Chapter 8 - The Woman From His Past
Her name was Celeste Romano.
I learned that the next morning.
She had been Adrian's father's financial adviser.
She had disappeared after Dante Moretti's death.
And according to Adrian, she had no reason to come back.
“She attended the engagement party?”
“Yes.”
“How did she get in?”
“We don't know.”
Adrian's expression became serious.
“Stay with me today.”
“I wasn't planning to go anywhere.”
“I mean it.”
I nodded.
We spent the morning reviewing security footage.
There she was.
Walking into the building.
No badge.
No escort.
No one stopping her.
She moved like someone who had once owned the place.
By noon, she sent Adrian a message.
Meet me alone.
He looked at me.
“No.”
“You need to.”
“I don't.”
“What if she knows something?”
He hesitated.
I touched his arm.
“Go.”
He frowned.
“I don't want to.”
“That's exactly why you should.”
He met her at an old hotel.
I waited downstairs.
Twenty minutes later, he returned.
His expression was unreadable.
“What did she want?”
He sat.
“She says Victor wasn't working alone.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who else?”
“Someone inside my company.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn't say.”
“Why?”
“She wants protection.”
“From whom?”
“Whoever Victor was protecting.”
I stared.
“Victor had someone above him?”
“Maybe.”
That night, Adrian admitted something.
He had been receiving anonymous financial reports for months.
Someone had been moving money through the legitimate side of his company.
He had assumed it was an internal theft.
Now he wasn't sure.
The next day, one of his senior executives disappeared.
Then another.
Then a warehouse manager was found unconscious.
The police opened an investigation.
Adrian refused to panic.
But I could see the old darkness returning.
“You don't have to become him again,” I told him.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at me.
“No.”
He took my hand.
“That's why I need you.”
We worked together.
Not as employer and assistant.
As partners.
We found the money trail.
It led to an account controlled by a shell company.
The shell company was owned by Celeste.
But the money came from someone else.
A name appeared.
Marco Moretti.
Adrian's uncle.
Luca's father.
I stared.
“Family.”
Adrian nodded.
“My uncle was always jealous.”
“Do you think he was working with Victor?”
“Possibly.”
We confronted Marco.
He denied everything.
Then his daughter appeared.
She brought proof.
Marco had been transferring money for years.
He claimed he was trying to protect the family.
Adrian said, “By stealing from it?”
Marco looked at me.
“You don't understand what this family requires.”
I stepped forward.
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I understand exactly what it requires.”
“What?”
“People willing to stop lying.”
Adrian smiled.
Marco was arrested.
Celeste testified.
The last pieces of the network collapsed.
Weeks later, the danger was finally gone.
Our wedding was scheduled for September.
Elena insisted on a large celebration.
Sofia wanted fireworks.
Luca wanted a quiet dinner.
Adrian wanted me.
He found me one night in the kitchen.
“You're supposed to be sleeping.”
“So are you.”
He smiled.
“Can't.”
“Why?”
“I keep thinking about tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
He handed me an envelope.
Inside was a plane ticket.
Paris.
“After the wedding.”
I stared.
“A honeymoon?”
“Yes.”
“We're going to Paris?”
“You've always wanted to.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“You mentioned it once.”
“Two years ago.”
“I remember.”
I smiled.
“You remember everything.”
“Only what matters.”
I hugged him.
He held me close.
The man who had once treated emotion like a weakness was now the man who remembered my dreams.
The man who had once paid me to fake love was now planning a life with me.
And for the first time, I believed the future belonged to us.
Until three days before the wedding.
A package arrived.
Inside was an old photograph.
My father.
Dante Moretti.
My mother.
Elena.
And Adrian.
All standing together.
But there was one difference.
Behind them stood a fifth person.
A woman.
My mother had crossed her face out in black ink.
On the back was a message.
She was the reason your families were destroyed.
Adrian looked at the photograph.
His expression turned cold.
“Who is she?”
I stared.
“I don't know.”
Then Elena walked into the room.
She saw the photograph.
Her face went white.
“Where did you get that?”
I asked.
“Who is she?”
Elena whispered one name.
May you like
“Margaret.”
My aunt.
