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Chapter 5
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I Paid for His Father’s Funeral With His Money Chapter 8
Even I was surprised by the speed.When Antonio gave Chiara the Cullinan, I’d had a tracking device installed. It wasn’t about jealousy. It was about risk assessment. Chiara, booze, a powerful car—it was a disaster waiting to happen.And what a disaster it was.After the hit-and-run, Antonio moved fast. He used family contacts and money to install a patsy—a low-level enforcer with gambling debts. He thought it was clean.He didn’t know the Federal task force, tipped off by rival interests and my own anonymous nudges, had been watching. They picked up the patsy, flipped him in hours, and got the full story.The timeline matched perfectly.Antonio ended the call, his panic palpable. He turned back to me, all his previous bravado gone, replaced by the desperate man I’d seen begging his father’s casket for forgiveness.“Sofia, please,” he whispered, grabbing my arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I said. But you have to help me. I can’t let them take Chiara. You have connections.
I Paid for His Father’s Funeral With His Money Chapter 7
His hand, reaching for the car door handle, froze in mid-air.“Divorced?” His voice was a disbelieving rasp. “I never agreed to that! Those were words said in anger, don’t you understand? We need to talk. I am not divorcing you. How can you do this to me now, when I’ve just lost my father?”The righteous indignation in his tone was the final spark.I laughed.It started as a low chuckle, then grew, bubbling up until I was laughing so hard my sides ached, tears of a different kind springing to my eyes. Antonio took a step back, his grief momentarily displaced by alarm.I wiped my eyes, smoothed my dress, and met his gaze fully for the first time that day.“You’re hurt?” I asked, the humor gone, replaced by pure acid. “You think you get to be hurt?”“What about all the times you threatened divorce? Did you think that didn’t hurt? Giving the car I bought you to Chiara? That didn’t hurt? Using family money—money that belonged to the Corvino family—to cover up her crime? That didn’t gut me?
I Paid for His Father’s Funeral With His Money Chapter 6
The words hung in the chapel’s cold air.The color drained from both their faces.“Chiara…”Antonio’s voice was a hollow thing. He turned slowly to look at the woman standing behind him, her own face a mask of sheet-white panic. It took him a long moment to form the question. “Was it you? Did you… hit him?”Beads of sweat appeared on Chiara’s forehead. She shook her head violently, hands fluttering. “No! It wasn’t me! He’s lying! I did hit someone, but it couldn’t have been… it wasn’t him! Sofia is just jealous! She’s making this up to poison you against me!”Her voice rose, frantic, as if saying it louder would make it true.I was done listening. I gestured to Marco, who stood silently by the chapel door. He stepped forward and handed me a sleek tablet.“The surveillance footage is quite clear,” I said, my voice flat. I tapped the screen. “Chiara, driving the Cullinan I gave you, strikes a man. She does not stop. She reverses… and drives over him again before fleeing.”“The medics sai
I Paid for His Father’s Funeral With His Money Chapter 5
“No. That’s not possible. They’re at Lake Como.”Chiara stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Her voice was a soft, poisonous murmur. “How… convenient that the funeral is on your father’s birthday. Do you think… perhaps Sofia is trying to force a meeting? To get your attention in a rather dramatic way?”Antonio latched onto it, desperation in his eyes. “Yes! Yes, of course! My father would never… he’s fine!”He yanked out his phone, calling his father’s private number. It rang into the void.Panic, pure and primal, tightened his features.He stumbled toward the door, his foot catching on a pile of expensive leather suitcases.“What is this junk doing here?!” he roared, kicking one. Then he stopped. He recognized the monogram. His.Gina’s voice was quiet. “Signora Sofia’s instructions, sir. All your belongings were to be sent to Palermo.”Antonio swayed. No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She always forgave.He shoved past Chiara, didn’t wait for a driver, and hailed a taxi, b
I Paid for His Father’s Funeral With His Money Chapter 4
It rang. And rang.Antonio frowned, the pixelated image on my screen showing his confusion.“That’s… odd. He should have picked up.”Chiara leaned into the frame, her smile serene. “He’s probably busy, Tony. You said yourself your father hates these new phones.”Antonio’s frown eased. “Right. Yeah. You’re so thoughtful, Chiara.”He turned his scowl back to me. “Last warning, Sofia. Use my family’s name like this again, and I’ll end this. For good.”The threat, once a knife to my heart, now felt like a paper cut.“End it, then. No church, no state. It’s just words, Antonio. Say them.”He blinked. Stunned.“You… you want to leave?”“I want you to face reality. You don’t have a wife. You have a resource. And this resource is tapped out.”I heard the sharp intake of his breath.Chiara’s eyes narrowed. She kept her tone sweet. “Sofia, don’t be rash. We’ll talk when we’re back. Dinner, my treat. A peace offering.”Usually, Antonio would interrupt, defending her from having to apologize to me
I Paid for His Father’s Funeral With His Money Chapter 3
That afternoon, I oversaw the discreet transfer of Don Vittorio’s body from the clinic to the family’s private chapel.The clinic director, a man who knew better than to ask questions, finally murmured one as we left.“Your husband… the heir… he is not coming?”I offered a thin, bitter smile.“He is detained.”The words tasted like ash.I’d visited Vittorio just the day before. He’d been complaining of chest pains. I’d brought in the discreet Swiss cardiologist, not the family’s usual butcher. After the check-up, Vittorio had pulled me aside, his voice low.“I spoke to Antonio. He agreed. When I return from Lake Como, you two will go to the chapel. A proper ceremony. Then the legal papers. It’s time.”Hope, fragile and dangerous, had bloomed in my chest. He’d always refused, saying vows were for fools and business was binding enough.Seeing my face, Vittorio had patted my hand, his eyes old and weary.“You are a good woman, Sofia. My son… he is spoiled. Be patient. Build your life.”No
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