Chapter 1
My mother had been dead for six years when Celeste Bellandi decided to humiliate her at my wedding rehearsal.
She didn't do it privately.
That would have required shame.
She waited until half the Bellandi family was standing around Matteo's pool terrace.
Capos.
Their wives.
Wedding guests.
Men who had killed for the family and women who knew better than to ask which stains came out of white shirts.
My mother's wedding dress sat inside a long presentation box beside the ceremony podium.
I wasn't planning to wear it.
The silk had yellowed slightly with age, and the sleeves were too fragile.
I only wanted it there.
One piece of her beside me.
Celeste knew that.
Which was precisely why she walked toward the box.
Her son Adrian followed.
I knew something was wrong the moment Celeste smiled at me.
She always smiled when she intended to hurt someone.
“Sofia.”
I stepped toward her.
“Don't.”
She opened the box anyway.
My mother's dress rested beneath layers of tissue paper.
Celeste lifted it by one shoulder.
Adrian took the other.
“What are you doing?”
Celeste looked at the dress as though it smelled unpleasant.
“Cleaning up.”
My stomach tightened.
“Put it back.”
She laughed.
Then she and Adrian carried it toward the pool.
I ran.
I wasn't fast enough.
They threw it in.
The white gown hit the water and spread across the surface like something drowning.
Celeste watched my face.
That was the point.
Not the dress.
My face.
“Dead women don't get a place at this wedding.”
She laughed again.
“You're thirty years old, Sofia. If you still need your mother's dress to hold your hand, perhaps you're not ready to marry a Bellandi.”
I barely heard the rest.
I ran toward the pool.
Matteo reached it first.
He stepped onto the edge, caught the floating fabric and pulled the soaked gown carefully toward him.
His suit sleeves were already wet.
He didn't care.
Matteo Bellandi rarely hurried.
That day he did.
He lifted the dress from the water.
I reached for it.
Then the inner lining separated.
Something fell.
A small yellowed envelope landed on the wet stone.
Wax seal.
My name wasn't written on it.
Neither was Matteo's.
But I recognized the handwriting instantly.
My mother's.
My chest stopped working.
“That's my mother's handwriting.”
Celeste went pale.
Not surprised.
Pale.
There is a difference.
Adrian moved immediately.
“Give me that.”
Matteo picked up the envelope.
Adrian lunged.
Matteo moved me behind him with one arm.
“Back.”
“Give me that. Now.”
Adrian wasn't looking at me.
He wasn't even looking at the dress.
Only the letter.
That was when fear replaced grief.
“Why?”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“It doesn't belong to you.”
I stared at him.
“My mother wrote it.”
“She was confused near the end.”
I felt something ugly rise in my throat.
Adrian smiled when he saw it.
“Don't make that face. Dying people say stupid things all the time.”
Matteo's expression changed.
Adrian noticed too late.
He swung.
Matteo slipped outside the punch.
One counterpunch sent Adrian backward into the ceremony podium.
Wood cracked.
A folding table collapsed.
Linen cases burst open across the stone.
Adrian disappeared beneath runners, napkins and broken frames.
Celeste came for me.
Not him.
Me.
Her hand closed around my arm.
“You've caused enough.”
I pulled back.
She reached for the wet dress.
Matteo tore her hand away.
Then slapped her.
Once.
Celeste spun backward between two potted topiary trees.
The planters tipped.
Greenery scattered.
Ribbon garlands fell across her gown.
Bodyguards surrounded her before she could stand.
Matteo held the unopened envelope above the ruined dress.
His voice was quiet.
“You didn't throw her dress away because she died.”
Celeste stared at him.
“You knew what she hid.”
Fear appeared on her face.
For one second.
Then it vanished.
Celeste climbed to her feet.
“You're letting a dead woman's theatrics ruin your rehearsal.”
Matteo didn't answer.
She looked at me instead.
“Your mother always was dramatic. She spent her life mistaking fear for importance.”
I stepped toward her.
“What is in the letter?”
She smiled.
“If Lucia had anything worth saying, she should have had the courage to say it while she was alive.”
My hand shook.
Matteo looked down at the seal.
Then at me.
“Do you want me to open it?”
Yes.
No.
Both answers lived in my chest.
I nodded.
Matteo broke the wax.
The paper inside had been folded twice.
Only one page.
He handed it to me.
I unfolded it.
The first line made my knees weaken.
Sofia, if Celeste Bellandi ever tries to destroy this dress, then she finally remembered what your father told me before he died.
I looked up.
My father had died eighteen years earlier.
An ambush.
That was what everyone had always told me.
Adrian had pulled himself from beneath the broken table.
When he saw my face, he stopped.
Celeste closed her eyes.
Matteo noticed.
So did I.
I read the next sentence.
Your father did not die because of the men the Bellandis blamed.
He died because he saw who opened the west gate for them.
The terrace went silent.
Matteo slowly turned toward Adrian.
My mother's final line on the page was shorter.
Ask Celeste why Adrian was already inside the west stairwell when Daniel Russo was brought there bleeding.
Adrian's face emptied.
May you like
Celeste whispered:
“Lucia should have stayed silent.”
