Chapter 3My Don Let the Housekeeper Killed My Mother, but It Was His

I glanced at the waiver. Didn't take it.

"If anyone signs that," I held back my tears, my eyes lingering on where Rosaria lay, "it’s not me."

Lucio's jaw tightened. He thought I was digging in against Gianna out of spite.

"Elena. You're really going to do this the hard way."

"You and your mother had nothing except those few rotting ports of yours." His mouth curled. "You really want to make an enemy of me over a corpse?"

"Leave Gia out of it. Her hands are clean. I don't want them stained with blood."

Ivy nodded along beside him.

"Exactly." She smirked. "Or is this about squeezing money out of the Morettis with your mother's death? Because if so, I've been overestimating you."

Gianna's tears started up again.

"Don, this is my fault. Maybe I should just resign, if that would settle Miss Elena down..."

"You will not resign." Lucio pulled her behind him, his eyes going flat as they swept over me. "Elena, I'm asking one last time. Are you signing, or not?"

I was grateful, at least, that I hadn't let my mother out of the car to hear any of this.

I let them finish. Then I shook my head.

"You've all got it wrong. A waiver over a death like this is worthless unless it's signed by her own blood." I looked at Lucio. Then at Ivy. "Which means the only two people here with any right to sign it are standing right there. The two of you."

The courtyard went dead silent.

Ivy's face went red and blotchy.

"Are you out of your fucking mind, you crazy bitch?" Her voice climbed to a shriek.

"My mother is walking through that door any minute, and you're standing here telling everyone she's the one under that sheet? "

She stabbed a finger into my chest. "Take that back. Every word of it. Or I swear to God, I'll kill you."

Lucio lifted a hand, cutting her off.

"Elena. You're pretty enough that I was going to let you keep some dignity walking out of here."

"But my mother is the most important thing in my life. I don't care that you're my wife. I don't care what my father promised your family on his deathbed. Nobody disrespects her like that. Not to my face."

"Drag the body out." Lucio jerked his chin at the sheet. "Throw it in the incinerator at the dump. Let her be good for something, for once, even as fuel."

"No!" I stared at him, refusing to believe it.

"Lucio, how can you do something like this? She's a Catholic. You can't have her burned."

The goons next to him hesitated.

"Boss. Are you... sure?"

"I said do it."

Lucio's voice dropped, low and dangerous.

"She won't sign the waiver. She cursed my mother to her face. Fine. Let her watch her thieving mother rot in a landfill."

The goons moved toward the sheet.

And something in me broke.

"Don't touch her!" My voice ripped raw out of my throat, nothing left of the calm I'd carried in with. "She's the woman who raised him. She raised him."

The goons hesitated, unsure whether they were allowed to lay hands on their own Donna.

Then Gianna crouched down beside me. Close. Her lips grazed my ear, her voice pitched too low for anyone else to catch.

"There it is," she breathed. "You finally can't take it, can you?"

She didn't wait for me to answer. She straightened and turned on the goons, her voice gone cold. "What are you all just standing there for? Since when does the Don's order mean nothing to you? Or are you tired of breathing?"

They pulled me back. And they carried Rosaria across the lawn to the incinerator, while I screamed after her.

Around me, heads shook. Fingers pointed.

"This is what happens when you push a Don past his limit."

"The old Don died young, you know. Rosaria raised the two of them all on her own, Lucio and Ivy both. Donna Elena thought she could disrespect a woman like her? To his face? She's dug her own grave."

"First the mother sneaks in to steal from us, now the daughter's standing here cursing his mother in front of the whole party. That family's beyond saving, I'm telling you."

I let it all wash past me. Pulled out my phone. Sent my mother a text.

"Lucio." I closed my eyes. "You really want to go through with this? You can still stop."

He turned to face me, his expression carved from stone.

"You're the one who's going to regret this."

"Elena, your mother died because she couldn't keep her hands off things that weren't hers."

"And you won't even let her rest. You had to make a scene. Curse my mother. Turn my mother's birthday into a funeral."

The car door at the gate opened before he'd finished the sentence.

"What's going on? Did I just hear someone say... funeral?"

My mother came through the front gate, cream cashmere coat, a diamond necklace catching the light at her throat.

Color in her cheeks. Very much alive.