Who are they?”
Clarissa hesitated.
Lucia’s patience snapped. “My mother’s body is in a van somewhere. Say the name.”
Clarissa looked at Giovanni.
“Rafael calls them the Black Rose group. They move cash, art, documents, people—anything that needs to cross borders quietly.”
Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “Who leads them?”
“I never knew.”
“Helena did.”
A phone buzzed on the desk.
Not Clarissa’s hidden phone.
Giovanni’s private number.
An incoming video message.
Marco’s voice came from the doorway. “Don’t open it on the network.”
They transferred it to the isolated laptop.
The video began.
Helena’s coffin sat in a warehouse under a single hanging light.
Lucia covered her mouth.
A gloved hand placed a black rose on the lid.
Then a distorted voice spoke.
“Bring the ledger and Box 314 to Pier Seventeen by noon.”
The camera moved closer to Helena’s coffin.
“Or the next funeral in this family will need two coffins.”
The screen switched to another live image.
Father Matteo sat tied to a chair.
The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.
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