Chapter 5
"Vincent believed you were an ordinary girl from a wealthy accounting family. He thought he was doing you a favor by making you a Moretti queen. Did he treat you well before this, Claire?"
"He treated me like an ornament," I answered, the words tasting like ash. "Something pretty to wear on his arm at fundraisers, something to manage his household, something to tolerate his mistress in plain sight. He thought I was trapped because I loved him."
"Did you love him?"
"I did," I said, meeting my grandfather's gaze without flinching. "Until 7:20 this morning. Now, I want him to understand what he actually lost."
Henry nodded slowly, an ancient, terrifying satisfaction settling into his weathered features.
"That is what a Bennett does," he murmured. "Julian. Bring in the boxes."
By evening, the Moretti empire had begun to unravel, though Vincent did not yet know it.
He spent the afternoon calling my phone seventy-two times. When I blocked his number, he called from burner lines, from his lieutenant’s phones, and finally from the landline of the Grand Meridian Hotel.
The voicemails were a study in unraveling panic:
“Claire, this is insane. We need to talk. Sophia is staying at her mother’s. I told her not to come around the house anymore. Just come home.”
“Claire, pick up the phone! My father is screaming at the wall, and the port authorities just put a hold on three of our international cargo containers at Calumet Harbor. What did your grandfather do? Tell him to call off the inspectors!”
“Claire, please. You don't blow up a marriage over one mistake. I was drunk. She kissed me, I didn't kiss her. Think about what we built together!”
I listened to each one, deleted them, and handed my phone to Julian.
"Wipe the cloud," I said. "Change every access credential connected to my name across their private servers."
"Already done," Julian replied from the corner of the room, tapping away on a military-grade encrypted laptop. "By the way, cousin? Your father-in-law just called an emergency meeting of the five district captains at their social club on 26th Street. He knows the foundation is cracking."
"Let's go," I said, standing up.
Julian looked up, surprised. "You want to go there? Claire, that’s their territory. Even with our name, walking into the back room of the Bella Luna—"
"I spent three years pouring wine for those men," I cut him off, picking up my black cashmere coat from the sofa. "They know me as the quiet girl who smiled when they made crude jokes about women and looked away when envelopes were passed under the bread baskets. If we are ending this, I want them to see who is signing the death certificate."