Chapter 3 - The Board of Silence
The morning of the dinner arrived under a heavy shroud of grey mist. The Atlantic battered the cliffs beneath Villa Rosa, throwing white foam high into the air, splashing against the reinforced glass of the ocean-facing sunroom.
Inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet.
Isabella Virelli sat in her high-backed leather armchair by the arched window. She was sixty-two years old, but her silver hair, styled with elegant precision, framed a face lined with deep sorrow. Since the stroke following the attack on her family, she had lost the ability to speak, but her mind remained as sharp as broken glass.
Marin stood quietly beside her, wearing a clean, pressed caregiver dress. Her eyes were slightly red, but her posture was no longer slouched. Her hands were steady as she poured a fresh cup of chamomile tea for the matriarch.
The heavy door opened, and Vivien walked in, holding a leather folder and a small velvet box containing a diamond brooch.
"Good morning, Isabella," Vivien said brightly, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. She ignored Marin entirely, walking directly to the old woman’s side. "Look what I brought for you to wear tonight. Dominic’s father gave this to you on your thirtieth anniversary, didn't he? I had the jeweler polish it."
Isabella did not look at the brooch. Her dark eyes, so similar to her son’s, stared straight ahead at the foggy ocean. She did not blink.
Vivien’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a dark, warning coldness. She leaned down close to Isabella’s ear.
"We had a deal yesterday, remember?" Vivien whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the oxygen machine. "When the capos arrive tonight, you will use your writing board to confirm that you want me to manage the family foundation. You will give us your blessing for the wedding. If you hesitate... well, Marin knows how fragile children can be."
Marin’s fingers tightened on the tea saucer, but she remembered Dominic’s words from the night before and remained silent, her expression impassive.
Isabella slowly turned her head. She looked at Vivien, then looked past her at Marin. A subtle, almost imperceptible nod passed between the old woman and her caregiver.
Vivien stepped back, satisfied with the silence. She turned to Marin with an arrogant flick of her hand. "Make sure her dress for tonight is ironed properly. The Maro family representatives will be attending as well. I won't have her looking like an invalid."
"Yes, Miss Morrow," Marin said softly, keeping her gaze lowered.
As soon as Vivien left the room, closing the door behind her, Isabella reached out with a trembling hand and tapped the armrest of her chair twice.
Marin immediately picked up the wooden writing board from the side table—the board Vivien thought she had confiscated the day before, replaced by a duplicate provided by Dominic’s men during the night.
Isabella took the dry-erase marker with her stiff fingers. Her hand shook as she wrote in large, jagged letters:
WHERE IS ELIAS?
Marin knelt beside the chair, tears shining in her eyes, but this time they were tears of relief. "He is safe, Mrs. Virelli. Mr. Virelli found him before her men could touch him. He is in Providence. I spoke to him on the phone last night."
Isabella released a long, shaky breath. Her chest heaved, and she closed her eyes for a moment, sending a silent prayer toward the heavens. When she opened them again, the frail helplessness was gone. In its place was the fierce, cold steel of a woman who had survived thirty years as the wife of a mob boss.
She took the marker again and erased her previous message. She wrote quickly:
TELL DOMINIC TO USE THE BASEMENT CELLAR TONIGHT.
Marin read the words and felt a shiver run down her spine. "Mrs. Virelli?"
May you like
Isabella reached out and grabbed Marin’s wrist with surprising strength. Her eyes burned with absolute determination. She pointed at the board, then pointed toward the door leading to Dominic’s private office.
"I understand," Marin whispered. "I'll make sure he gets the message."
