Chapter 3 - The Ghost's Masquerade
The transformation was painful.
For three days, Franco Rinaldi and Gabriel kept me locked inside the estate, rebuilding Natalie from my memories and her old belongings. I had to learn her posture—she was softer, her shoulders slightly rounded, her head tilted as if she were always listening for a melody. I had to mimic her voice, which was half an octave higher than mine, sweetened by years of trying to forget the harsh, gutter-bilingual tones of our childhood.
But the hardest part was the ring.
On the third night, Gabriel entered the guest room carrying a velvet box. Inside lay a stunning, emerald-cut diamond ring surrounded by deep blue sapphires.
"She wore this every day," Gabriel said softly, lifting my left hand. His fingers were warm, sending a strange, unwelcome shiver down my spine. "I gave it to her when she agreed to marry me. It’s custom-made. If you aren't wearing it, they will know."
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. For a second, looking at our joined hands, I felt a sickening wave of guilt. I was stealing her life, her love, her death.
"Tonight is the annual charity gala for the children's hospital," Gabriel explained, stepping back. "All the families will be there. The Morettis, my captains, the politicians we buy. It is the perfect stage."
"Who are the main suspects?" I asked, adjusting the silk emerald gown they had bought to match the ring.
"Three people," Gabriel said. "First, Marco Moretti—the heir to the rival family. He wanted Natalie as a trophy to humiliate me. Second, Enzo Donatelli, my uncle. He believes I am too soft to run this empire and has been trying to usurp me for years. And third..." He paused, his jaw tightening.
"Who?"
"Franco," Gabriel whispered.
I froze. "Franco? He’s your shadow. He’s been with you since you were a boy."
"Which means he knows exactly how to destroy me," Gabriel said. "Keep your eyes open, Lauren. Trust no one. Not even me."
An hour later, we arrived at the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel. The room was a glittering sea of diamonds, tuxedos, and champagne glass towers. As Gabriel walked in with me on his arm, the music seemed to stutter.
The whispers began instantly.
"Is that...?" "No, it can't be." "She was dead..."
I kept my chin high, wearing Natalie’s gentle, mysterious smile. My heart was pounding like a war drum, but my face was a mask of perfect serenity.
"Gabriel, my boy!" a booming voice called out.
An older man with a thick mustache and a bloated, red face approached us, a glass of champagne in his hand. It was Enzo Donatelli, Gabriel’s uncle. He looked at me, and his glass trembled, a few drops of champagne spilling onto his expensive cuff.
"Natalie," Enzo breathed, his face turning an ash-grey color. "They... they said you had an accident."
"A misunderstanding, Uncle Enzo," I said, using Natalie’s soft, melodic laugh. "The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."
Enzo’s eyes darted to Gabriel, then back to me, his chest heaving. "But the police... the car..."
"A security measure," Gabriel intervened smoothly, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. "We needed to find out who was leaking information. It seems our little ruse worked."
As Enzo stammered an excuse and retreated into the crowd, I felt a sudden chill. Someone was watching us from the balcony. I looked up and saw a young man with slicked-back dark hair and a cruel, handsome face. He raised his glass to me.
"Marco Moretti," Gabriel muttered under his breath. "Don't look at him."
Before I could reply, a waiter bumped into me, spilling a few drops of red wine onto my green gown.
"Oh! I am so sorry, signora!" the waiter gasped, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket.
May you like
"It’s fine," I said, stepping back. But as the waiter bent to dab at my dress, he whispered in a voice so low only I could hear:
"You look beautiful in your sister's shroud, Lauren. But the grave is waiting."
