Chapter 3
Celeste didn't answer.
Not then.
She asked for wine.
Matteo said no.
That offended her more than the accusation.
“You're denying me a drink in my own family's house?”
“My house.”
Celeste laughed.
“Because your father left it to you.”
Matteo said nothing.
She leaned closer.
“Don't confuse possession with authority.”
I watched her.
The more frightened she became, the crueler she sounded.
Adrian was easier.
He simply became angry.
“We're done.”
He headed toward the door.
Two bodyguards blocked him.
Adrian turned.
“You're trapping family now?”
Matteo remained behind the desk.
“You can leave after I understand why my future wife's father died inside my house.”
Adrian laughed.
“You're marrying beneath yourself and calling it investigation.”
I stood.
Matteo spoke before I could.
“Adrian.”
“What?”
“You're not important enough to insult her twice.”
That stopped him.
Celeste stared at Matteo.
Then at me.
“You enjoy this?”
I frowned.
“Watching him turn on blood because you waved a dead woman's letter?”
“I'm not making him do anything.”
“No?”
Her voice became softer.
Poison usually does.
“Your mother did the same thing.”
My heart tightened.
“What?”
Celeste smiled.
“She cried. She accused. She made men feel guilty. Lucia's favorite weapon was helplessness.”
“My mother wasn't helpless.”
“No.”
Celeste's eyes hardened.
“She was disobedient.”
There it was.
A word that explained everything.
Not wrong.
Disobedient.
I looked at Matteo.
He heard it too.
“What did Lucia disobey?”
Celeste leaned back.
“Family boundaries.”
Adrian smirked.
“She thought marrying Daniel made her important.”
“My father was a Bellandi capo.”
“And still beneath Matteo's father.”
I looked at Adrian.
“You blame my father because he asked questions.”
“I blame him because he didn't know when to stop.”
“And my mother?”
“Same disease.”
Celeste added:
“Your mother had a roof, money, protection. Daniel died because he went looking for trouble, and Lucia spent years acting as though everyone owed her sympathy.”
My hands began shaking.
Celeste saw.
“Don't cry.”
She smiled.
“God, Sofia. Your mother cried enough for both of you.”
Matteo stood.
Celeste stopped smiling.
He walked toward the study door.
“Come.”
I followed.
“Where?”
“The west stairwell.”
Adrian's face changed.
Celeste's did too.
That was reason enough.
The west stairwell sat inside the oldest section of the estate.
Stone walls.
Narrow windows.
A heavy wooden door at the bottom.
I had walked past it a dozen times.
Never inside.
Matteo opened it.
The air smelled colder.
Old.
He descended.
I followed.
Celeste and Adrian were brought behind us.
Halfway down, my stomach tightened.
There was a dark mark in the stone near the landing.
Not blood.
Too old.
Just a stain no one had ever completely removed.
I stopped.
Celeste saw me looking.
“Oh, please.”
Her voice echoed.
“Don't turn a dirty wall into a shrine.”
I stared at her.
“Was that where he was?”
She smiled.
“Does it matter?”
Matteo turned.
“Yes.”
Celeste's smile faded.
We reached the bottom.
A narrow corridor led toward an old chapel.
Matteo stopped beside a wooden bench.
My mother's letter had another line on the back.
I hadn't noticed until the paper dried.
In faint ink:
If Matteo ever believes me, tell him Bianca used to pray where the wood is split.
Bianca.
Matteo's mother.
He went still.
She had died fifteen years ago.
A carriage accident on a mountain road.
At least that was what I knew.
Matteo looked at the bench.
A long crack ran beneath the seat.
He reached underneath.
His fingers found something.
A small cloth packet had been wedged deep inside.
Celeste whispered:
“No.”
Too late.
Matteo pulled it free.
Inside were two objects.
A broken black capo pin.
And a pearl earring.
Matteo picked up the earring.
His face changed.
“My mother's.”
Celeste immediately snapped:
“Bianca lost jewelry everywhere.”
Matteo didn't look at her.
The capo pin was scorched along one edge.
A small letter was engraved on the back.
A.
Adrian.
I stared at him.
He laughed.
“Nonsense.”
“Your pin?”
“There were hundreds like it.”
Matteo turned it over.
“Not with your initials.”
Adrian's face hardened.
Celeste stepped forward.
“Your mother put that there.”
I looked at her.
“How would you know?”
She stopped.
I felt it.
Another slip.
Celeste recovered.
“Because Lucia was obsessed.”
“No.”
Matteo looked at her.
“You knew there was something here.”
Silence.
He held up Bianca's pearl.
“My mother was here.”
Nothing.
“Daniel was here.”
Nothing.
“Adrian was here.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“You don't know what happened.”
Matteo's voice dropped.
“Then tell me.”
Adrian looked toward Celeste.
Again.
Always Celeste.
She finally spoke.
“Bianca should have stayed upstairs.”
Matteo froze.
So did I.
Celeste seemed to realize what she'd said.
Adrian swore under his breath.
Matteo stared at his aunt.
“My mother died three years after Daniel.”
Celeste said nothing.
“What was she doing in this stairwell the night Daniel died?”
Silence.
Then Adrian did what frightened men often do.
He became cruel.
“Maybe she was tired of cleaning up after your father's mistakes.”
Matteo stepped toward him.
Adrian kept talking.
“Bianca asked too many questions too.”
Celeste snapped:
“Adrian.”
Too late.
Matteo stopped.
Two mothers.
Two dead husbands.
May you like
One stairwell.
And Celeste had just admitted both women had been asking the same questions.
