Chapter 2 - The Night Her Fingers Broke
Two days earlier, Sienna Varela had walked into the music room at 9:12 p.m. carrying a tray of tea.
She hadn't intended to spy on anyone.
She was looking for Alma Ruiz.
The older woman had been unusually nervous that week.
Twice, Sienna had found her crying in the laundry room.
Once, Alma had asked whether Dante had ever explained where the money from his father's workers' fund went.
Sienna hadn't known what she meant.
“What money?”
Alma had shaken her head.
“Never mind, sweetheart.”
But Sienna had noticed the way her hands trembled.
Alma's son, Luis, had died fourteen months earlier while working at one of the Varela shipping terminals.
The official report called it an industrial accident.
Luis had been thirty-six.
A single father.
He left behind a ten-year-old boy named Mateo.
Sienna taught Mateo piano every Saturday.
The boy was shy, with serious brown eyes and a habit of drawing small boats in the margins of his music books.
He rarely spoke about his father.
But every time he finished a new piece, he asked Sienna the same question.
“Do you think Dad would've liked that?”
And every time, Sienna said yes.
Alma had never received the compensation promised by the Varela Workers' Protection Fund.
Dante's father had established the fund decades earlier to support families of employees killed or permanently injured on the job.
After his death, the fund continued under the management of Varela Maritime.
Vivienne oversaw its finances.
Beatrice chaired its governing board.
According to official records, Alma had received $1.9 million after Luis died.
In reality, she had received nothing.
Not a dollar.
When Alma questioned the discrepancy, someone had told her the records were confidential.
Then a man from company security visited her apartment.
He suggested she stop asking questions if she wanted to keep her job.
Alma had been frightened.
But she hadn't stopped.
She started looking.
And she found something much worse.
That Wednesday evening, Sienna entered the music room and found Alma kneeling beside the piano bench.
The older woman's face was pale.
“Alma?”
Alma jumped.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“What are you doing?”
Alma looked toward the doorway.
Then she stood.
“Come here.”
Sienna approached.
Alma took her hand.
“I need you to listen carefully.”
“What's wrong?”
“There's money missing from the workers' fund.”
Sienna frowned.
“How much?”
“I don't know. Millions, maybe.”
“Have you told Dante?”
Alma shook her head.
“Every report I tried to get to him was sent back to his office.”
“Who sent it back?”
“Vivienne.”
Sienna's stomach tightened.
Alma continued.
“I found records showing people collected death benefits for workers who aren't dead.”
Sienna stared.
“What?”
“Men who left the country. Men who changed jobs. Men who disappeared after asking about unsafe equipment.”
“Alma, how would you know that?”
“My sister's neighbor works with the dockworkers' union. He helped us compare the company claims with actual families.”
Sienna slowly lowered the tea tray.
“And Luis?”
Alma's eyes filled.
“The fund says I collected nearly two million dollars.”
“That's impossible.”
“I know.”
Alma reached into her apron.
She held a small black flash drive.
“Copies of claim forms. Payment records. Accident reports. Names.”
Sienna looked at it.
“Where did you get this?”
“An employee in accounting helped me.”
“Who?”
Alma shook her head.
“He's frightened. I promised I wouldn't say.”
Sienna hesitated.
They needed to protect that employee.
But they also needed to verify the documents before accusing anyone.
“We should take these to a lawyer,” she said.
“I was going to. Tomorrow.”
“Then why are you hiding them?”
Alma glanced toward the door.
“Because somebody knows I have them.”
Sienna's pulse quickened.
“Who?”
A woman's voice answered from behind them.
“I THINK THAT WOULD BE ME.”
Vivienne Locke stood in the doorway.
She was wearing a black silk blouse and expensive trousers.
Her blonde hair fell perfectly around her shoulders.
Behind her stood Beatrice Varela.
Neither woman looked surprised.
Vivienne smiled.
“Well, isn't this touching?”
Alma stepped in front of Sienna.
“Mrs. Locke—”
“Give me the drive.”
Sienna looked between them.
“What's happening?”
Vivienne's smile disappeared.
“Don't pretend you're stupid.”
Beatrice folded her arms.
“Alma has been stealing confidential company information.”
Alma shook her head.
“No, Mrs. Varela. I only wanted to know what happened to my son's money.”
Beatrice's expression hardened.
“Your son was compensated according to company policy.”
“I never received it!”
“Lower your voice.”
Alma began crying.
“I buried my boy. I raised his child. You can't tell me I received money I never saw.”
Vivienne held out her hand.
“The drive.”
Alma didn't move.
Sienna stepped forward.
“She doesn't have to give you anything. If those records are legitimate, we can have them reviewed.”
Vivienne looked amused.
“We?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice laughed.
“Oh, Sienna. You still don't understand your position in this family.”
