Chapter One
Shattered
Valentina
They all lied to me, and I am completely alone. Every single one—murdered.
Moments ago, an explosion rocked the City of New York and my world.
Flames hungrily licked the crumbled building like a ravenous beast. Acrid smoke swirled in the air and hovered, as if holding its breath.
As winds shifted in the inferno, the sky became darkened, the sun’s enraged orange burning through the bitter, stifling blanket. Was it an avenging angel?
Ashes blanketed abandoned city streets, some dancing to the song of the emergency sirens—all that remained. Later, Valentina would wonder if all those ashes were the souls of her loved ones released. The smoke was a bitter reminder of all the lives lost this day.
The dead were buried under mounds of rubble, the only spectators of the response to their own tragedy. Uncountable ambulances raced to the site that resembled a war zone, the vehicles now staggered around the rubble, their occupants fighting to contain fires and uncover bodies.
I cannot believe it. My heart is forever broken. How could not only my entire family be dead, but the love of my life as well? My heart is shattered and aching for my beloved husband.
Emilio Armani and I had been married only a few precious months.
I loved him with all my heart, and we had dreams for the future of a family together.
How did this happen? For all their soldiers, they did not protect the dons and families of the prominent Mafia members that night.
I knew I was not the only one mourning. But that didn’t make it any less painful.
I’d never experienced such incredible agony.
Why didn’t they believe me when I warned them of this potential disaster? Why didn’t they heed my advice out of concern for them? How could their worry over causing offense to others take precedence over their lives? And why didn’t they listen to me?
As soon as the alarm in the house shrilly blared, I was startled.
Incredulous. Then an emergency-alert text message on my iPhone.
I was riveted to the message. I trembled, shivered, and shook in the storm of my emotions.
It’s not possible. It can’t be. The world had shifted on its axis and I couldn’t get my balance.
The floor had fallen out from underneath me. Nothing would be the same. Not ever.
In the aftermath, breaking news stories were on both national and local news.
Much later, investigators learned, after an extensive investigation, that mafiosi stormed into the society wedding reception held at a posh and glamourous hotel ballroom in New York City.
They gunned down every last person and then set the place ablaze with preset explosives.
News reports revealed that everyone was presumed dead.
I was all that was left.
* * *
At my parents’ house, before my world fell apart, Emilio had planned to take me home after the event.
With a mild illness that seemed like a stomach bug, I assured him I would be fine.
But I was worried about him and my family.
“Please call me when you have the chance and to leave as soon as possible without causing the families any offense. I will be fine for the short time you will be gone. But I have a strange feeling about this day and want you to return as soon as possible.”
Emilio kissed me to reassure me. “I will my love. I will. I rather be here with you. I return as soon as I can.”
If my family knew one thing about me, it was this: I was skeptical and distrustful; I didn’t take things at face value. My trust had to be earned in a relationship. It took Emilio much more time to gain my trust than he probably envisioned when he pursued me.
I’d shared my concerns about the wedding with my father as well.
Too many prominent families would be in attendance, all in one location.
That was an invitation for disaster. My father discounted my concerns.
But Emilio listened to me. He didn’t discount my concerns out of hand like my father.
It was both a miracle and a curse that, just by chance, I could not attend due to my illness.
Now, with so many dead, they may not notice my absence.
I need to escape and flee to safety—but where?
How will I ever be safe again? I am a liability.
I can’t afford to become involved with anyone, let alone have any family; the risks are too high, too dangerous.
I tried to remain calm despite the rising panic in my chest. I must stay in control, as my father drilled into us.
Other families practiced fire drills; our family practiced drills to follow in the face of attacks on or deaths in our immediate family.
As soon as I gathered myself enough, I followed our family security protocol with a heavy heart—I used a secret code to avoid identifying myself when I notified our lawyer to activate specific legal documents.
As the only one left, I had to ensure I carried out the necessary legal protections. As my father had decreed, I had to protect our wealth and assets. I was glad there was a list to follow because I was in a fog, couldn’t think, and it was unbelievably hard to focus.
Luckily, none of the household staff were there that evening, and I hoped no harm would befall them in the future. With any luck, in the myriad documents, money was allocated for their future. I would have to check as soon as it was safe in order to ensure they would continue to get paid.
The fog my brain and my emotions were in was all-encompassing, wrapped around me wherever I went. Duty, honor, family--these obligations were the DNA imprinted in our blood, minds, and hearts. So I carried on without having to think. It was pure instinct.
