Chapter 7
The heavy, suffocating tension in the garden was palpable. The bright video colors of the scattered flowers seemed to mock the dark, macabre reality of Alessio's question. What's buried on that land? The words hung in the crisp American air, a terrifying inquiry that demanded blood for an answer.
Claudia scrambled backward, her elegant heels slipping uselessly against the spilled, dark potting soil. She pushed herself up against the overturned decorative stands, her diamond jewelry covered in dirt.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Alessio!" Claudia wept, her American accent pitching into a hysterical, breathless sob. "It's just a garden! We were just doing landscaping! I swear to God!"
"You swear to God," Alessio repeated softly, a terrifyingly cold smile touching the corner of his lips. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead made him look like a dark, romantic executioner. "You have just watched me break Marco's jaw. You have just felt the weight of my hand. And yet, you continue to insult my intelligence."
He took a single, deliberate step closer. "My wife loved this garden. She planted every seed with her own hands. And you, Claudia, hated her for it. You hated her because she possessed a grace you could never buy."
"That's not true!" Claudia shrieked, tears of sheer panic ruining her flawless makeup.
"It is true," Alessio countered, his volume remaining incredibly low. "But your hatred is petty. Petty hatred does not drive a senior associate like Marco to bring in an excavation crew during a private luncheon. Petty hatred does not make you risk my wrath."
Alessio slowly crouched down, resting his forearms on his tailored thighs, bringing his handsome, angular face uncomfortably close to his cousin.
"Fear does," Alessio whispered, his cold eyes locking onto hers. "You are terrified of something hidden in that dirt. Something Marco was desperate to recover before I noticed it was missing. Or before I stumbled upon it."
Evelyn, still standing near the edge of the terrace, let out a soft whimper, covering her face with her hands.
"Tell him, Mom!" Evelyn cried out, her young voice breaking with the strain. "Tell him about the bags! Tell him what Marco brought here last night!"
Claudia’s head snapped toward her daughter, pure venom flashing in her frightened eyes. "Shut your mouth, Evelyn! You know nothing!"
"I saw him!" Evelyn sobbed, pointing at the unconscious man. "I was watching from the upstairs window! Marco was out here at two in the morning. He had a shovel, and he was carrying three heavy black duffel bags. He was digging near the greenhouse!"
The entire audience of white American capos and guests gasped collectively. The revelation of a midnight burial on the Boss's private estate was an act of unfathomable treason.
Alessio’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles feathered beneath his rosy skin. He slowly stood up, towering over his cousin.
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"Three heavy black bags," Alessio stated, the absolute certainty in his voice sealing her fate. "Buried in the dead of night. And today, you were staging a 'renovation' to cover the disturbed earth, destroying the rest of the garden so the fresh digging wouldn't look suspicious."
Claudia squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing into her dirty hands, realizing there was absolutely no escape from the terrifying intellect of the veteran Mafia boss.
