Chapter 2
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The sound of the slap seemed to remain in the funeral room long after Giovanni lowered his hand.
Emilio's cheek burned red.
But he didn't touch it.
He simply stared at his father.
Clarissa stepped between them.
“Don't hit him again.”
Giovanni looked at his daughter as if he barely recognized her.
“You disappear for three days while your mother is being prepared for burial, then walk into her funeral carrying luggage from San Cordova, and you're telling me what I can do?”
Several relatives looked away.
Others leaned closer.
Everyone in the room knew the name.
San Cordova.
A tiny tropical island off the Caribbean coast.
Beautiful beaches.
Private villas.
Very little reason for Giovanni Moretti's family to ever go there.
Except Elena had gone there six weeks earlier.
Alone.
At least, that was what she had told Giovanni.
Emilio glanced toward the coffin.
His anger vanished.
For the first time since entering the room, his face broke.
“Mom told us to go.”
Giovanni froze.
Clarissa whispered, “Emilio.”
“No.”
He looked at his sister.
“He already knows the island. There's no point lying anymore.”
Giovanni stepped closer.
“What did you say?”
Emilio swallowed.
“Mom told us to go.”
“That is impossible.”
“She left instructions.”
“When?”
“Before she died.”
Giovanni's voice dropped.
“Elena was unconscious for four days before her death.”
“She planned it before that.”
A woman near the front pew gasped softly.
Giovanni's older brother, Marco, stood beside the coffin with his jaw clenched.
“Maybe this conversation should happen somewhere private.”
“No.”
Giovanni never looked away from his children.
“It happens here.”
“Dad—”
“Open the suitcase.”
Clarissa went pale.
“No.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Giovanni's eyes narrowed.
“What is inside it?”
“Nothing that belongs to you.”
That answer was worse than refusing.
Giovanni grabbed the suitcase handle.
Clarissa pulled it back.
“Let go.”
“Open it.”
“No!”
One of the bodyguards stepped forward.
Emilio immediately moved in front of his sister.
“Don't touch her.”
The bodyguard stopped.
Giovanni raised one hand.
Then he stared at Emilio.
“You have ten seconds.”
Emilio gave a bitter laugh.
“You really want to do this beside Mom's coffin?”
“You chose to walk in here with it.”
“We came because she told us we had to be here before the casket closed.”
“Then prove it.”
Emilio's expression changed.
Clarissa grabbed his wrist.
“Don't.”
But Emilio slowly bent down.
He pulled the suitcase toward him.
The zipper sounded incredibly loud in the silent room.
Once.
Twice.
Then the lid opened.
Clothes.
A pair of wet sandals wrapped in a plastic bag.
A white envelope.
And beneath them—
A wooden box.
Giovanni stopped breathing.
The box was old.
Dark mahogany.
A silver rose was carved into the lid.
He knew that box.
He had given it to Elena on their fifth wedding anniversary.
Twenty-six years earlier.
She had cried when she opened it.
For years, she kept her most precious things inside.
Then, fifteen years ago, it disappeared.
Elena told him it had been stolen during a move.
Giovanni had believed her.
Now it was sitting inside his son's suitcase.
“Where did you get that?”
Emilio looked toward the coffin.
“San Cordova.”
“Where?”
“A house.”
“What house?”
Clarissa's breathing became shallow.
“Emilio, stop.”
But Giovanni saw something in her face.
Fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear of what would happen when he learned the answer.
He stepped toward her.
“What house?”
Emilio answered.
“Mom's house.”
Marco turned sharply.
“What?”
Giovanni stared at his son.
“Your mother did not own a house in San Cordova.”
“She did.”
“No.”
“We saw the deed.”
“Then it was forged.”
“It had her signature.”
“So?”
“And yours.”
Silence.
Giovanni's face emptied.
“That is a lie.”
Emilio reached into the suitcase.
He pulled out a folded document.
Giovanni snatched it.
The paper was old.
Fifteen years old.
PROPERTY TRANSFER.
A small cliffside home outside Puerto Azul, San Cordova.
Owner: Elena Moretti.
Previous joint owners:
Elena Moretti.
Giovanni Moretti.
Giovanni stared at his own signature.
It looked perfect.
But he had never signed that paper.
Never.
Marco moved closer.
“Gio?”
“I didn't sign this.”
Clarissa looked at him.
“We thought you'd say that.”
He turned.
“What does that mean?”
Instead of answering, she reached into the suitcase and removed the wooden box.
Her hands shook.
“Mom told us we could only open this after we reached the house.”
“Who told you?”
“She did.”
“How?”
Clarissa looked toward her dead mother.
“A video.”
Giovanni's stomach tightened.
“What video?”
Emilio pulled a phone from his pocket.
“Her attorney gave us a flash drive the night Mom died.”
Giovanni turned toward the family lawyer standing near the back.
Leonard Hale's face went gray.
“You knew?”
Leonard cleared his throat.
“Elena left sealed instructions.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“She specifically instructed me not to.”
“I am her husband.”
“I was legally obligated to follow her directions.”
Giovanni took one step toward him.
Marco caught his arm.
