Chapter 2 The Evidence Never Lies

BELLA'S POV

My hands didn't stop shaking even when I hit the highway.

All I could think about was what had happened.

I'm free. I'd done it. I'd fucking done it.

Finally. After all this time.

The smell of freedom is so soothing. Although I know it's not for long, I need to enjoy it all for now. I tried to avoid thinking about all that had happened in the past few years.

I want to think about the present, the future. What I could control, but it's impossible.

I stared at the passenger seat. The gun was still in the bag, the divorce papers too were there. I struggled to get those papers, it was tough. Thinking back at all that had happened, my eyes started to burn again.

Three years of planning. Six months of preparation. Weeks of practicing what I'd say, how I'd hold the gun, how I'd walk away without looking back.

And I did it. I actually did it.

I pressed harder on the gas, like putting distance between the penthouse and I could stop the tears. My vision blurred. I blinked hard, refusing to cry.

I can't cry now. I have won. I'm free.

This isn't winning. Not yet. This is just escape.

It's fine, Bella. You will pay him back in his own coin. He won't go scot-free. He will...

I couldn't anymore. I pulled over at a rest stop twenty miles outside Rome, my hands trembling so badly I could barely turn off the ignition.

It's better I let it all out. I didn't cry for so long. When my uncle and his wife died, I didn't shed a tear. When I found out about my husband's scheme, I was so composed that it scared me. I thought I was becoming emotionless. I read the evidence of my husband's betrayal over and over again like a newspaper, only that this is a crime scene that involves two sets of my parents.

Two families. Four people. All dead because of one man.

Everything depends on you now. Justice and revenge. I consoled myself. I always do.

Consoling myself is an art I mastered years ago.

The documents containing all of the evidence lay in the back seat. I picked them up again. Reading what I had read over and over.

My hands clenched. There it was, written in black and white.

They'd investigated Anthony and Elena. They started digging into them three years after I married Dante. It was a week after Anthony's visit. They were killed in broad daylight.

In just a week. One fucking week after this, the investigation was closed.

One week. Seven days to decide they deserved to die.

Coincidence? No. Dante didn't believe in coincidences. He never underestimated coincidence. Neither will I.

I flipped to the next page. Marco's signature closing the case.

Shutting my ears to blur out the memories and calm my trembling heart. It is fucking painful. I can't...

They fucking killed them and lied.

It is getting hard to breathe. I tugged at my blouse collar. I needed more air. Tears spilling uncontrollably. I couldn't stop it.

"Noooooooooo!" I screamed. Finally, I am letting it out. It had locked me in a cage for so long. Finally, I'm free.

"My husband...killed my parents. Both biological and foster parents." I repeated out loud. Maybe I can hear it differently. Or maybe to accept and remind myself of the justice I want.

Say it again. Make it real. Make it hurt.

Dante directly ordered the execution of my parents years ago, and he ordered the murder of my foster parents too. The job was so clean that no one could ever guess his involvement. However, he left a witness. The man who he contracted for the murder.

"My job was to shoot them during the commotion and flee the scene." The hitman confirmed it all. Orders came from Dante Caruso. Payment came from Caruso accounts.

Three years later, the same pattern began with Anthony and Elena. Same killer. Same organization. Same methods.

Dante Caruso murdered both sets of my parents.

The evidence was irrefutable.

Four lives. One monster.

Dante controlled more than half of my parents' territory now. Isn't that obvious? The reason he married me. For full control. Trying to make sure I don't break loose from his predatory claws.

I had known all of this without shedding a tear for years. Now I'm scared I might not stop till tomorrow.

Tugging my hair till it hurts. Maybe I would wake up.

Wake up, Bella. This isn't a nightmare. This is your life.

Anthony raised me. He worked himself to the bone at his restaurant to pay for my art school. He warned me about Dante from the beginning. I should have listened. Maybe he would still be alive.

"Stay away from that man, piccola. He'll destroy you."

I can hear his voice as clear as a bell.

Why didn't I listen? Why did I think love was stronger than his warnings?

He'd known.

And they'd killed him for it.

Dante killed my father. He killed him. He killed my mother. He killed Elena.

Repeating the crimes seemed to soothe me.

I chanted the mantra over and over, and after a while I was numb. My eyes were burning. I sat still staring at nothing. A few tears still trying to escape.

I hope they do, because after this, Bella Russo is dead.

She has to be. Only Isabella Sovereign can survive what comes next.

After hours of emotional breakdown, I got distracted by my phone buzzing. It was Dante.

Staring at the screen, I felt nothing. I calmly discarded the phone.

Let him call. Let him search. He won't find Bella Russo. She doesn't exist anymore.

When I said it's over, I'm not fucking playing.

I stared at the remaining documents, the ones I'd recovered from Anthony's basement.

My birth certificate.

My real name. My real family.

I'd found these documents hidden in Anthony's basement after he died three years ago. Then I still called him Papa.

Papa. The last time I said that word was at his funeral.

At first, I thought it was a mistake. Some bureaucratic error. I couldn't comprehend the fact that Anthony wasn't my father.

Then I found photos. A man holding me as a child. Dark hair and eyes just like mine. After several photos and pictures, I found out he was Alessandro Sovereign, and his wife, Marie Russo, strikingly similar to me in body proportion and facial structure.

The truth made me weak.

Everything I knew was a lie.

My entire existence was a plain white lie.

Twenty-five years of living someone else's life.

And Dante had known.

The investigation proved it. He'd married me knowing exactly who I was. Knowing my real parents were dead. Knowing he controlled the territories that should've been mine.

It was never about love.

It was always about power.

Every kiss was a lie. Every "I love you" was strategy. Every night in his bed was conquest.

But why did he let me leave that easily?