The Real Culprit

GIOVANNI’S POV The guards met me halfway, from their grim expressions, I could tell they had already been told of the situation. “Let’s go.” I said gruffly and walked into one of the ooen cars. The drive was a blur. The driver pushed the car as fast as it would go, my mind racing through possibilities. Who would attack Robert in his own home? It didn't make sense unless… unless it was personal. We pulled up to the Vitale mansion to find it in chaos. There were guards running everywhere, lights blazing and the front door was hanging open. I was out of the car before it fully stopped, my men behind me. Inside was worse. I didn’t miss the blood on the marble floor or the staff members huddled in corners, crying. And in the center of it all was Isabella Vitale. Robert's wife stood in the foyer directing people with a calm authority that hid the terror in her eyes. She was still in her evening dress, now stained with what I assumed was her husband's blood, but her voice never wavered.