Back in the room that wasn’t mine, in the mansion I didn’t belong to, I couldn’t stop shaking. My heart raced as I pulled out the laptop on the desk. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know the password—my fingers moved instinctively.
Matteo’s money bought the best, but I was better.
Within minutes, I was online. The cold glow of the screen illuminated my face as I typed in the name that had been haunting me all night: Moretti Family Fire.
The search results hit me like a freight train.
News articles. Photos. Headlines screaming about tragedy.
"House Fire Claims Entire Moretti Family—Arson Suspected."
"Family of Prominent Lawyer Perishes in Blaze."
"No Survivors in Moretti Mansion Inferno."
My hands trembled as I clicked through each article, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The pictures were the worst—my family’s home reduced to blackened ruins, smoke still curling in the air.
And then I saw it.
A photo of my father, standing in front of reporters just two days before the fire. His face was grim, his eyes determined. I could almost hear his voice as I read the caption: "Lawyer Felipe Moretti vows to bring the DeLuca family to justice after his daughter, Lawyer Alessia Moretti's disappearance."
Tears blurred my vision as I scrolled further.
There it was—my family’s grave.
A polished marble headstone engraved with their names. My father. My mother. My little brother, Luca. My baby sister, Sofia.
I covered my mouth, choking back a sob. They were gone. All of them.
But then I saw the final photo. And when I saw it, my blood ran cold.