I erased the security tapes and emptied my father’s safe. I didn’t yet have the combination for my husband’s safe, and this week, my family was to sit down with him and review security instructions and protocols. Fate had determined otherwise.
I got word fairly quickly that my lawyer had deposited funds in my numbered Swiss account to enable me to access the money I needed from anywhere in the world.
Real estate remained protected, preventing anyone from seizing it.
Perhaps in the far distant future, it would be safe to claim it.
But I would most likely sell the properties, for the memories were too painful.
I didn’t even know if I had any insurance.
I didn’t know if I had inherited anything from my husband’s estate.
That was the least of my worries now. At any rate, I couldn’t afford to claim any of it—if it exists.
I had never liked horror movies. But now I lived in one. The realization that I was not just afraid but terrified for the first time hit me head-on. But unlike a film, I didn’t know who the true monster was behind what happened to my husband, family, and the other families.
I had not been integrally involved in the family business. I detested the need to associate with criminals and with families who inflicted pain and suffering on others.
My father and husband had assured me they were not involved in any illegal activities.
Not only had they assured me, but they took an oath in front of me.
It only increased my feelings of bewilderment and confusion at their deaths.
How did the perpetrator expect to benefit? Laws protected legitimate businesses.
Before their deaths, I always had to follow my father’s instructions and take to heart my mother’s admonishments.
I did what my husband asked me to do. Now there’s no one to direct me.
I must leave—escape. But everything in my heart argues against leaving.
What if, by some miracle, Emilio shows up on the terrace?
What if he was engaged in a private conversation about business interests, and they left the reception to discuss it?
What kind of wife am I if I leave him behind?
I feel bewildered. It is surreal. There’s no one I can trust, no one to turn to for help. I have no one to confide in. I must keep the secret of my survival to myself. I must be totally self-reliant and independent, just when I need a hug and loving arms the most.
I was now an exceedingly wealthy woman, but the money meant nothing to me. My heart was dead and cold, like the bodies of over fifty of my family in their graves of ashes, dirt, and rubble. I cannot even attend their funerals. No one can know I am still alive, for they would kill me too.
I need to make additional arrangements for my safety.
I must complete it in a way that cannot be traced.
Hollow and still in shock, it took all my energy to make a few simple decisions.
I need to leave everything behind, even my identity.
I’ll have to rebuild my life. How will I do that when I don’t want to go on living?
I feel guilty for being the only one left alive.
I should have died with them—at least then we’d be together.
Even though I held tremendous guilt in my heart for being the only survivor, I clung to life; survival was all I had left.
I was not important, but my husband and my father were.
My brothers, sisters, and cousins had their entire lives ahead of them, so much to look forward to—only to have it snatched away in the blink of an eye.
The site of the massacre had been gruesome. The explosion and fire rendered the bodies of wedding attendees unidentifiable, at least immediately. The wedding had turned into a bizarre funeral. Who would do such a thing? Who could be that cold, calculating, and cruel?
Afterward, I kept hoping, unrealistically, that there had been a mistake.
I hoped my loving husband had escaped. He got away; he made it out alive.
Against all odds, he’s still living. But even magical thinking did nothing to change reality.
It was unknown what the true motivation behind these deaths was.
Power, money, revenge? Maybe all of them.
They took what they wanted and let nothing stand in their way.
No one had claimed their violent success yet.
Whoever they were, they were determined and utterly ruthless.
I threw on a wig to disguise myself, finished packing clothes in a suitcase, and made sure to take my valuables, new phone, passports, new identification cards, cash, and a few precious pictures.
And then I left the home I loved, walking on foot through a secret underground tunnel only I know the code to access—at least, after today’s events I was the only one.
Slowly, I shook my head in denial. This shouldn’t have happened.
Why did it occur? How can I safely escape? I don’t even know my destination.
My mind was tormented. I feel like I am swallowed whole in a sea of fog.
This can’t be real. It is just a nightmare, I told myself.
My feet dragged with the suffocating weight that followed me.
Alone and distraught, I walked in slow motion, one footstep at a time, leaving my husband, family, and identity behind to emerge at an unknown destination.
Duty, family, honor—my family’s motto. Who do I have a duty to now? I have no family.
Devastated, I emerged from the darkness of the tunnel into the even darker bleakness of my new life, carrying my desolation and pain with me. Grief was my shroud.