THE MAFIA’S HIDDEN PRINCESS RETURNS

CHAPTER 4: THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS

Elena spent the next week in a strange kind of limbo. She smiled at Marcus over breakfast, when he actually came home. She asked about his day. She played the role of dutiful wife while secretly documenting everything.

Every late night. Every cancelled dinner. Every lie.

The investigator Victoria had recommended was a woman named Sarah Chen. Forty-five, former FBI, with a reputation for discretion and results. She’d come to the house three days after their phone call, declined Elena’s offer of tea, and gotten straight to business.

“I need to know everything,” Sarah had said, pulling out a tablet. “Names, dates, places. The more details you give me, the faster I can work.”

Elena told her about Isabelle. About the phone call. About the box of photos. About Harrison Laurent and the inheritance with strings attached.

Sarah had taken notes without expression, occasionally asking clarifying questions. When Elena finished, the investigator had studied her for a long moment.

“This is going to get messy,” Sarah had said finally. “If your husband is involved with a woman who faked her death and potentially murdered her second husband, things could get dangerous. Are you sure you want to go down this road?”

Elena had thought about backing out. About divorcing Marcus quietly and moving on with her life. But then she’d remembered his voice on that phone call—nothing else matters and her resolve had hardened.

“I need to know the truth.”

“Even if it destroys your marriage?”

“My marriage was already destroyed.” Elena’s voice had been steady. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

Sarah had nodded and stood up. “I’ll start immediately. Give me two weeks.”

That had been six days ago. Since then, Elena had been living in a nightmare disguised as normal life. She cooked meals Marcus didn’t eat. She slept in a bed he never came to. She existed in a house that felt more like a tomb than a home.

And she waited.

On the seventh day, Marcus came home for dinner.

Elena was so surprised she nearly dropped the pot she was holding. He walked into the kitchen at seven PM, still in his suit, and actually looked at her.

“Smells good,” he said, loosening his tie. “What are we having?”

Elena stared at him. He was acting like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t been disappearing every night for a week. Like their marriage wasn’t a complete lie.

“Chicken piccata,” she managed. “Your favorite.”

“Great.” He poured himself a scotch. “I’m starving. Haven’t eaten all day.”

Because you were too busy with Isabelle, Elena thought. But she bit her tongue and turned back to the stove.

They ate dinner in the dining room. Marcus actually sat across from her, in the chair that had been empty for so long. He talked about work—some deal that was closing, a difficult client, office politics that didn’t matter.

Elena nodded and made appropriate sounds, but she wasn’t really listening. She was studying him, trying to see what she’d missed. How long had he been lying to her? Had there ever been a moment when his feelings were real?

“You’re quiet tonight,” Marcus said, cutting into his chicken. “Everything okay?”

The question was so absurd Elena almost laughed. Instead, she said, “Just tired.”

“You should take better care of yourself.” He said it like he cared. Like he actually gave a damn about her wellbeing. “Maybe book a spa day or something. Use my card.”

His card. Because she didn’t have her own money. She’d given up the trust fund her family had set up when she’d walked away from them. She’d wanted to prove she didn’t need their money, that she could make it on her own.

Another mistake in a long line of mistakes.

“Maybe,” Elena said. She took a sip of water. Then, carefully casual: “How was your day?”

“Long. Too many meetings.” He didn’t look up from his plate. “Had to deal with some personal business too.”

Personal business. Was that what he was calling Isabelle now?

“Anything important?” Elena’s voice stayed light.

“Just tying up some loose ends.” Marcus finally looked at her. His ice-blue eyes were unreadable. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Never worry your pretty little head. That had been his attitude for five years. Keep Elena in the dark, keep her dependent, keep her from asking too many questions.

It had worked perfectly until now.

“Okay,” Elena said, and smiled. The expression felt foreign on her face, like a mask that didn’t quite fit.

They finished dinner in silence. Afterward, Marcus helped her clear the table—a first in their entire marriage. Elena washed dishes while he dried, standing so close their shoulders almost touched.

It felt like torture. Being near him, pretending everything was normal, when her entire world had collapsed.

“I’m glad we did this,” Marcus said suddenly. He put down the dish towel and turned to face her. “We should have dinner together more often. I’ve been so focused on work lately, I forget…” He stopped, running a hand through his dark hair. “I forget we’re supposed to be a team.”

Elena’s hands stilled in the soapy water. Was this guilt? Was Marcus actually feeling bad about neglecting her?

Or was this just another manipulation? Another way to keep her docile and unquestioning while he carried on with Isabelle?

“We’re married,” she said carefully. “Of course we’re a team.”

“Right. Married.” Something flickered across Marcus’s face, an expression she couldn’t read. Then it was gone. “I should probably mention, I have to go to Boston next week. Three days, maybe four. Client meetings.”

“Oh.” Elena’s chest tightened. Boston. Where Isabelle had supposedly died five years ago. Where she might still have connections.

This wasn’t a business trip. This was Marcus going to Isabelle.

“Will you be okay on your own?” he asked.

“I’m always on my own.” The words slipped out before Elena could stop them.

Marcus frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Elena forced herself to smile again. “I’ll be fine. When do you leave?”

“Monday morning.”

Four days from now. Four days to figure out what to do.

That night, Marcus slept in their bedroom for the first time in weeks. Elena lay beside him, rigid and awake, listening to him breathe. The bed felt too small suddenly, like he was taking up all the space.

When she was sure he was asleep, she slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom. She locked the door, turned on the shower to mask the sound, and called Sarah Chen.

The investigator answered on the second ring. “Elena. I was going to call you in the morning.”

“What did you find?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” Sarah’s voice was grim. “You need to see this in person. Can you meet me tomorrow? Somewhere your husband won’t see us?”

“Yes.” Elena’s hands were shaking. “Where?”

They arranged to meet at a coffee shop across town. Elena hung up and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes too wide.

Tomorrow, she’d know the truth. All of it.

She wasn’t sure she was ready.