Chapter 6
We didn't confront them.
That was Matteo's decision.
I hated it.
I understood it.
There was a difference.
“We have enough.”
I stood inside his bedroom while two guards watched the hallway outside.
“They admitted my father.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
“They're planning something tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are they still walking around?”
Matteo removed his cufflinks.
“Because Celeste thinks there are more people with her.”
I stared.
“You think she's right?”
“I know Adrian didn't change the guard schedule alone.”
“How?”
“He doesn't think six weeks ahead.”
That was fair.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“My mother tried to tell your family.”
Matteo looked at me.
I could barely say the next part.
“And nobody listened.”
His face tightened.
“My father was alive then.”
I nodded.
Matteo looked toward the window.
His father, Vittorio Bellandi, had died four years ago.
Powerful.
Feared.
Revered by men who used words like honor only after checking who was listening.
“My mother died three years after Daniel.”
Matteo's voice was quiet.
“If Lucia knew Celeste and Adrian were involved, she had three years to tell my father.”
“She probably did.”
He didn't answer.
That was worse.
The next morning, Celeste requested breakfast with me.
Alone.
Matteo said yes.
With six men outside the room.
Celeste didn't know about four of them.
She poured coffee.
“I thought we should speak woman to woman.”
I almost laughed.
“You threw my mother's dress into a pool.”
“And now it's being professionally restored.”
She spread butter across toast.
“See? You survived.”
I stared.
“So did the dress.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
“Pain feels larger when you're childish.”
I understood why people hated her.
Not because she lacked empathy.
Because she treated empathy as a weakness other people should be embarrassed to need.
She looked at the untouched plate in front of me.
“Eat.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“Then stop being dramatic.”
I didn't touch it.
Celeste sighed.
“Lucia used food the same way.”
“What?”
“She stopped eating after Daniel died.”
My chest tightened.
Celeste rolled her eyes.
“As if starving herself would bring him back.”
I stared at her.
“She was grieving.”
“She had a daughter.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“She should have remembered her responsibilities.”
I nearly stood.
Celeste smiled.
“Truth hurts, doesn't it?”
“You terrorized her.”
“She terrorized herself.”
“You knew Adrian was involved in my father's death.”
“He was involved in cleaning up Daniel's mistake.”
I froze.
Celeste realized.
Too late.
“What mistake?”
She looked away.
“What mistake?”
“Daniel interfered.”
“In what?”
Silence.
I leaned closer.
“Your plan against Bianca?”
Celeste stared at me.
Then laughed.
“You really think Matteo's mother was innocent?”
My stomach dropped.
Celeste lowered her voice.
“Bianca was turning Matteo's father weak.”
Same accusation.
Weak.
Always weak.
“She questioned orders.”
Celeste took a sip of coffee.
“She argued against punishments.”
Another sip.
“She convinced Vittorio to spare people who deserved examples made of them.”
I stared.
“You hated her because she made him less cruel.”
“I hated her because she made him hesitate.”
There it was.
Celeste believed it.
Every word.
She thought cruelty was stability.
Fear was discipline.
Love was contamination.
“What did you do to Bianca?”
Celeste's expression changed.
“Nothing she didn't bring upon herself.”
My blood ran cold.
“You killed her.”
Celeste's eyes narrowed.
“I didn't touch her.”
“Adrian?”
She smiled.
“Cars on mountain roads are dangerous.”
My chair scraped backward.
Celeste sighed.
“There you go again.”
She shook her head.
“Crying before anything even happened.”
I hadn't realized tears were in my eyes.
She seemed delighted.
“Your mother made that face too.”
I stood.
Celeste's voice followed me.
“Do you know the pathetic part?”
I stopped.
“She still believed Vittorio would choose truth over blood.”
I turned.
“What happened?”
Celeste smiled.
“He didn't.”
That hurt more than anything else.
Matteo's father had known.
Maybe not everything.
Enough.
Celeste leaned back.
“Lucia told him Adrian was there when Daniel died.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“He told her to stop accusing family without proof.”
I felt sick.
Celeste's smile returned.
“She begged.”
Pause.
“He chose us.”
I stared at her.
Then a voice came from the doorway.
Matteo.
“No.”
Celeste went white.
He had entered so quietly neither of us heard him.
He looked at his aunt.
“My father chose fear.”
Celeste stood.
“You were listening?”
Matteo ignored the question.
“You've spent eighteen years mistaking his cowardice for permission.”
For the first time that morning, Celeste had nothing cruel to say.
Then Adrian appeared behind him.
And ruined it.
“So what?”
Matteo turned.
Adrian shrugged.
“Your father understood family.”
His mouth twisted.
“Lucia didn't.”
I looked at him.
May you like
Adrian smiled.
“She should have been grateful we let her stay alive long enough to raise you.”