Sienna met her eyes.
“My position is Dante's wife.”
“No,” Beatrice replied coldly. “Your position exists because my son was foolish enough to mistake pity for love.”
Sienna felt the words strike her.
But she didn't move.
“Then you won't mind if I call him.”
Vivienne's expression changed.
She crossed the room quickly.
“Give me your phone.”
“No.”
“Sienna.”
“I said no.”
Vivienne grabbed her wrist.
Sienna pulled away.
Alma moved between them.
“Please. Leave her alone.”
Beatrice pointed toward the door.
“Alma, get out.”
The older woman hesitated.
Two security men appeared in the hallway.
One of them was Nolan Price.
Dante's trusted security chief.
Alma stared at him.
“Nolan?”
He looked away.
That was when Sienna understood how serious the situation had become.
She had trusted Nolan.
Everyone had.
He had carried luggage, opened car doors, arranged doctors, and escorted guests through the estate.
But now he stood in the doorway while two frightened women faced Beatrice and Vivienne.
And he did nothing.
Vivienne looked at Alma.
“Go with Mr. Price.”
Alma's face crumpled.
“Please.”
“Now.”
Sienna reached for her.
“Don't touch her!”
Vivienne stepped into her path.
“Sienna, stay out of this.”
“No.”
The word came louder than she intended.
Beatrice's expression hardened.
“Do you have any idea who you're speaking to?”
Sienna looked at her.
“Yes.”
Vivienne moved toward the piano.
“The drive, Alma. Or we'll have to search everything.”
Alma glanced at the bench.
It was only a moment.
But Vivienne noticed.
Her eyes sharpened.
She grabbed the cushion.
Sienna moved before she could think.
She caught Vivienne's wrist.
“Stop!”
Vivienne shoved her backward.
Sienna stumbled against the piano.
The heavy fallboard above the keyboard was open.
Vivienne seized Sienna's right hand, which had landed against the keys.
“Get your hands off me!”
Sienna struggled.
Vivienne leaned close.
“You should have stayed the grateful little nobody Dante married.”
Then she slammed the piano's heavy wooden key cover downward.
Sienna screamed.
The pain was instantaneous.
White.
Blinding.
Her knees buckled.
Vivienne released her.
Sienna collapsed against the bench, clutching her hand.
Two fingers bent at an unnatural angle.
Blood appeared beneath her fingernails.
She could barely breathe.
Alma cried out.
“OH, GOD! SIENNA!”
She tried to run toward her.
Nolan caught her arm.
“Come with me.”
“No! She needs a doctor!”
“Now.”
He pulled her into the hallway.
The door closed.
Sienna was alone with Beatrice and Vivienne.
She looked up through tears.
“Please. Call someone.”
Vivienne stared at her injured hand.
For the first time, something like uncertainty crossed her face.
Then Beatrice spoke.
“Get up.”
Sienna stared.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Something's broken.”
Beatrice looked at the piano.
Then at the blood.
“You've made a terrible mess.”
Sienna began crying harder.
Vivienne stepped closer.
“You're going to say you closed the lid on your own hand.”
Sienna shook her head.
“No.”
“You tripped,” Beatrice said.
“No.”
Vivienne crouched.
Her voice became almost gentle.
“Sienna, you don't understand what happens to people who accuse this family of crimes.”
She took Sienna's chin.
Sienna tried to pull away.
Vivienne's diamond ring scraped across her cheek.
A thin line of blood appeared.
“Listen carefully.”
Vivienne's smile returned.
“Alma is going somewhere nobody will find her.”
Sienna went cold.
“And if you tell Dante what happened here, the next photograph you see of that woman won't be a pleasant one.”
Sienna stared at her.
Then at Beatrice.
Her mother-in-law stood perfectly still.
She had watched everything.
And she hadn't raised a finger to help.
That night, a private doctor arrived.
He examined Sienna under the supervision of one of Beatrice's employees.
Two fingers were fractured.
Several tendons were badly strained.
The doctor recommended imaging, splinting, and follow-up care.
Beatrice paid him.
Then told him the family would handle the arrangements.
No hospital record was created that night.
No police report.
And when Sienna finally returned to her bedroom, there was a photograph waiting on her phone.
Alma.
Lying motionless.
Underneath it was a message from an unknown number.
You know what happens if you talk.
Sienna stared at it for a long time.
Then she did the one thing Vivienne hadn't anticipated.
She carefully took the flash drive from where she'd hidden it before the confrontation.
Inside the narrow lining of her music folder.
And she began making a plan.
Because Sienna Varela had spent four years letting this family believe she was harmless.
They had mistaken her gentleness for stupidity.
Her silence for obedience.
May you like
And her love for Dante for a willingness to endure anything.
They were about to discover how wrong they were.
Related Stories
