Chapter 8 - The Last Lie of the Vukov Family
Three days passed.
Christmas ended.
The city returned to normal.
But inside the Vukov organization, nothing was normal.
The empire had fractured.
Some men remained loyal to Lorenzo.
Others had been loyal to Viktor.
And others had decided survival was more important than loyalty.
Isabella stood in Lorenzo's office looking through the recovered files.
There were hundreds of pages.
Every one a piece of someone's life.
She had developed a new respect for what secrets cost.
Lorenzo entered.
"We found Viktor."
"Where?"
"He hasn't been found."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Then why did you say we found him?"
"We found where he's going."
He placed an envelope on the desk.
A photograph.
An old church.
"He's meeting someone."
"Who?"
Lorenzo's face was hard.
"My mother."
Isabella stared.
"But she's dead."
"That's what I thought."
He opened another file.
A death certificate.
Then a photograph taken six months earlier.
A woman entering a monastery.
Lorenzo's mother.
Alive.
Isabella sat.
"This cannot be real."
"It's real."
"Why did she fake her death?"
"Because she wasn't trying to escape."
He looked at the photograph.
"She was building the network."
Isabella's chest tightened.
"Your mother?"
"She was the architect."
The pieces finally aligned.
The trust.
The children.
The identities.
The financial transfers.
The family.
The betrayal.
"It was never Viktor alone," Isabella said.
"No."
"He was working for her."
"Yes."
"Then why did she kill my father?"
"She didn't."
Isabella looked up.
"Then who?"
Lorenzo was silent.
He finally said:
"My father."
She understood.
Anton had not ordered Rafael's murder.
But he had ordered the operation that forced Rafael into hiding.
The difference between innocence and guilt was now a matter of intention.
Lorenzo looked shattered.
"My father wanted the network shut down, but he was too afraid to destroy it openly."
"What did he do?"
"He used your father."
He closed his eyes.
"Rafael thought he was saving children. He was actually being used to expose the network."
Isabella whispered.
"And when it went wrong?"
"Anton let everyone believe Rafael died."
Rafael's life had been sacrificed to protect the Vukov family.
Isabella felt a strange sadness.
Not only for her father.
For Lorenzo.
He had inherited an empire built by people he had spent his life trying not to become.
She reached for his hand.
He looked at her.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For staying."
She squeezed his fingers.
"I'm not leaving."
His expression softened.
"Good."
A phone rang.
Mael.
"Boss. We have a problem."
"What now?"
"Adrienne escaped."
Lorenzo's face hardened.
"How?"
"Transport vehicle was hit."
"Where is he?"
"Unknown."
Isabella stood.
"Viktor?"
"No."
Mael paused.
"Vivien."
Later that night, Vivien appeared at Isabella's apartment.
She was bruised.
Terrified.
"I need to tell you the truth."
Isabella let her in.
Vivien sat.
"Adrienne never loved me."
"I know."
"He used me."
"I know."
"Not just for money."
Vivien took a small drive from her pocket.
"This."
"What is it?"
"Everything."
She handed it over.
"Emails. Payments. Voice recordings."
Isabella plugged it in.
A recording played.
Adrienne's voice.
Then another.
Viktor.
Then another.
A woman's voice.
Isabella froze.
She knew that voice.
Her mother's.
"The account should remain under Isabella's name until she marries Lorenzo."
Isabella stopped the recording.
Her hands shook.
"What?"
Vivien cried.
"Your mother planned the marriage."
"No."
"She believed it would reunite the Moretti and Vukov families."
"She was dead before I met Lorenzo."
"I know."
"Then who was she talking to?"
Vivien looked down.
"Your grandmother."
Silence.
Isabella suddenly understood.
All those years.
The Christmas decorations.
The music box.
The letters.
Her grandmother had known everything.
And perhaps had known exactly who Lorenzo was going to become.
She whispered:
"She wanted us together."
Vivien nodded.
"Yes."
Lorenzo arrived minutes later.
Isabella handed him the drive.
He listened to the recording.
Then he sat.
"My mother manipulated everything."
"So did my grandmother."
They looked at each other.
"Does that mean this isn't real?" Isabella asked.
Lorenzo stood.
"No."
He walked toward her.
"Their plans may have put us in the same room."
He touched her cheek.
"But they don't decide what happens after."
He kissed her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Not like a man claiming something.
Like a man asking.
She kissed him back.
When they separated, her forehead rested against his.
"Then let's finish this on our terms."
He nodded.
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
Outside, the city slept.
But in a monastery three hours away, a woman opened an old wooden box.
Inside lay the original ledger.
And a photograph of Isabella.
Next to Lorenzo.
May you like
On the back were six words.
The final Christmas begins tomorrow.
