Chapter 4 - The Woman in White
Bianca chose a conservatory café near Central Park.
The glass ceiling showed a gray Manhattan sky. Winter plants climbed along the walls. Tourists and office workers filled enough tables that no one paid attention to the two women seated in the far corner.
Bianca arrived in a white coat.
Of course she did.
But up close, she did not look victorious.
She looked tired.
“I am sorry,” she said before I sat down.
“I did not come for an apology.”
“I know.”
“Did Lucian sleep with you?”
Bianca looked directly into my eyes.
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Did you want him to?”
This time, she paused.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
But lies had hurt me enough.
“My father wanted Lucian to marry me,” Bianca said. “He wanted the Moretti and Romano families united. Lucian refused for years.”
“And then?”
“And then he married you.”
Her smile was sad.
“I hated you for that.”
I folded my hands around my coffee cup.
“You do not know me.”
“No,” Bianca said. “But I knew he loved you.”
The words should have meant something.
They did not.
Not anymore.
“Why did you send the photograph?”
“I did not. My father did.”
“The rose in my son’s nursery?”
Her face went pale.
“I did not know about that.”
“Should I believe you?”
“No,” she said quietly. “But I am telling the truth.”
She slid a phone across the table.
“This belonged to my father’s accountant.”
I did not touch it.
“What is on it?”
“Messages. Bank transfers. Proof that someone inside Lucian’s organization has been working with my father.”
“Who?”
Bianca’s eyes filled with fear.
“Marco Vitale.”
Lucian’s closest adviser.
The man who called him in Sicily.
The man who claimed he was protecting our family.
The man who knew every weakness in Lucian’s world.
And mine.
Before I could reply, my phone rang.
Lucian.
I answered.
“Serena, where are you?”
“Meeting Bianca.”
“Leave. Now.”
His voice was different.
Not controlling.
Terrified.
“Why?”
“Marco disappeared. He emptied several accounts, took two security officers, and accessed records connected to Nico.”
I looked through the glass wall of the café.
A black van had stopped across the street.
Its engine was running.
A man stepped out.
Gray coat.
Silver hair.
Marco Vitale.
May you like
Bianca gripped the edge of the table.
“He found us.”
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