Chapter 10
The plan was set for six weeks after the wedding.
Not death.
At first.
Marco said that part twice.
“You would step back.”
“Voluntarily?”
“If possible.”
I almost laughed.
“And if not?”
Silence.
Bianca crossed her arms.
“You were exhausted.”
“What?”
“Three children. Elena. Business.”
She said my dead wife’s name with irritation.
“You needed someone else to run things.”
“You?”
“Us.”
There.
Bianca and Marco.
Wainwright—no, Bellandi through marriage.
They wanted internal control.
No police.
No court.
Just captains choosing whose calls to answer.
“What role did my daughters play?”
Bianca smiled.
“They loved me.”
Lily said:
“No.”
Bianca’s face tightened.
I almost smiled.
The smallest person in the room kept destroying her story.
Marco continued.
“If the girls depended on Bianca, you couldn’t remove her.”
“Then after marriage?”
“You travel.”
“To where?”
“A property.”
“Against my will.”
“If necessary.”
“And the girls?”
“With Bianca.”
That was the leash.
Not titles.
Not routes.
My daughters.
I looked at Samuel.
“Elena knew this?”
“Pieces.”
“And escaped.”
“Yes.”
“Where did she go?”
Samuel’s face changed.
“There was one place.”
“What place?”
“She mentioned an old convent outside Red Hollow.”
My heart tightened.
Elena’s aunt had lived there years ago.
I knew it.
Hadn’t thought of it in a decade.
Bianca suddenly said:
“She isn’t there.”
Silence.
Every head turned.
Bianca closed her eyes.
Too late.
I stepped closer.
“How do you know?”
“No reason.”
“You checked.”
“No.”
“Recently?”
Marco snapped:
“Dominic.”
I looked at him.
He stopped.
I turned back to Bianca.
“How many times did you search Red Hollow?”
She said nothing.
Samuel whispered:
“They never found her.”
Hope is dangerous after grief.
It feels like pain wearing light.
I looked at Elias.
“Send men.”
Bianca laughed.
“You’ll find an empty convent.”
“Maybe.”
“Then what?”
I stared at her.
“Then I’ll know you spent two years looking too.”
Her expression changed.
May you like
Because whether Elena was alive or dead now—
Bianca had just confirmed the search never ended.
