Chapter 6 - THREE WEEKS BEFORE THE WEDDING
Sofia stared at Gregory.
“You received that message.”
“Yes.”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you married me anyway.”
Gregory closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
That hurt differently from the bridal suite.
The violence had revealed who he could become.
The message revealed how many exits he had ignored before becoming it.
“What did you think your father meant?”
“I thought he was trying to stop me.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew why I started seeing you.”
Sofia’s expression hardened.
“You told him.”
“No.”
“Then how?”
Gregory did not know.
Thomas had always seemed to know things he should not.
That answer interested Lorenzo.
A man hiding for fifteen years needed help.
Someone had been keeping Thomas informed.
Lorenzo turned toward Marco.
“Find who sent the message.”
Gregory interrupted.
“You won’t.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“It came through a flower delivery.”
Sofia froze.
The wedding flowers.
Three weeks earlier, a small arrangement arrived at her apartment.
White roses.
One black ribbon.
Gregory had been there.
He told Sofia it was from an old business associate.
She had forgotten.
Gregory admitted the message was hidden inside the card.
Sofia’s face tightened.
“You opened something delivered to my home.”
“Yes.”
“You lied about who sent it.”
“Yes.”
“And destroyed the message.”
Gregory looked away.
“Yes.”
Another choice.
No conspiracy needed.
Lorenzo stood.
Sofia looked toward him.
“Dad.”
“I’m walking.”
He left the room before anger made a decision for him.
Marco followed.
Sofia stayed.
Gregory seemed surprised.
“You should go.”
“I decide when I go.”
He nodded.
Sofia asked:
“Did you ever love me?”
Gregory’s face broke for the first time.
“Yes.”
She believed he believed that.
That was not enough.
“Then learn something.”
He looked up.
“Love that requires me to become smaller so you can feel safe is not love I can live inside.”
Gregory said nothing.
Sofia stood.
Then he whispered:
“Thomas said something else seven years ago.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“He said your mother was afraid Lorenzo would become like Cesare.”
Sofia turned.
“Not that he was.”
“No.”
Gregory looked toward the open door.
“She wanted your father to choose.”
“Between what?”
“The family house and you.”
That matched the linen note.
Alessandra was not running from Lorenzo.
She was trying to force him to see what remaining under Cesare’s influence meant for Sofia.
Sofia returned home.
Lorenzo was in his study.
She found him standing before an old photograph of Alessandra.
“You knew Mom wanted to leave the estate.”
“Yes.”
“You told me that.”
“Yes.”
“But did she ask you to go with her?”
Lorenzo did not answer.
Sofia’s chest tightened.
“She did.”
He turned.
“Three times.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought she was asking me to abandon responsibility.”
Sofia stared.
“What responsibility?”
“The family was unstable.”
“Dad.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She moved closer.
“What responsibility?”
Lorenzo looked toward the photograph.
His father had recently died.
Cesare was holding the older relatives together.
Lorenzo believed leaving the main estate would signal weakness.
Alessandra called that ridiculous.
She told him Sofia was starting to learn that adult men could walk into any room and decide what happened.
Lorenzo told her he would change things gradually.
She answered:
“Children grow while adults are planning gradual change.”
Sofia looked away.
The sentence sounded like her mother.
Then Marco entered.
He had found something.
The white roses had come from a small florist outside Baltimore.
The owner remembered the order.
An older man paid cash.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Scar along his left cheek.
Gregory’s father had that scar.
Thomas had been close enough to Sofia three weeks before the wedding to send a warning.
Lorenzo immediately prepared to leave.
Sofia stopped him.
“Where?”
“Baltimore.”
“Why?”
“To find Thomas.”
“What makes you think he’s still there?”
Marco answered.
“The florist said the man comes every year.”
Sofia frowned.
“For what?”
Marco looked toward Lorenzo.
“Same date.”
“What date?”
The room went quiet.
Marco answered.
“The anniversary of your mother’s death.”
Thomas had been returning to the same city every year.
May you like
Not hiding from Alessandra’s memory.
Keeping an appointment with it.
