Chapter 3 - What Was Stolen
The basement of the Bellandi estate was a labyrinth of reinforced stone arches and temperature-controlled vaults built a century ago. The air down here was cool, smelling of damp earth, oak barrels, and age.
Four heavy wooden crates sat under the harsh glare of an overhead industrial lamp.
Bianca stood between two guards, her luxury silk dress looking absurd against the cold concrete floor. She was shivering, but it wasn't from the temperature.
"Open them," Domenico ordered.
Matteo handed Bianca a crowbar. Her hands trembled so badly she dropped it twice before managing to wedge the steel tip beneath the lid of the first crate. With a sharp groan of pine wood and popping nails, the top came loose.
Domenico stepped forward and looked inside.
His blood ran ice-cold.
It wasn't just Emma’s clothes or stuffed animals. Packed meticulously between layers of bubble wrap were the personal heirlooms of his late wife, Clara.
Clara’s hand-painted porcelain music box. The pearl necklace Domenico had given her on their wedding day. Her personal journals from her pregnancy. The master copy of Emma’s birth certificate. And at the bottom of the crate, resting inside a velvet binder, was a set of legal documents.
Domenico pulled out the binder and flipped it open.
It was an emergency petition for full legal surrender of parental custody, transferring Emma Bellandi to the Saint Jude Residential Academy in northern Vermont. The document bore a stamp from a crooked family court judge in Cook County—and at the bottom of the page was Domenico’s signature.
A forgery. A flawless, terrifyingly precise forgery.
"You weren't just sending her away," Domenico said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he looked up at Bianca. "You were erasing her. If these papers were filed while I was on my overseas business trip next week, Emma would have ceased to exist legally under the Bellandi name."
Bianca fell to her knees on the cold concrete, sobbing hysterically. "It wasn't my idea! Domenico, I swear to God, it wasn't my idea!"
Domenico grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up until she was forced to look directly into his eyes. "Whose idea was it?"
Bianca gasped for air, her eyes darting frantically toward the stairs. "I... I can't say! They’ll ruin my family! My father’s firm... they have debts!"
"Your father’s firm is already bankrupt," Helena’s calm voice cut through the damp air.
Helena walked slowly out of the shadows, holding her smartphone. She clicked a button, displaying a financial ledger on the screen.
"I ran a forensic audit on the Vale Group two days ago, Domenico," Helena said softly. "The Vale family owes ninety million dollars to an offshore investment trust registered in the Cayman Islands. A trust managed by the Moretti syndicate."
Domenico froze.
The Moretti family. His greatest rival in the shipping and real estate sectors. The men who had tried and failed for ten years to break the Bellandi monopoly over the Midwest ports.
"Bianca was offered a complete debt erasure," Helena continued, looking down at the trembling woman on the floor. "In exchange, she was supposed to marry you, gain legal access to Emma’s trust fund—which holds forty-five percent of the Bellandi voting shares inherited from Clara—and sign those shares over to the Moretti syndicate once Emma was declared legally incapacitated or removed from the country."
The entire monstrous puzzle clicked into place in Domenico’s mind.
Bianca wasn't just a spoiled, jealous socialite. She was a trojan horse, planted by his worst enemies to disarm him from the inside, using his desire to give Emma a mother figure against him.
Domenico dropped Bianca like a rag doll. She crumpled onto the floor, weeping into her ruined gown.
"Lock her in the guest security suite," Domenico told Matteo. "Confiscate all phones, laptops, and smart devices. Strip her of everything except the clothes on her back. If she tries to leave, use physical restraint."
"Understood, Mr. Bellandi," Matteo said, signaling the guards to drag Bianca away.
Once her screams faded up the staircase, Domenico turned to Helena. The cold rage in his chest hadn't diminished; it had simply settled into an icy, focused resolve.
"You knew about this two days ago," Domenico said, stepping toward his sister. "Why didn't you come to me immediately? Why let it get to the point where she touched my daughter?"
Helena didn't flinch. "Because if I told you two days ago, you would have quietly broken off the engagement and paid off her father's debts to avoid a scandal. You are a proud man, Domenico. You protect the family name at all costs. I needed you to see her true nature with your own eyes. I needed you to see the monster standing next to your daughter."
Domenico stared at his sister for a long moment. "You used my daughter as bait."
"I protected her," Helena corrected sharply, her eyes glistening with rare emotion. "I had three of my own security men watching Emma every second Bianca was near her. I would have taken a bullet before letting that woman take Emma out of this house. But you needed to wake up, Domenico! Ever since Clara died, you’ve been running this empire on autopilot, trying to replace what you lost instead of protecting what you have left!"
The harsh truth of her words struck Domenico right in the chest.
He closed his eyes, taking a long, ragged breath. He thought back to the past year—the endless work trips, the cold corporate galas, the quiet pressure from the board to present a "stable family structure" to the shareholders. He had allowed Bianca into their lives because he thought Emma needed a mother, because he thought he was doing the right thing.
He had almost given his daughter to the wolves.
"Where is the Moretti meeting taking place?" Domenico asked, opening his eyes.
Helena pulled a folded piece of paper from her clutch and handed it to him. "The Drake Hotel penthouse. Tomorrow night at eight o'clock. Don Viktor Moretti is flying in personally from New York to sign the share transfer papers Bianca was supposed to bring him."
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Domenico took the paper, his mouth setting into a hard, unforgiving line.
"Cancel the wedding press release," Domenico commanded. "And tell my legal team to prepare the war room. By tomorrow night, the Moretti family won't just lose their investment. They will lose everything they own in this city."
