Chapter 13 - The Confession of a Pawn
Elena Rostova looked entirely different in the harsh morning light without the high-fashion lighting and designer wardrobe.
Her hair was pulled back into a messy, unwashed ponytail, her face was devoid of makeup, and her hands shook uncontrollably as she clutched a cheap leather handbag to her chest.
She stood in the middle of our formal sitting room, looking around the expansive parlor as if she expected federal marshals to jump out from behind the velvet curtains.
When I walked in holding baby Elena, followed closely by Luca like an unyielding shadow, Elena flinched as if she had been struck.
“Mrs. Moretti,” Elena whispered, her voice cracking.
“Please... I swear I didn't know how far they were going to take it.”
“Sit down, Elena,” I instructed, my voice level and icy.
She sat gingerly on the edge of a silk-upholstered armchair, her eyes darting nervously toward Luca’s towering, rigid frame standing by the doorway.
“Start talking,” Luca commanded quietly.
“Why?” I asked, looking down at the shivering model.
“Why did you agree to help Vanessa and Julian stage those photographs at the Mercer Hotel?”
Elena swallowed hard, tears spilling over her mascara-stained eyelashes.
“Because I owed Julian fifty thousand dollars in high-stakes poker debts,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands for a second before looking back up.
“He cornered me backstage during the fashion week afterparty.”
“He said if I wore your emerald coat, walked into room 814 with him while the lobby cameras were rolling, and let him take a few staged polaroids, my debt would be wiped clean.”
“He swore to me that it was just a corporate prank to scare you into signing a fast divorce settlement.”
“He told me nothing criminal would happen!”
“A prank?” I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
“You knew I was married. You knew what was at stake.”
“I was drowning, Mrs. Moretti!” Elena cried, pressing her palms together in a desperate plea for mercy.
“Sinclair Maritime owned my agency’s debt! They held my entire career in the palm of their hand!”
“Julian told me you were already separated, that you didn't even care about the marriage!”
“He lied,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying register that made Elena shrink back into the cushions.
“He lied to save his own skin, and you helped him pull the trigger.”
“I’m testifying against them!” Elena blurted out frantically, pulling a folded document from her bag.
“Look! Here is my signed affidavit for the U.S. Attorney’s office!”
“I gave the prosecutors every single text message, every bank transfer receipt, every audio recording where Julian admitted that Vanessa planned the whole thing six months in advance!”
I looked down at the trembling papers in her hand.
The labyrinth of deceit that had kept us apart for nearly a year was finally dissolving into hard, unalterable proof.
“Why are you bringing this to us instead of giving it directly to the federal prosecutor?” I asked.
Elena looked at me, her eyes wide with terror.
“Because Julian made a phone call from jail last night.”
“He told me that if I went through with the testimony, his associates would make sure I never walked out of federal court.”
“He said only one person in Manhattan has the power to protect me from the Sinclair family’s remaining underworld connections.”
She turned her tear-streaked face toward Luca.
“Mr. Moretti... please. Protect me. I’ll give you everything else I have.”
Luca stared down at her with cold, clinical detachment.
“You think I’m going to provide you with personal security detail after what you did to my family?” he asked, his voice chilling the room.
“I’m not asking for charity,” Elena sobbed, sliding the document across the coffee table.
“I’m asking for survival.”
Luca looked at the affidavit, then slowly turned his gaze toward me, silently asking for my verdict.
I looked down at sleeping baby Elena, feeling the profound warmth of her tiny heartbeat against my chest.
The bitterness that had poisoned my soul for seven months suddenly felt heavy, exhausting, and entirely useless to carry anymore.
“Take her affidavit, Luca,” I said softly.
“Hand it over to Arthur Vance and Marcus Hayes.”
“And give her enough financial backing to relocate out of New York under federal witness protection.”
Elena’s jaw dropped in sheer astonishment.
“You... you’re saving me?”
“I’m not saving you, Elena,” I replied, walking toward the grand window overlooking the garden.
“I’m simply cleaning the slate so I never have to look at your face again.”
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“Get out of my house before my husband changes his mind.”
Without another word, Elena grabbed her bag, scrambled off the sofa, and bolted out the double doors, the sound of her frantic heels echoing down the marble hallway until the front door clicked shut.
