Chapter 4 - Isabella’s Ultimatum
Upstairs in the grand ballroom, the glittering celebration had transformed into a ghost town.
The elite guests had been quietly escorted off the property by armed security teams under the guise of an “unexpected plumbing emergency,” though the whispered rumors of a massive family scandal were already spreading like wildfire across Westchester County.
Isabella Romano sat alone on a velvet settee near the silenced piano. Her elegant ivory engagement dress looked like armor that had suddenly cracked down the middle. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and the silver leaf pendant—the very necklace Emily had recognized—lay heavy against her collarbone.
The double doors swung open, and Vincent walked into the room.
He didn't look like a groom on his wedding eve. He looked like a wolf that had cornered its prey.
Isabella didn't stand up. She looked up at him with a mixture of calculated defiance and lingering despair.
“I suppose you’re going to throw me out into the snow as well?” Isabella asked, her voice dangerously smooth. “Revoke my access cards, freeze my accounts, and pretend I never existed, just like your precious Sofia.”
Vincent stopped ten feet away from her. He looked down at the woman he had trusted, the woman who had spent two years whispering comfort into his ear while supposedly remaining entirely ignorant of the shadows surrounding his household.
“Take off the necklace, Isabella,” Vincent said quietly.
Isabella’s hand flew to the silver pendant. Her fingers curled protectively around the blue stone. “What? It’s just jewelry. You gave it to me on our one-year anniversary.”
“No,” Vincent corrected, his voice dropping into a dark, piercing register. “I didn't give it to you. That necklace belonged to Sofia’s grandmother. It was custom-made by a silversmith in Florence with a unique clasp that only has one duplicate in existence.”
Vincent took another step forward.
“The duplicate was inside Sofia’s jewelry box on the night she supposedly walked out into the freezing snow,” Vincent continued. “A box that was locked in our private safe. A safe that only two people knew the combination to. Me... and the woman I was foolish enough to let share my bed for the last two years.”
Isabella’s face drained of its remaining color. The mask of polished grace finally shattered completely, revealing the cold, calculating opportunist beneath.
“You think I had something to do with her disappearance?” Isabella laughed, a high, harsh sound that lacked any humor. “You’re delusional, Vincent! You’re grasping at straws because you can't accept the fact that your first wife couldn't stomach living with a criminal!”
“You didn't just have something to do with it, Isabella,” a cold voice echoed from the doorway.
Dominic stepped into the ballroom, holding a heavy manila folder pulled from Charles Bellamy’s briefcase. He tossed it onto the glass coffee table in front of her.
“We pulled the secondary deed records from the Westchester County land registry five minutes ago,” Dominic said, pulling a single printed sheet from the folder and pointing a finger at the signature line. “Property transfer of the North Gate acreage, signed three weeks after Sofia's 'disappearance.' The new sole owner? An LLC registered under your maiden name, Isabella. Funded entirely by Charles Bellamy’s offshore accounts.”
Isabella stared at the document. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid.
“You wanted the empire,” Vincent said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth or pity. “You wanted the Moretti name, the shipping lines, and the legitimacy. And Charles was your inside man, helping you strip the assets while keeping me distracted with your manufactured perfection.”
Isabella stood up slowly. She smoothed down the front of her ivory dress, her chin lifting with a desperate, defiant pride.
“You can lock me in a vault, Vincent. You can turn me over to the feds,” Isabella hissed, her eyes flashing with pure malice. “It won't bring your wife back. And it won't change the fact that while you spent three years weeping over an empty grave, she was out there hiding in the dirt, terrified of the monster you really are.”
Vincent didn't flinch. He didn't raise his hand or raise his voice.
“Get her out of my sight,” Vincent told Dominic, turning his back on her. “Put her on the first flight to a federal holding facility in D.C. I never want to see her face in this house again.”
As Dominic grabbed Isabella by the arm and unceremoniously hauled her toward the service exit, the grand ballroom grew quiet once more.
Vincent walked slowly to the large arched window overlooking the Hudson River. The rain had stopped, leaving the dark, freezing waters gleaming under the pale moonlight.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the cracked blue phone, and stared at the dark screen.
May you like
Sofia.
If she was alive—if she had survived the crash, the betrayal, and three years of hiding in the shadows—he was going to find her. No matter how long it took. No matter who stood in his way.
