Five Years Buried — The Buried Woman

at a music gala, my manager Claire had dragged me toward a private room. I froze outside the door. Dante was inside. Through the gap, I heard someone say, Mr. Moretti, people say you vanished years ago. Injured. Even blind. Someone cared for you then? Yes. She made those years easy. Your fiancé, Miss Russo? No. She was never my fiancé. The room went quiet.

Then where is that woman now? Dante looked toward the window. She is here. Here. She is here? Buried here. Right. I was dead. Five years ago, Dante Moriti personally signed the papers confirming my death. Poor woman. If she were alive, she would be a queen now.

No, she wouldn't. Why? Men like Dante Morelli do not love women. They own them.