The tablet screen lit up again. A new encrypted message appeared, driving through my last shred of hope like an ice-tipped blade:
"Godfather, per your instructions, the asset transfer agreement has been drafted. All Sicily jewelry holdings under your name—including the raw gemstone veins, the jewelry ateliers, and the international distribution rights—will be transferred in full to Miss Blanc."
"Awaiting your final signature."
Through the blur of tears, I saw it again: my mother's funeral. Samuel in a somber, immaculate black suit, standing before her casket, making his solemn vow to me.
"Lois, I swear on my honor as the Godfather of Sicily's jewelry empire. I will protect you for the rest of my life. I will give you a safe and stable home. Everything under my name is yours."
How laughable. How bitterly ironic.
Those earnest promises had been nothing but another carefully woven lie.
Samuel, did you forget? Those assets once belonged to me. Without my signature, I'd love to see how Selene Blanc plans to get her hands on any of it.