Chapter 9 Cracks In The Wall
Lorenzo’s Pov
“Run a fucking autopsy on the body!” I snapped.
The morgue was cold, sterile, and it smelled like bleach and steel. The covered body on the table didn’t move. Of course it didn’t. But I still couldn’t.
believe it.
I stood rigid beside the doctor, fists clenched behind my back as I stared at the burnt corpse. The only thing remotely identifiable was the ring – the wedding ring I’d given her hand seven years ago.
Still intact. Still glinting.
Just like she’d promised. “Till death do us part,” she’d said. Smiling like a fool. Crying like I was her whole world.
That was before she ruined mine.
“I need confirmation,” I said again, more tightly this time.
The doctor, a balding man in his late fifties, nodded nervously. “We’ve already started DNA verification. The result will take another forty–eight hours. I advise you to be patient, Mr. Moretti.”
Patient?
I’d buried enemies with fewer words.
But I nodded anyway. Then I turned and walked out of the hospital, where Renata was waiting in the backseat of the car. Her eyes were red and puffy. She dabbed at them with a silk handkerchief like a grieving widow.
“This is all my fault,” she whispered when I slid into the car beside her. “If I hadn’t screamed that night… you could’ve saved her.”
I stared at her, then out the window. The streets were wet. Foggy. Miserable.
“She’s not dead,” I said flatly.
Renata flinched.
“She staged it. I know her. She wants attention, sympathy. It’s probably her way of punishing me for auctioning those pictures.”
“But the body-”
7:15 Tue, Sep 9
“Anyone can wear a ring.”
Renata said nothing after that.
When we got home that evening, the mansion was quiet. I kicked off my shoes, loosened my tie, and settled into the lounge.
“Bring my tea,” I told the maids.
Five minutes later, it arrived on a silver tray. I took one sip and spat it out immediately.
“What the fuck is this?” I growled.
The maids froze.
“This isn’t my tea.”
One of them bowed her head nervously. “I’m sorry, sir. Madam Sophia… She was the one who always prepared it. She traveled to the provinces to buy the herbs herself. Only she knew how to brew it the way you liked.”
I said nothing. Just stood, walked over to the tray, picked up the cup and
hurled it across the wall.
The porcelain shattered.
“Get out,” I muttered.
They scrambled away.
I sat there for a while, the silence growing too loud. Eventually, my phone rang. It was my father.
“You need to meet me tomorrow,” he said immediately. “The attack at the gala has rattled some of our investors. We need to settle their nerves.”
“I’ll come.”
He hung up.
Later that night, I went to the master bedroom. The lights were dim. The air was dry.
I opened the closet.
Empty.
No clothes. No scent. Not even her perfume bottle.
I checked the drawers. Nothing.
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7:15. Jun Sep 2. iny.
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Even the pictures were gone our wedding portrait, the silver–framed photo of her and Ariella laughing in the garden. The blanket Ariella used when she was a baby. The stuffed bear she couldn’t sleep without.
All gone.
“Where the fuck is everything?” I muttered.
I remembered I had gotten rid of a few things but then how did it feel like everything else was gone?
The mansion felt hollow. Like it had been purged of a ghost.
But I didn’t allow myself to dwell.
The next morning, I went back to the hospital. The doctor met me in his office.
He handed me a sealed envelope. I tore it open.
Sophia Moretti. Positive match.
My vision swam for a second.
“She’s dead?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, Mr. Moretti. I’m very sorry.”
I dropped into the chair like someone had cut my strings.
“And Ariella?” I asked quietly. “How is she?”
The doctor’s face changed. His brows furrowed.
“I’m… surprised you’re asking. Ariella passed away several days ago.”
I looked up slowly. “What did you just say?”
“She suffered a major brain hemorrhage. We called you that night. Her condition was critical. We needed your consent for emergency surgery. But you-” he paused, eyes narrowing, “you told us to let her go. That you didn’t
care.”
My throat tightened. “That’s a fucking lie.”
“We recorded the call, Mr. Moretti. It’s standard protocol for cases like this.” He pressed a button on his computer. The audio crackled to life.
“Yes, this is Lorenzo Moretti,” said a voice. “I don’t care anymore, that girl has
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7:15 Tue, Sep 9….
“We recorded the call, Mr. Moretti. It’s standard protocol for cases like this.”
He pressed a button on his computer. The audio crackled to life.
“Yes, this is Lorenzo Moretti,” said a voice. “I don’t care anymore, that girl has been a pain in the ass since she was born.”
My blood went cold.
“That’s not me,” I said. “That’s Enzo.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “We called your personal phone number, Sir. How did he get your phone?”
I grimaced, “That’s what I’d like to know too.”
“And the body?” I snapped. “Where is she now?”
“Your… wife collected it.”
“Sophia?”
“No, Renata. She said she’s your wife and the rightful person to claim the body,” the doctor explained.
I frowned, why would Renata take Ariella’s body without informing me that she’s dead and why did Enzo impersonate me?
