Chapter 8
I stared at Carlo.
“What?”
Thomas moved.
My guards blocked him.
“Don’t listen.”
I didn’t look away from Carlo.
“You said she didn’t drown.”
He nodded.
“Bianca reached the rocks.”
My chest tightened.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Thomas shouted:
“Enough.”
I turned.
My father was afraid now.
Not angry.
Afraid.
“What happened after she reached shore?”
Carlo looked ashamed.
For the first time.
“We followed.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why?”
“Thomas wanted her brought back.”
My father snapped:
“She had information.”
“About Bellucci?”
“Yes.”
“And me.”
Silence.
My mother had been alive after the supposed accident.
“Where did you take her?”
Carlo stared at the floor.
“Old north house.”
I knew it.
Abandoned now.
Once used for private Moretti meetings.
“How long?”
“Three days.”
Ethan looked up.
“Grandma was locked?”
Thomas turned on him.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
My son flinched.
I stepped between them.
“It has everything to do with him.”
Thomas laughed.
“You’re poisoning him with old stories.”
“No.”
“He should learn what happens when people betray family.”
I stared.
“You mean disobey you.”
“Same thing.”
No.
Not anymore.
Carlo continued.
“Bianca escaped.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
Again.
More truth he wanted buried.
“How?”
“She convinced one guard to help.”
“Name?”
“Peter Moretti.”
My uncle.
Thomas’s younger brother.
Dead nine years.
I had been told heart attack.
I looked at my father.
He knew exactly where my mind went.
“No.”
“What happened to Peter?”
“Natural causes.”
Carlo said nothing.
That silence was louder.
Thomas lunged toward him.
My guards caught my father.
Carlo looked at me.
“Peter helped Bianca get away.”
“Then?”
“He disappeared two years later.”
My stomach turned.
Thomas shouted:
“Stop rewriting history!”
Carlo smiled bitterly.
“History is what you called every body you left behind.”
Even Marcus went quiet.
Vanessa looked sick.
They had joined Thomas for power.
Now they were discovering the cost of becoming useful to him.
I looked at Carlo.
“Did Bianca survive?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
Everything stopped.
My mother had survived the boat.
The north house.
Thomas.
“Where is she?”
Carlo looked at my father.
Then me.
“I don’t know.”
Thomas laughed.
“You see? Nothing.”
May you like
Carlo shook his head.
“But Thomas does.”
