Chapter 17 - Burn the Throne
Renato entered Belladonna House at 9:02 the next morning.
Through the front door.
No disguise.
No fear.
He wore a charcoal suit.
Carried a cane.
And smiled at me like a grandfather arriving for Thanksgiving dinner.
“Nora.”
“Renato.”
Vincent stood beside me.
Renato looked at him.
“Nephew.”
“You stole the ledgers.”
Renato smiled.
“Prove it.”
“I intend to.”
Arthur Bellini sat three seats away.
Sweating.
He did not know we knew.
That was useful.
The board meeting began.
Renato’s attorneys presented their case.
Vincent’s arrest.
Company instability.
Questions about my identity.
Questions about Luca.
Questions about the missing ledgers.
Then Eleanor stood.
“Before the board votes, Ms. Rossi would like to speak.”
I walked to the head of the table.
The same room where I had first learned that fifty-one percent could turn a maid into a threat.
“I spent most of my adult life serving people with more money than I had.”
Renato smiled faintly.
“Some were kind.”
“Some were rude.”
“Most barely noticed me.”
I looked around the room.
“That teaches you something about power.”
“When people believe you cannot affect them, they show you exactly who they are.”
My eyes moved to Renato.
“Vivian showed me.”
Her face appeared on the remote screen.
Renato’s smile disappeared.
She had agreed to testify with counsel present.
She described his contact.
The messages.
The order to recover the locket.
The security information.
Renato remained calm.
Then Luca appeared.
He testified next.
Then Marco.
Then Rosa.
Then Carlo.
Finally Mara entered.
Not as a board participant.
As an observer.
With federal agents behind her.
Arthur Bellini stood.
Nobody stopped him.
He made it three steps.
Mara said:
“Mr. Bellini, sit down.”
He sat.
Renato stared at me.
“This is theater.”
“No.”
I placed a photograph on the screen.
Page 317.
“This is accounting.”
For the first time, Renato looked genuinely angry.
“You don’t understand what you’re holding.”
“I understand enough.”
“You think your mother was innocent?”
My heart tightened.
“Elena made choices.”
“Everyone does.”
“She hid evidence.”
“To stay alive.”
“She blackmailed people.”
“To keep them away from me.”
“She allowed men to remain in power because their fear protected her.”
I paused.
That one was harder.
Maybe true.
Renato leaned forward.
“You want saints.”
“No.”
I looked at Vincent.
“I want people to stop using someone else’s sins to excuse their own.”
Silence.
Vincent nodded once.
Renato laughed.
“Touching.”
Then he looked at the directors.
“If you hand this company to that woman, she will destroy everything Vittoria built.”
I answered.
“If the only way to preserve it is to become you, it deserves to be destroyed.”
The vote began.
Arthur Bellini was removed before casting his.
Sixteen directors voted to recognize my permanent trust control.
Four opposed.
The result was final.
I owned fifty-one percent.
Renato had lost.
He sat perfectly still.
Then smiled.
That frightened me more than anger.
“Congratulations.”
Same words as before.
I remembered.
Enjoy your first victory.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because you believe this meeting mattered.”
The fire alarm sounded.
Vincent stood.
Marco’s phone rang.
His face changed.
“The west archive.”
Smoke appeared beyond the windows.
Renato had never needed the vote.
He had needed all of us in one room.
Security evacuated the board.
Fire crews moved.
The archive fire was contained quickly.
Sprinklers destroyed documents.
But most records had already been digitized.
Another failed secret.
Renato disappeared during evacuation.
Of course.
Mara cursed.
Vincent did worse.
Then my phone rang.
Vivian.
I answered.
“Nora.”
She was crying.
“Where are you?”
“Belladonna.”
“Leave.”
“Why?”
“He knows.”
“Who?”
“Renato.”
Her breathing was ragged.
“He knows the locket at the exchange was fake.”
My hand moved toward my neck.
The real locket.
“What does he want with it?”
“I found out.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t only open the chapel.”
I stared at the tiny brass key.
“What else?”
“My father had an old map.”
“Vivian.”
“The Moretti mausoleum.”
I stopped.
“There’s a private vault beneath it.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she whispered:
“But Renato thinks Dominic’s original evidence is there.”
A crash sounded through her phone.
“Vivian?”
She gasped.
Then a man’s voice came on the line.
Renato.
“Bring the locket to your mother’s grave.”
The call ended.
Vincent stared at me.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Probably.”
“No.”
I touched the locket.
“My mother built twenty-eight years of protection around this thing.”
May you like
I looked toward the burning archive.
“I’m done running from whatever is inside.”
