Chapter 5

I stayed on the floor outside Vincenzo’s office until the private elevator had long disappeared below me.

By the time I forced myself to stand, the morning sun had already filled the penthouse with warm gold light.

I walked to the windows because I needed proof that he was truly gone. Far below, his black car slid through the front gates and vanished into the waking city.

The silence he left behind was worse than his presence had been. It felt like the whole apartment was listening to hear what I would do next.

I called Lena before I could talk myself out of it. She was the only person from Saint Catherine’s who knew exactly what Vincenzo had done to me.

She answered on the second ring with her usual sharp amusement.

“If you are calling me this early, either your husband is dead or you finally listened to me.”

I should have laughed, but my throat closed around the sound.

“Lena,” I said, and even I could hear how thin my voice had become.

The playfulness vanished from her end immediately.

“Isabella , what happened?.”

I leaned my forehead against the glass and shut my eyes. For one weak second, I almost told her everything about the note.

Lena had been the only one who stood against the marriage from the very beginning. She had pulled me aside the night before my wedding and gripped my hands too hard.

"Criminals do not change, Isabella , they only learn to wear better masks," she had said.

"Men like Vincenzo Marchetti collect beautiful things and then break them when they get bored."

At the time I told myself she was being paranoid because of her job.

Working for the CIA had made her suspicious of everyone, especially men born into money and violence.

Now her warning felt less like paranoia and more like prophecy.

“I need a favor,” I said.

“Fine, but after the favor I am getting answers,” she said. “What kind of favor makes you sound like you are calling from a hostage video?”

I almost smiled at that, but I didn’t.

“Do you remember Marco, the scholarship boy?”

She was quiet for one beat, then her voice dropped lower. “The skinny one with the glasses and the sick mother, right?”

“Yes, him,” I said, gripping the phone harder. “I need you to find out what happened to him after school.”

Lena did not waste time pretending that request was normal.

“Why are we suddenly digging up a boy from fifteen years ago?”

“Because he was the reason Vincenzo noticed me that day,” I said. “And right now he is the only thread I have.”

Another brief silence passed between us before she answered.

“That is not an answer I like, but it is enough.”

I heard keys clicking in the background as she opened something.

“Give me his full name, every detail you remember, and do not leave anything out.”

“Marco Bellini,” I said. “He wore glasses, lived near the docks, and borrowed money for his mother’s treatment.”

Lena repeated the name once, like she was pinning it to a wall.

“Marco Bellini, Saint Catherine’s, dockside neighborhood, sick mother, owed the Marchettis money.”

“That is all I remember,” I admitted quietly. “The rest is just blood on concrete and Vincenzo standing over me.”

Her voice softened for the first time since the call began.

“You should have never married that man, and you know I am right.”

I didn’t respond, I remained silent.

Lena must have heard the silence stretch too long on my end.

“Isabella , did he touch you, or has he only frightened you so far?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Stay alert, keep your phone close, and send me the building schematics if you can.”

“You are making it sound like I need an extraction team.”

“If Vincenzo Marchetti is involved, I would prefer a helicopter and two snipers.”

That almost made me laugh despite everything pressing on my ribs.

“Just find Marco for me first, and I will call you later.”

“I will dig now, and you will answer when I call back.”

“If you ignore me, I am showing up at your door uninvited and armed.”

After the call ended, I stood there for another minute without moving. Then I opened my laptop and started searching Vincenzo Marchetti like a stranger would.

The internet adored Vincenzo Marchetti with almost insulting sincerity. Every article painted him as polished, disciplined, brilliant, and strangely generous.

There were photographs of him opening children’s clinics beside smiling politicians. There were interviews praising his foundation, his shipping empire, and his sharp moral instincts.

One glossy magazine called him the clean face of modern power. Another described him as the rare heir who had brought honor to a violent family name.

I read that sentence twice before closing the article in disgust. A man who could shape his image that perfectly was not simply dangerous.

He was patient, strategic, and terrifyingly comfortable with performance. The more I read, the colder the penthouse seemed to become around me.

At one forty-three, my phone buzzed with a message from Vincenzo. Even seeing his name on the screen made the muscles in my back tighten.

His first text was brief and written like an instruction.

*Cocktail party tonight at the Calderon, hosted by one of our shipping partners.*

The second message arrived before I could even process the first.

*Be ready by six, bella, and wear the emerald dress I bought you in Milan.*

I stared at those words until my hand started to ache.

Nothing in Vincenzo’s world was ever just a party, and I knew that now.

A room full of men like him would not be safe by accident. If he was bringing me there tonight, then he wanted me seen.

I typed back.

*Okay, I will be ready.*

Few minutes later, my phone buzzed again. Lena’s name flashed across the screen, and my pulse kicked violently against my throat.

I opened the message. There were three typing bubbles first, then one line, then another.

*I ran school records, parish records, hospital archives, and two federal mirrors.*

*Isabella , there is no Marco Bellini anywhere in any of them.*

My breath caught so hard it hurt my chest.

I read the message again, then once more, waiting for the words to correct themselves.

Another text came through before I could answer her first one, and the room went cold around me.

*No one bearing that name exists.*