Chapter 5
The words fell over the garden like a death sentence.
"I buried her wearing it."
Sloane’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated panic. The defiant, mocking cruelty that had possessed her just minutes before vanished entirely. She immediately lifted her right hand and slammed her palm flat against her chest, desperately trying to cover the diamond ring hanging from the necklace.
The white American bodyguard, who had been reaching down to assist Sloane, stopped mid-motion. He slowly turned his head, looking from the woman on the grass up to Alden, his face contorting in sudden, profound confusion. The Black American bodyguard stepped back, his hand hovering near his jacket lapel, clearly calculating the shifting loyalties of the moment. Digging up the grave of a Mafia boss's wife was an act of war; wearing her jewelry to marry him was an act of profound insanity.
Callista stayed close beside Alden, still gently supporting his arm, her small hand firmly anchored against his dark suit. She could feel the lethal, coiled tension radiating from his muscular frame.
"Are you going to explain how a ring secured in a sealed casket ended up around your neck, Sloane?" Alden asked, his voice remaining terrifyingly measured.
"I bought it!" Sloane shouted from the grass, her voice cracking as she scrambled backward away from his polished leather shoes. "It's an antique! I bought it from an estate sale! You're losing your mind, Alden! The grief is making you crazy!"
"Do you expect me to believe an estate sale was holding a custom-cut diamond that I personally commissioned in Milan?" Alden inquired, taking another slow, deliberate step toward her.
The fifty guests began to murmur, the whispers rippling through the crowd like a rising tide. The optics had shifted catastrophically. Sloane’s power play had collapsed the moment the origin of the ring was questioned.
"It's a coincidence!" Sloane screamed, looking frantically up at her guards. "Help me up! Draw your weapons! He's threatening me!"
Neither bodyguard moved to draw a weapon. The Black American bodyguard looked directly at Alden, assessing the authority of the man standing before him. Alden was the head of the Fairbourne family, a man known for ruthless precision.
"Did you pay someone to dig her up, Sloane?" Alden asked, his voice dropping an octave, the coldness in his eyes absolutely paralyzing. "Or did you take it from her hand before she went into the ground?"
Sloane gasped, her face draining of color. "I didn't touch her grave! I swear to God, Alden, I didn't dig her up!"
"If you did not dig her up," Alden said slowly, the horrific realization settling over his angular features, "how did you possess the ring before the casket was closed?"
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Sloane’s palm remained clamped over her chest, but she couldn't stop the violent trembling of her shoulders. She had said too much. The trap had closed.
Callista looked up at Alden, her expressive eyes wide with horror as she realized what he was implying. If Sloane had the ring before the burial, she had been there when the woman died.
