Raffaele entered the abandoned bridal suite with his son and a housemaid when the vacuum caught beneath a seam in the old wooden floor.

The pages of the ledger were a chilling chronicle of calculated psychological torture and meticulous domestic imprisonment. Entry by entry, Bianca had tracked Evelyn’s captivity: food rations, medical supplies smuggled in when Evelyn fell deathly ill in the third year, and gloating notes about how easily Raffaele had been manipulated into believing his bride had abandoned him at the altar.

Armed with the ledger, Raffaele walked out of the study, marched up the grand staircase, and dismissed the two security guards stationed outside the west wing guest room.

"Leave us," he ordered.

"Mr. Castellano, are you sure?" one guard asked. "She’s been throwing things against the door for the last hour."

"I said, leave us."

Raffaele turned the key in the antique lock, pushed the heavy oak door open, and stepped inside.

The room was in shambles. A porcelain lamp lay shattered on the Persian rug, and decorative pillows were strewn everywhere. Bianca stood by the window, her hair disheveled, her expensive silk blouse wrinkled. When she saw Raffaele step through the doorway, her defensive sneer instantly flickered into a mask of calculated innocence.

"Raffaele! Thank goodness," Bianca rushed forward, her hands outstretched. "You need to fire those thugs outside. What kind of madness is this? You're locking up your own sister over some delusional ramblings of a woman who—"

Raffaele didn't flinch. He simply raised the leather ledger and dropped it onto the glass coffee table between them.

Bianca stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes dropped to the book, and the color drained entirely from her face, leaving her looking hollow and aged.

"Where... where did you find that?" she whispered, her voice losing all its theatrical bravado.

"Anna found it in the bridal suite storage closet," Raffaele said, his voice dangerously calm. "Every detail is in here, Bianca. Every meal you dropped down the chute. Every lie you whispered in my ear while I wept at night. Every threat you made against my son."

Bianca stared at the book for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, the corners of her mouth twitched. The panic gave way to a cold, bitter laugh. A harsh, ugly sound that echoed off the high walls of the room.

"You fool," Bianca hissed, stepping closer, her eyes flashing with venomous pride. "Do you have any idea what I saved you from? That gold-digging nobody didn't love you! She loved the Castellano name, the status, the fortune! On the morning of the wedding, I found out she was planning to take half your assets and leave you the moment the ink dried on the marriage certificate!"

"That's a lie," Raffaele snarled, stepping into her personal space. "Evelyn loved me for who I am. Even if she hadn't, no one—no one—has the right to bury a human being alive!"

"I protected this family!" Bianca shrieked, tears of pure rage springing to her eyes. "Father left the majority of the holding shares to you, but if you married without a strict ironclad prenup—which she refused to sign—she could have dismantled everything we built! I didn't want to kill her, Raffaele. I just wanted her out of the way. And when she fought me... when she screamed... I had to secure her where no one would ever look."

"You are a monster," Raffaele whispered, looking at his sister not with anger, but with absolute revulsion. "You're not a protector of this family. You're a parasite."