When a Mob Matriarch Frames Her Animal-Behaviorist Daughter-in-Law for Animal Cruelty over a $150,000 Torn Gown to Enforce a Zero-Asset Divorce, a Hidden Collar Camera and Forensic Medical Record E...
Helena’s smile was thin, edged with something sharp. She held the legal document out, Frank Gianna, her corrupt appraiser, hovering just behind her, a stack of additional papers in his hands.
“Sign it, Maeve,” she commanded, her voice low. “Or face the consequences.”
My fingers trembled, but not from fear. I stared at the date Frank Gianna had scrawled on the insurance certification for the gown’s “destruction.” It was hours *before* the alleged incident time printed on the felony cruelty complaint. A cold knot formed in my stomach.
“I won’t sign,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands.
Helena’s eyes narrowed. One of the armed guards shifted, his hand resting on the holster of his sidearm.
“You have no choice,” she hissed. “This is a DeLuca matter.”
“And as a DeLuca by marriage,” I countered, pushing the paper back towards her, “I am entitled to due process under the Outfit’s own code.”
Frank Gianna flinched, a subtle jerk of his head. He knew the rules. Every DeLuca associate, even those by marriage, had certain protections, particularly concerning asset forfeitures. Consigliere Silvio DeLuca himself had codified them.
“I demand 24 hours to review all evidence,” I continued, looking directly at Helena. “And I demand formal arbitration through Uncle Silvio.”
The air in the hallway grew heavy, silent save for the distant hum of the estate’s ventilation system. Helena’s face tightened. She hadn’t anticipated this. She thought I’d buckle.
“This is an internal family matter,” she said, her voice dropping. “No need to involve Silvio.”
“It involves felony charges and the seizure of marital assets,” I shot back. “That is precisely what the Consigliere’s code was written for.”
Her glare could have melted steel, but I held it. She couldn’t afford to be seen violating the Outfit’s own protocols, not with a senior consigliere’s name invoked. It would challenge her authority too openly.
Finally, she let out a sharp, exasperated breath. “Very well. But you will not leave this estate.”
She gestured to the guards. Two of them stepped forward, not touching me, but clearly blocking the exit.
“You’ll be held in the annex,” Helena declared, snatching the papers back from the table. “Until Silvio can be consulted. And if he finds you have no legitimate grounds, the original terms stand.”
Frank Gianna gave me a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head before he averted his gaze, following Helena down the hallway. He knew the paperwork was tainted.
The guards escorted me, not roughly, but firmly, into the estate annex. It was a luxurious suite, larger than many apartments, but the heavy oak door thudded shut with a finality that spoke of imprisonment. I heard the lock click.
I walked over to the tall windows. Rain lashed against the panes, distorting the manicured gardens outside. My cat, Whiskers, was out there somewhere, if Helena was to be believed. A stray thrown into the river, she’d said. But the encrypted bio-tracking collar I’d fitted him with should have survived. It had to have.
I pulled out my secure lab tablet from my coat pocket. It was still powered, a tiny beacon of hope. I had to know if Whiskers was alive, and if the collar was still transmitting.
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