Twin in the Coffin

I knew my husband, Giovanni Rossini, had done it. He had stolen his dead twin brother's identity and faked his own death.

And I said nothing.

In my last life, he had discarded me and our daughter, Natalia, for his mistress, Katrina Moretti.

My mother-in-law, Antonietta, called us trash and forced my five-year-old to peel olives until her small hands blistered. I knelt and begged for money to buy medicine.

Giovanni only held Katrina and laughed. In the end, Natalia and I froze and starved to death. Even as we died, Katrina's mocking voice still rang in my ears.

Everyone watched with cold eyes. They closed ranks, shifted the blame onto me, and shoved us toward a dead end with no escape.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the exact moment they carried Marco's body into the warehouse.

This time, I wouldn't let anyone destroy us. I would make them pay twice over for everything they had done to me and my daughter.

Year 1955, Little Esperia, Megalo Milos…

A body lay on a set of wooden planks at the center of the warehouse. A black cloth covered it. Someone lifted one corner.

The face beneath mirrored my husband's. He was Marco Rossini, Giovanni Rossini's twin brother.

The man standing beside the planks dabbed at the corner of his eye with a handkerchief, as if grief had stolen his voice. He was one of the Angelis family's Capos. He was my husband, Giovanni Rossini.

He had dressed the part with care. He wore Marco's dark gray suit. He had even switched the cuff buttons, down to the same style Marco always favored. He was meticulous when it suited him.

"Rina, you finally made it." His voice caught with a practiced hitch, as though he were choking it back. "The Hibernians went crazy. They hit the shipping line. Giovanni… He didn't make it to cover."

I lowered my eyes. My nails bit into my palm hard enough to sting. The memories returned, sharp as glass.

Natalia burned with fever in my arms while I knelt at his front door. I smashed my forehead against the stone until blood streamed down my face. I begged for money for medicine.

He stepped out of the townhouse with Katrina on his arm, smiling like a man who had won a prize.

Antonietta, my mother-in-law, stood above me on the steps and spat her words into my face. She called me trash. She said Natalia and I were a stain on the Rossini name, gutter filth that never should have existed.

In the end, I spent every coin I had and still failed to save my little girl. Afterward, I froze and starved in an alley. Even then, I could hear Katrina laughing somewhere far away, as if the world itself mocked me.

Hatred surged so fast it nearly tore through my throat.

Instead, I collapsed onto the body. My shoulders shook as though I could not breathe. "Giovanni… How could you leave me and Natalia…"

I pressed my face to Marco's cold chest so that Giovanni would not see my eyes.

The tears came anyway. Not for Marco but for the daughter I failed to protect and the version of myself that died with her name on my lips.

Giovanni's hand settled on my back. He patted me as one would a child. His voice softened into something rehearsed. "The dead don't come back. We need to deal with this quickly."

I lifted my head. Tears clung to my lashes. "Cremate him. Reduce him to ash. No one gets to disturb him again."

Giovanni's eyes brightened for a brief instant. He nodded at once. "You're right. You always think things through."

"I should tell the Don myself." I wiped my face and rose with care, bracing my hands against the edge of the planks. "He deserves to hear it from family."

"No need to bother the Don." Giovanni's voice rose too sharply before he forced it down. "It was an accident. We can keep it simple. There's no reason to waste the Don's time."

I tilted my head, as though I had missed the fracture in his story. "How can we keep it simple? If the Don learns we cut corners, he'll say we showed him disrespect."

I knew why he wanted Don Vincenzo Angelis kept away. He did not want close scrutiny. He did not want a doctor or an inspection that could reveal the wounds did not match the tale. He did not want the illusion to collapse.

Giovanni's face tightened. His jaw flexed once. He did not dare refuse again.

…

When I returned home, the front door sat half latched. I pushed it open and found Natalia on the couch. She clutched a battered cloth doll to her chest. Her small body curled inward.

At the sound of my steps, she looked up. Her eyes were red. "Mama, why isn't Papa back yet? I'm scared. I feel like someone's watching me."

I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms. She still held that warm, sleep-soft heat. She was solid and alive, my true heartbeat.

I stroked her hair. "Papa went somewhere far away. He became a star. He'll watch over us. He'll protect us."

She blinked, trying to understand. Her small hands locked around my neck. "Do stars talk? I want to tell Papa I miss him."

Something sharp pierced my chest. I nodded and kept my voice steady. "They do. He can hear you."

A knock sounded.

Giovanni entered as if this place still belonged to him, as if he had not just stood over a corpse while wearing another man's life.

"I arranged the cremation. Tomorrow morning." His tone softened in front of Natalia. "Rina, get some rest. If you need anything, call me."

I looked up at him and kept my expression calm. "Thank you, Marco."

His gaze flickered.

"Of course," Giovanni said.