Chapter 5
Elena struck her before I could move.
One clean slap.
Vivienne stumbled sideways.
Nobody stopped Elena.
Not even me.
“You told me he was dead.”
Her voice barely worked.
Vivienne touched her cheek.
“You were leaving.”
“You made me leave.”
“You were unstable.”
Elena laughed through tears.
“There it is.”
I knew what she meant.
The word families like mine use when they need to justify taking choices away from women.
Unstable.
Emotional.
Unfit.
Inconvenient dressed as concern.
I looked at Tristan.
“Where is he?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew he lived.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
His face broke.
“Yes.”
My hands tightened.
But Elena spoke before anger decided for me.
“Why?”
Tristan looked at her.
“Because my mother told me the boy was being raised safely.”
Vivienne corrected him.
“He was.”
I turned.
“Where?”
She smiled faintly.
That was the first time that night I wanted to lose control.
So I did the opposite.
I sat down.
“Tell me.”
Her smile faded.
“You cannot threaten me into helping you.”
“No.”
I leaned back.
“I’m going to let Tristan help instead.”
She looked at her son.
He looked away.
Good.
I asked him again.
“What were you told?”
“A Morelli safe family.”
“Name?”
“Never.”
“Location?”
“Somewhere north.”
Vivienne laughed.
“He knows nothing.”
Tristan’s eyes hardened.
“I know about the payments.”
She went still.
I saw it.
“What payments?”
He looked at me.
“Monthly transfers from the private matriarch reserve.”
I had never heard of it.
Of course.
Vivienne kept money I did not control.
Enough to maintain something hidden.
Someone hidden.
I looked at her.
“You’ve been paying for my son for three years.”
Silence.
Elena sat down slowly.
Her hand covered her mouth.
Isla had been taken upstairs with one of Elena’s friends, far from this room. Thank God.
I turned toward Tristan.
“Can you trace the payments?”
“No.”
Vivienne smiled.
Then he added:
“But I know who delivers them.”
Her smile disappeared.
I looked at him.
“Who?”
“My father.”
The room froze.
Vivienne’s husband, Matteo Morelli, had supposedly died seven years earlier.
I had attended his funeral.
May you like
Tristan looked at me.
“Apparently, we bury a lot of living people in this family.”
