Chapter 2 - The Cold Light of Truth
The silence in the grand dining room was absolute. You could hear the faint, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway and the steady patter of rain against the heavy glass windows. Marco Bellini stood frozen at the head of the table, his knuckles pressed flat against the mahogany surface. The shock on his face quickly curdled into a cold, dangerous fury that sent a shiver through every guest present.
Celeste tried to regain her composure, her manicured fingers trembling as she reached for her champagne glass. "Marco, please," she stammered, her voice losing its previous polished charm. "You can't possibly listen to the ramblings of a senile old woman who has been manipulated by a criminal. Daniel is in prison for a reason. He hates what you’ve built, and he wants to destroy us."
Marco didn't look at her. His gaze remained locked on Aunt Helen, who was still weeping softly into her handkerchief. Olivia, standing quietly by the kitchen door with the fresh pot of hot tea, held her breath. She knew the rules of the Bellini household: secrets were currency, and lies were paid for in blood. If Daniel Bellini was coming home tomorrow, and if he held the truth about their father’s death two decades ago, the foundation of Marco's entire empire was about to crack wide open.
"Aunt Helen," Marco said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Look at me. Did Daniel tell you what happened the night my father died?"
Helen raised her tear-filled eyes. "He said your father didn't die in a simple robbery, sweetheart. He said the person who pulled the trigger was someone the family trusted implicitly—someone who is standing in this room right now."
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Celeste screamed, a sharp, hysterical sound, and bolted toward the French doors leading to the garden. But before she could take two steps, Marco’s head of security stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, blocking her exit.
"Nobody leaves," Marco whispered. "The party is over."