“Not here.”
Giovanni ripped himself free.
“Everyone knew something except me?”
“No,” Leonard said. “I knew very little.”
“What did the video say?”
Emilio unlocked his phone.
“I'll show you.”
Clarissa grabbed his hand.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He looked at the coffin.
“But Mom's gone.”
His voice cracked.
“And everybody in this family is lying.”
That silenced even Giovanni.
Emilio pressed play.
Elena appeared on the screen.
Alive.
Healthy enough to sit upright.
She was in the bedroom Giovanni recognized from their home.
Her hair was tied back.
Her eyes were tired.
But there was nothing confused about her expression.
“My beautiful children.”
Clarissa covered her mouth.
Emilio looked away.
The recording continued.
“If you're watching this, then something has happened to me before I could tell you the truth myself.”
Giovanni's knees almost weakened.
Elena looked directly into the camera.
“Do not show this recording to your father.”
Every person in the room seemed to stop breathing.
Giovanni stared at the screen.
Elena continued.
“Not because Giovanni is your enemy.”
A pause.
“But because I no longer know who around him I can trust.”
Giovanni slowly turned toward his relatives.
Nobody spoke.
“Go to San Cordova. There is a house outside Puerto Azul. The address is inside the envelope Leonard will give you. Inside the house, you will find a wooden box. Bring it home before my funeral ends.”
Giovanni looked at the mahogany box in Clarissa's hands.
Elena's recorded voice became softer.
“Whatever happens, do not let anyone take that box from you.”
Clarissa began crying.
Emilio closed his eyes.
Then Elena said one final sentence.
“There is something inside it your father buried fifteen years ago.”
The screen went black.
Giovanni took a step backward.
“No.”
Emilio opened his eyes.
“You recognize the box.”
“Yes.”
“So Mom wasn't lying.”
“I never buried anything.”
Clarissa stared at him.
“Then why did she say you did?”
“I don't know.”
Giovanni looked furious now, but something else had appeared beneath the anger.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Open it.”
Clarissa shook her head.
“Mom said we should open it only after we returned.”
“You've returned.”
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Because there's something else.”
Giovanni's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Emilio reached into his jacket.
He pulled out another envelope.
Unlike the first one, it was new.
On the front, written in Elena's handwriting, were three words.
FOR GIOVANNI ONLY.
Giovanni reached for it.
Emilio pulled back.
“Not yet.”
“Give it to me.”
“Mom left conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“You have to answer one question first.”
The relatives were no longer pretending not to listen.
Even the priest stood frozen beside the coffin.
Giovanni's voice became dangerously quiet.
“What question?”
Emilio stared at him.
“Who is Sofia?”
Giovanni went completely still.
Marco's face changed.
It happened for only a second.
But Clarissa saw it.
So did Emilio.
Clarissa turned.
“Uncle Marco?”
Marco shook his head.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
Giovanni looked at his brother.
Marco looked back.
Something passed between them.
Something old.
Something terrible.
Emilio noticed.
“You both know.”
Giovanni pointed toward the side hallway.
“Private room. Now.”
“No.”
“Emilio.”
“Our whole lives, this family has solved everything behind closed doors. Mom is dead. I'm done with closed doors.”
Giovanni stared at him for a long moment.
Then he asked, “Where did you hear that name?”
Clarissa answered.
“At Mom's house.”
“From whom?”
“A woman was waiting for us.”
Giovanni's face tightened.
“What woman?”
“She said Mom told her we'd come.”
“What was her name?”
Clarissa hesitated.
Emilio answered.
“Rosa Alvarez.”
Marco cursed under his breath.
Every head turned.
Giovanni's voice sharpened.
“You said you didn't know anything.”
Marco's face went pale.
“I didn't say I knew Rosa.”
“But you do.”
Marco said nothing.
Giovanni grabbed his brother by the jacket.
“Why do you know that name?”
“Gio—”
“Why?”
Marco pushed his hand away.
“Because Elena called me from San Cordova six weeks ago.”
The funeral room erupted in whispers.
Giovanni looked as if Marco had struck him.
“My wife called you?”
“Yes.”
“From that island?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“She begged me not to.”
Giovanni's eyes burned.
“What did she want?”
Marco glanced toward the coffin.
“She wanted to know whether Sofia was still alive.”
Clarissa dropped the wooden box.
It struck the floor.
The lock broke.
The lid opened.
Something rolled across the polished marble.
A small silver bracelet.
Giovanni stared down.
His face drained of color.
There were tiny letters engraved along the metal.
SOFIA MORETTI.
And beside the bracelet lay a photograph.
Fifteen years old.
Elena stood on a beach in San Cordova.
Beside her was Marco.
And between them—
A little girl.
Giovanni bent down slowly.
The girl had dark hair.
Brown eyes.
And around her neck was a necklace Giovanni recognized instantly.
The necklace had belonged to his mother.
He had given it to only one person in his life.
Elena.
On the back of the photograph were four handwritten words.
Giovanni turned it over.
His hands started shaking.
May you like
OUR DAUGHTER.
PLEASE FORGIVE ME.
