The Donna's Trial

The vineyard's reception hall was hosting a wine tasting. Guests in designer gowns and tailored suits clinked glasses, laughing and chatting.

Teresa swept her gaze across the room, her expression turning colder by the second.

An hour ago, she'd been comforting the widows of several fallen family members. Those women hadn't received their survivor benefits in three months.

Luca's excuse was that the family was tight on funds. And yet here he was, buying a vineyard and throwing a lavish party.

Teresa fixed her eyes on Monica. "Which account is covering the cost of this event?"

Monica narrowed her eyes. "You're interrogating me? Do you even have the authority?"

"Of course I do. I want to see the financial statements."

I slid the audit notice across the table toward her.

It was an official document from the Moretti Family Foundation, bearing both my signature and Teresa's.

Monica glanced at the notice. A beat of silence. Then she laughed.

"Couldn't keep up the tax auditor act, so now you're Foundation auditors?"

Her laugh climbed higher. "Luca is the Don. You think he'd send people to audit himself? You poor, pathetic idiots."

I laughed coldly in my head.

This investigation was aimed at Luca. He didn't know a thing. We'd wanted to handle it quietly, without raising any alarms.

But clearly, Monica wasn't going to play along.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Monica beat me to it—she snapped her fingers.

Four men in black suits closed in around us.

"You two scam artists, trying to pull this on me?"

Her voice went shrill with laughter as she pointed at us. "Throw them out."

"Try it!" I barked.

The guards hesitated for half a second.

Monica's voice shot up another octave. "I'll take full responsibility. Move!"

I was about to reveal my identity when one of the guards clamped a hand over my mouth.

A wine-stained napkin was shoved in after it.

Teresa got the same treatment.

The hall went quiet.

Monica turned to the guests, raising her voice. "Blame the economy. Even scammers are getting desperate these days."

A few people chuckled.

Others lifted their phones, ready to watch the show.

Monica picked up a bill and patted my cheek with it. "What? Not happy with what I gave you earlier?"

More sycophantic laughter rippled through the crowd.

Teresa struggled violently, trying to throw herself in front of me.

Monica made a gesture. "Keep her still."

One of the guards shoved Teresa from behind.

She lost her footing and slammed her lower back into the corner of a table. Her mouth opened in a scream, but the rag muffled it into nothing—just a raw, choked gasp.

I wrenched the napkin free and roared, "Monica, are you out of your mind? Let us go right now, or my lawyer will destroy you!"

"Lawyer?"

Monica stared at me with something close to pity, like I was brain-dead.

"Which lawyer would dare sue the wife of Don Moretti? Get this straight—I'm not the one who follows the rules. I'm the one who makes them."

Looking at Monica's smug, untouchable face, my heart sank.

Could she really know Luca?

"Your husband... is Luca Moretti?" I locked eyes on her. "The Don of the Moretti family?"

Monica curled her lip into a dismissive smirk.

She grabbed my chin. "You don't get to say his name. You will address him as Don Moretti."

Rage burned through every shred of restraint I had left. My eyes went bloodshot as I glared at her.

Monica spat right in my face.

Then she pulled out her phone.

"I'm calling Luca right now. And when I confirm you're frauds—"

Her gaze swept over the scattered cash on the floor.

"I'll make sure you regret ever walking through that door."

My eyes locked on her screen.

It was Luca's private number, clear as day.

That number was known only to the family's inner circle.