His Father's Wife

Three days later, a convoy of five black SUVs rolled through the gates of the Moretti estate.

I sat in the lead vehicle, watching the familiar mansion come into view. This time, I wasn’t returning as a humiliated fiancée, but as the lady of the house, bringing with me the entire inheritance my father had left me.

“Mrs. Moretti, the moving trucks will be here in five minutes,” said the woman in the passenger seat. Her name was Elena, my newly hired personal assistant. She’d spent a decade on Wall Street and was an expert in law and finance.

“Good.” I smoothed the lapels of my black suit. “Remember, all of my father’s documents go directly into the safe in the master bedroom.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The car pulled up to the main entrance, and Antonio immediately stepped forward to open my door. He was much more respectful than he’d been three days ago.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Moretti.”

Home. The word sounded interesting.

Just as I was about to head inside, the roar of an engine filled the air. A red Ferrari screeched to a halt in front of the fountain.

Dante.

He stepped out of the driver’s seat, followed by a blonde woman in a skintight red dress cut so low you could lose your car keys in it.

Scarlett Romano. I recognized her—a starlet from B-grade horror movies and the same woman Dante was with that night.

“What the hell are you doing, Isabella?” Dante’s face darkened when he saw the movers unloading boxes. “I warned you not to pull any stunts!”

“I’m moving in,” I answered simply.

“Moving in? To where?”

“Here.” I nodded toward the mansion. “To my husband’s home.”

“Husband?” Scarlett’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “Darling, what is this woman talking about?”

Dante’s face flushed red. “She’s talking nonsense! Isabella, I’m warning you for the last time, cut the cheap tricks! This pathetic act won’t force me to marry you!”

An old housemaid standing nearby saw that Dante was still in the dark and hesitated. “Young Master, Don Vincent has already instructed us that Miss Isabella is…”

Before she could finish, a few movers walked past carrying an ornate mahogany chest. It was partially open, revealing glittering jewels and antiques inside.

Scarlett’s eyes lit up.

“Wow, is this stuff real?” She walked toward the chest, ignoring the movers, and snatched a diamond necklace. “My God, it’s gorgeous!”

That was the wedding gift my father gave my mother. An 18th-century antique, every diamond hand-picked.

My blood ran cold.

“Put it down.” My voice was a low growl.

“What?” Scarlett was admiring herself in the car’s window, stroking the necklace. “Put what down?”

“I said, put my mother’s necklace down.”

“Your mother?” She laughed dismissively. “It’s just some dead woman’s old junk. I’m just trying it on, it’s not like I’m going to—”

SMACK!

My palm connected with her cheek with a sharp crack.

The estate fell silent enough to hear a bird chirp.

Scarlett clutched her face, staring at me in disbelief. “You… you hit me?”

“Next time you touch my things, it won’t be just a slap.” I snatched the necklace back from her, gently stroking the diamonds. “This necklace is worth eight hundred thousand dollars. Your entire year’s salary wouldn’t buy a single stone on it.”

“Isabella!” Dante rushed over to Scarlett, his eyes burning with rage. “Are you out of your mind? How dare you hit her!”

“I was protecting my property.”

“Property?” Dante sneered. “You think moving a few boxes of junk in here is going to force me to marry you? Not a chance in hell! And,” he pointed at the necklace, “you’re going to give this to Scarlett as an apology!”

“What?”

“You heard me. You hit her, you pay. This necklace will do just fine.”

Scarlett’s eyes brightened instantly. “Yes! I want this necklace!”

I looked at them and suddenly, I smiled.

“Fine.” I held the necklace out to Scarlett. “Take it.”

Just as her fingers were about to touch it, Elena stepped forward and cleared her throat.

“One moment,” she said, pulling a file from her briefcase, her voice calm and professional. “I must advise you that this necklace is an 18th-century antique, registered in the FBI's National Stolen Art File, serial number CH-1847-3.”

Scarlett’s hand froze in mid-air.

“Under federal law governing protected cultural assets, any unauthorized possession or transfer of such an item will trigger a federal investigation,” Elena continued. “During that investigation, all assets connected to the individuals involved will be frozen pending review.”

Dante’s face went white.

“Federal investigation? Asset freeze?”

“Yes,” Elena nodded. “Bank accounts, real estate, company shares, offshore trusts… everything. The process typically takes eighteen to twenty-four months.”

Scarlett snatched her hand back as if she’d been electrocuted. “I… I don’t want it! I didn’t do anything!”

“But you’ve already touched a registered artifact,” I said sweetly. “Under the law, that constitutes ‘unauthorized contact.’ However, if you leave now, I can pretend this never happened.”

“I’m leaving! I’m leaving right now!” Scarlett bolted for the Ferrari. “Dante, take me home! Now!”

Dante wanted to argue, but one look at the thick legal file in Elena’s hand made him clench his jaw. “This isn’t over, Isabella.”

“I’ll be waiting,” I said, placing the necklace back in its case. “But next time you visit, remember to make an appointment. After all, this is my house now.”

The red Ferrari sped off, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Dante panicked and ran after it, shouting over his shoulder, “Isabella, if anything happens to Scarlett, I’ll make you pay!”

But his voice was quickly drowned out by the engine.

Elena came to my side and put away the file. “Mrs. Moretti, was the necklace really registered?”

I smiled, looking toward the gate. “Of course not. But they won’t bother to check.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said, turning to walk into my new home, “crooks are always paranoid. And the Feds are the last people they want sniffing around.”

The setting sun cast a golden glow on the stone columns of the Moretti estate. The movers continued their work, carrying box after box of my inheritance into my new home.

And at the bottom of one of those boxes lay my father’s most precious legacy—the ledgers that tracked every dirty dollar in this city.

Including every single transaction of the Moretti family.

Now, all those secrets belonged to me.