Chapter 6
Florence told me the truth upstairs.
Not all at once.
Truth rarely arrives that cleanly.
Ivy sat beside her eating soup.
Owen had two pieces of bread in both hands as if somebody might take one.
I noticed.
So did Florence.
She started crying.
Quietly.
“I'm sorry.”
I crouched in front of her.
“For what?”
“I should have told you.”
“About Pietro?”
She nodded.
I waited.
My mother looked at the twins.
“Your father and his brother fought.”
“About what?”
“Power.”
Simple.
Ugly.
Believable.
“Pietro wanted half the crews.”
“My father refused.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Florence stared at her hands.
“One night Pietro came through the winter passage.”
“The pantry tunnel.”
“Yes.”
“With men?”
“Twelve.”
My stomach tightened.
“To kill Dad?”
“To remove him.”
Same word Vanessa would use.
Different generation.
Same hunger.
“Who stopped them?”
“Your father.”
“How?”
“He knew.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“I told him.”
There it was.
Florence had known the passage code because my father trusted her.
She continued.
“Pietro escaped.”
“So the story was true.”
“No.”
I waited.
“He came back the next night.”
“What?”
“Alone.”
“Why?”
“To surrender.”
I stared.
Florence looked away.
“Your father didn't let him.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?”
“Pietro was taken through the tunnel.”
“Where?”
“North cellar.”
“What did Dad do?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“He never came back.”
Silence.
I sat beside her.
So my father had lied too.
To everyone.
Florence touched my hand.
“He regretted it.”
“Did that bring Pietro back?”
“No.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Florence continued.
“Your father closed the passage after that.”
“Why keep the blue key?”
“Because he was afraid somebody else would learn the route.”
“Vanessa did.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Florence looked toward the door.
“I don't know.”
That bothered me.
The twins kept eating.
I watched Owen tear his bread into tiny pieces.
Then hide one beneath his napkin.
“For later?” I asked.
He froze.
My son looked afraid.
I felt sick.
“Yes.”
He whispered.
“Mommy says maybe no breakfast.”
I closed my eyes.
Florence started crying again.
I turned toward her.
“Don't.”
“I couldn't stop her.”
“You tried.”
“Not enough.”
“She starved you too.”
“I let her.”
“No.”
My mother looked at me.
I repeated it.
“No.”
Vanessa had trained everyone in the house to accept blame she assigned.
Florence for refusing.
The twins for crying.
Me for being absent.
Even Grant? Wait no Grant doesn't exist. Vanessa alone and Santoro.
I stood.
“What did she ask you every day?”
“The key.”
“What exactly?”
“First the key.”
Florence swallowed.
“Then the code.”
“What code?”
“The inner gate.”
“Anything else?”
She hesitated.
“Names.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What names?”
“Men your father trusted when Pietro came.”
Most were dead.
A few weren't.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I did.
Vanessa wasn't only learning how to enter my house.
She was learning which old loyalties might resist her.
“How long has she been asking?”
“Months.”
I looked at her.
“Months?”
Florence nodded.
“She started kindly.”
Of course.
“What did she say?”
“She brought tea.”
My mother gave a bitter little laugh.
“Said she wanted to understand family history.”
“And after?”
“She asked about Pietro.”
“Then?”
“She asked about the tunnel.”
“And when you refused?”
Florence looked toward her plate.
“Food became complicated.”
That sentence almost destroyed me.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it wasn't.
Abuse often becomes ordinary before anyone names it.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Florence looked at the twins.
“Vanessa said if I did…”
Her voice broke.
“What?”
“She'd make sure you believed the children were lying too.”
I stared.
“How?”
“She said she'd already practiced.”
My blood went cold.
“With what?”
Florence whispered:
“Owen's fever.”
I remembered Vanessa telling me he'd exaggerated.
Remembered her telling me he'd been fine by midnight.
Florence continued.
“She wouldn't let me call you.”
My hands curled.
“She told Owen you heard him crying and chose council.”
I felt sick.
Florence looked at me.
“She wanted them to learn you were unreachable.”
Why?
The answer came immediately.
Because children who stop calling their father become easier to control.
Florence touched my sleeve.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Vanessa doesn't want the tunnel for Santoro.”
I frowned.
“How do you know?”
“She said his name once.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What did she say?”
Florence looked at me.
“She said Rafael thinks he's taking your chair.”
My stomach tightened.
“Thinks?”
Florence nodded.
May you like
Then whispered:
“She laughed after she said it.”
