The room began to spin.
I gripped the back of the heavy dining chair, my knuckles turning white.
“No,” I whispered. “That’s impossible.”
Vanessa’s smile widened, triumphant and cruel.
“Look at the ticket, Luca,” she demanded. “Read the name.”
Luca stared at the charred piece of paper. His chest rose and fell in a slow, dangerous rhythm.
“Vanessa Bellini,” he read aloud.
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
I felt as though the floor had dropped out from beneath me.
Michael loved me. He had kissed my forehead that afternoon. He had touched my stomach, whispered a promise to our unborn baby, and told me to pack my bags.
He couldn’t have been planning to run away with his brother’s fiancée.
“You see?” Vanessa said, smoothing the silk of her red gown, her confidence returning. “Michael and I… we had a history. Long before you and I got engaged, Luca. When he found out you proposed to me, he lost his mind. He got this little maid pregnant just to create a scandal, hoping it would ruin the family image so I wouldn’t marry you.”
She walked toward Luca, reaching out to touch his arm.
“I was in the car that night because I was telling him it was over. That I chose you.”
Luca looked at her hand resting on his sleeve.
Then he looked at me.
I was sobbing now. The physical pain in my back was nothing compared to the agony tearing through my chest.
If Vanessa was telling the truth, my entire marriage was a lie.
“Anna,” Luca said quietly.
I couldn’t look at him. I stared at the spilled red wine on the marble floor.
“Anna, look at me.”
I slowly raised my head.
Luca stepped away from Vanessa. He walked around the table and stopped right in front of me.
He was so tall, so imposing, but his dark eyes held something I hadn’t expected to see.
Pity. And a fierce, protective anger.
“Did Michael ever mention her name to you?” Luca asked.
I shook my head, wiping my cheeks. “No. Never. He only said that if you knew who she really was, there wouldn’t be a wedding.”
Vanessa scoffed. “She’s lying to save face. The ticket proves it.”
Luca held up the burned ticket.
He stared at it for a long, agonizing moment.
Then, he did something that shocked both of us.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver lighter, and set the ticket on fire.
Vanessa screamed as the flames ate the paper.
Luca dropped the ashes onto the marble floor and crushed them beneath his expensive leather shoe.
“Luca! What are you doing? That was proof!” Vanessa shrieked.
“Proof of what?” Luca’s voice was like ice. “That you are a master at forging documents?”
Vanessa froze.
“Michael’s middle name is spelled wrong on that ticket,” Luca said, taking a slow, menacing step toward her. “He is Michael Thomas Moretti. Not Michael Tomas Moretti. He wouldn’t misspell his own name on a passport-linked ferry ticket.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“But you would,” Luca continued. “Because you booked it. You planted it in his coat after the crash, before the police arrived.”
Vanessa backed up until she hit the edge of the dining table.
“You’re insane,” she breathed.
“Am I?” Luca turned to the door. “Marcus!”
The heavy doors swung open immediately.
Marcus, the head of Moretti security, stepped inside. He was a massive man with a scarred jaw and cold, calculating eyes.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Take Vanessa to the guest house. Lock the doors. Disable the landlines and confiscate her cell phone.”
“You can’t do this to me!” Vanessa screamed, her facade completely shattering. “I am your fiancée!”
“Not anymore,” Luca said without looking at her.
Marcus grabbed Vanessa’s arm. She kicked and thrashed, her red silk gown tearing against the doorframe as she was dragged out of the dining room.
Her screams echoed down the long hallway until they finally faded away.
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating.
I let out a ragged breath and felt a sharp, shooting pain in my lower abdomen.
I gasped, bending forward over my stomach.
In a flash, Luca was beside me.
His large hands caught my shoulders, steadying me.
“Anna. Are you in pain?”
“Just… just a cramp,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. “The stress.”
“Sit,” he commanded gently, guiding me into a plush chair.
He knelt in front of me again, ignoring the broken glass near his knees.
“I believe you,” Luca said softly. “I believe Michael loved you. And I believe he was murdered.”
I opened my eyes. “Murdered?”
Luca nodded grimly. “My brother was an expert driver. He didn’t just drive off an empty road on a clear night.”
