The night I agreed to marry the dying son of New York’s most feared Mafia Boss for fifty million dollars
PART 2
Victor Whitaker did not blink.
For several seconds, only the rain tapping against the library windows disturbed the silence.
“What makes you think I know,” he asked.
“Because my sister died after overhearing something inside one of your warehouses.”
The two guards exchanged a quick glance.
Victor noticed.
So did I.
He slowly closed the contract.
“What was her name?”
“Emma Monroe.”
The color drained from his face so subtly that another person might have missed it.
I had spent years caring for dying patients.
I knew what fear looked like when powerful men tried to hide it.
Victor stood and walked toward the fireplace.
“Your sister’s death was ruled an overdose.”
“She never used drugs.”
“She worked for dangerous people.”
“She worked one night serving drinks at Pier Seventeen.”
Victor turned around.
“That building belonged to my brother.”
The door opened before I could respond.
Caleb stood there without his oxygen tube, one hand gripping the frame for balance.
“You told me Uncle Dominic died in prison,” he said.
Victor’s expression hardened.
“You should be upstairs.”
“And you should answer her.”
Caleb crossed the room slowly, every step stealing more breath from him.
When he reached me, he placed one hand on the desk.
“Emma Monroe,” he whispered.
“You knew her,” I said.
He nodded.
“She saved my life.”
The room tilted around me.
Caleb explained that five years earlier, someone had poisoned his drink during a private gathering at the warehouse.
Emma noticed the bitter smell and knocked the glass from his hand.
Two days later, she was found dead.
Victor had hidden the truth because exposing the murderer would have started a war inside the family.
“Who was it?” I demanded.
Victor looked toward the guards.
“Leave us.”
When the doors closed, he opened a hidden compartment beneath his desk and removed an old security photograph.
Emma stood beside Caleb.
Behind them was a man pouring something into a crystal glass.
I recognized him immediately.
He had attended my sister’s funeral.
He had held my hand while I cried.
Caleb’s voice turned cold.
“My father’s attorney.”
Victor placed another document beside the photograph.
It was a recent medical report bearing the same man’s signature.
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