chapter 4

Cristiano pov

"I didn't kill her; my visit to her house was non-threatening," I said, my voice dripping with shock. "I couldn't recover from the turmoil the news has caused me. I remember leaving her at her doorstep, and... I trailed off. When a lady walked into the interrogation room, her eyes filled with tears, her hand clutching her dress. I felt a sense of relief; maybe she was here to confess her crime, but instead, she pointed at me.

"He killed her!" she exclaimed, her fingers shaking on my face. "What are you talking about, miss? I didn't kill her."

The lady's eyes blazed with accusation, her voice trembling with emotion. "You killed her, Cristiano! You're the one who took her life!"

I shook my head, disbelief etched on my face. "I swear I didn't kill her; that's not possible; I didn't harm her."

The police officers exchanged skeptical glances and approached my table. A tall, broad-chested man with a tattoo on his arm rested his hands on my table, his eyes fixed on me with an unreadable expression. Then he cleared his throat.

"Daniel," he called out to the other police officer, "please call in the detective handling the case." He gestured to the door, and I felt a surge of adrenaline flowing through me as my eyes widened, waiting for the detective to arrive. "Which detective?" I asked in a low tone. "You'll get to see him, Cristiano."

The door opened, and a light-skinned detective with black sunglasses and a sharp and observant gaze walked in. His hands and eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on me, he removed his glasses and narrowed his eyes slightly. He was carrying a file folder, which he opened and pulled out some papers and photos.

"Cristiano Morgan," he said, his voice firm. "I'm Detective Jason. We've been investigating the murder of Teresa Antonio, and your name keeps coming up."

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "I didn't kill her, Detective. I swear."

Detective Jason raised an eyebrow. "Save it for the interrogation, Mr. Morgan. We have evidence that suggests otherwise."

He slapped the photo on the table, and my heart sank. It was a picture of me arguing with Teresa at her doorstep. I remembered that day, but I had no idea someone was taking our photo.

"What is this?" I demanded, my voice echoing off the walls as I struggled to maintain a facade of calm. "Teresa was just a business partner, nothing more!" I spat out the words, my anger and fear simmering just below the surface.

The detective's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through mine. "Business partners?" he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. "Mr. Cristiano, you're digging yourself deeper into a hole of lies."

My heart raced as the detective's words cut through the air, each syllable a razor-sharp accusation. I felt my blood pounding in my veins, my mind racing with desperate excuses and explanations. But the detective's eyes seemed to see right through me, his gaze a cold, unforgiving spotlight that exposed my every deceit.

"That," Detective Jason said, "is the last time anyone saw Teresa alive. And you, Mr. Morgan, are our prime suspect, and your DNA matches the blood stain on the bottle of whiskey in Teresa's house."

I slammed my fist on the table, my mind racing. "What are you insinuating, Detective? Did I kill Teresa? That's absurd!"

Detective Jason leaned in, his eyes piercing. "We have evidence, Mr. Morgan. Your DNA was found at the crime scene. And this..." He pulled out another photo: "This shows you arguing with Teresa. You're the last person who saw her alive."

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. "That's not possible. I left her house; we fought, but I didn't... I couldn't have..."

The detective's eyes narrowed. "The CCTV camera captured you lingering at her doorstep, Cristiano. You were there for over an hour. What were you doing during that time?"

I felt a chill run down my spine as the room fell silent. The weight of their gazes was crushing me. I knew I had to think and remember something—anything that could clear my name.

But my mind was a blank slate, and the only thing I could see was Teresa's face, her eyes accusing me, her voice whispering, "I need to clear my debts, Cristiano."

The detective's voice snapped me back to reality. "We'll continue this interrogation later, Mr. Morgan. But for now, you're going down for murder."

My eyes widened in disbelief as the police officer placed the whiskey bottle and glasses on the table. "How did you...?" I stammered, my voice barely audible.

Detective Jason smirked. "We know all about your little habits, Cristiano. Your love for Booker's Rye, your frequent visits to Teresa's house... it's all adding up to a very convincing case against you."

Roberto's eyes blazed with contempt. "You thought you were so clever, didn't you, Dad? But your vices have betrayed you."

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. "No, no, this can't be... I didn't kill Teresa!"

But Detective Jason just leaned in, his voice dripping with conviction. "We have the evidence, Cristiano. Your DNA, the CCTV footage, the motive—it's all there. You might as well confess now and save us all the trouble."

The room seemed to be closing in on me, the walls suffocating me. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair, with no lifeline in sight.

And then Lorenzo's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "You're going down for this, Dad, with everything you've done to my mother, and I'm going to make sure of it."

The detective's eyes locked onto mine, his gaze piercing. "It's over, Cristiano. Your game is up, a master planner with a weak move."

"God! They're so stupid to think I killed her. And I didn't even drink anything in her house. How did they get the whiskey out in two glasses when I never even went to her cellar? This is strange."