Chapter 1 - THE THING UNDER THE VASE
The vase hit the marble floor at 8:17 p.m.
And before the last piece of porcelain stopped spinning, Marco Russo tried to kill his own brother over what had been hidden underneath it.
“Camilla!”
Domenico Russo crossed the living room in three strides.
His daughter was sitting among the broken pieces, one hand pressed against her palm where a sharp edge had sliced her skin.
“I’m okay,” she gasped.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
Domenico pulled her away from the shattered porcelain.
The vase had belonged to his wife, Isabella.
Hand-painted.
Italian.
Ugly as hell, if he was being honest.
But Isabella had loved it, which meant Domenico had protected it for the nine years since her death like it was made of gold.
He was checking Camilla’s hand when something slid across the marble.
Not porcelain.
Paper.
A yellowed envelope.
Domenico froze.
The envelope had apparently been glued beneath the false bottom of the vase.
His name was written across the front.
DOMENICO.
The handwriting made his stomach drop.
Isabella’s.
Behind him, someone sucked in a breath.
Domenico turned.
His younger brother Marco stood beside the fireplace.
The color had disappeared from his face.
“Daddy…”
Camilla’s voice trembled.
Domenico looked at her.
She wasn’t staring at the blood on her palm.
She was staring at the envelope.
“I’m sorry.”
Domenico slowly stood.
“Sorry for what?”
Camilla said nothing.
He bent toward the envelope.
Marco moved.
Fast.
“Don’t.”
Domenico’s fingers stopped an inch above it.
He looked at his brother.
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Give me that envelope.”
The room went silent.
Domenico straightened.
“You know what this is?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want it?”
Marco stepped closer.
“I said give it to me.”
Domenico almost laughed.
Almost.
Marco had been his brother for fifty-one years.
His business partner for twenty-six.
His best man.
The godfather of his daughter.
The man who had stood beside him at Isabella’s grave when Domenico could barely stand on his own.
And Domenico had never heard fear in Marco’s voice.
Not once.
Until now.
Domenico picked up the envelope.
Marco lunged.
His shoulder slammed into Domenico’s chest.
Camilla screamed.
“Uncle Marco!”
Domenico staggered backward, caught his balance and drove Marco away with both hands.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Give it to me!”
Marco swung.
Domenico ducked.
The punch passed over his shoulder.
Fifty-four years old or not, Domenico had spent twenty years boxing before sunrise three mornings a week.
Marco had spent those mornings drinking espresso and criticizing everyone else’s life choices.
The fight lasted maybe six seconds.
Domenico blocked another punch, drove his shoulder into Marco’s chest and put him on the floor.
“Enough!”
Then Camilla grabbed for the envelope.
Domenico caught her wrist.
“Camilla.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Dad, please.”
He looked from his daughter to his brother.
Two people he trusted more than almost anyone on earth.
Both terrified of a sealed letter written by his dead wife.
Something cold moved through him.
Domenico stepped back.
“You didn’t care about the vase.”
Neither answered.
“You were terrified of what was underneath it.”
Marco pushed himself up.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
Domenico stared at him.
“Then explain it.”
Marco wiped blood from his lip.
“Some things stay buried for a reason.”
Domenico looked down at Isabella’s handwriting.
Nine years.
Nine years since a late-night car accident had taken her away from him.
Nine years since police said she lost control on a wet road and hit a concrete divider.
Nine years of blaming fate.
Domenico slid his finger beneath the edge of the envelope.
Marco shouted.
“DOMENICO, DON’T!”
He tore it open.
Inside was one folded sheet of paper.
He unfolded it.
The first line destroyed everything he thought he knew about his wife’s death.
Domenico,
If you are reading this, I am probably dead.
May you like
And if Marco told you my death was an accident…
he lied.
