Chapter 13
Camilla did not ask forgiveness immediately.
That made her more honest than Marco.
For six weeks she sent nothing.
No gifts.
No flowers.
No elaborate apology.
Then one handwritten note arrived for me.
Not Livia.
Me.
I read it.
She admitted something I had not understood.
After my father died, she was terrified.
Not of enemies.
Of becoming unnecessary.
She had spent her adult life inside the senior branch of Valenti. Hosting. Mediating. Carrying messages. Knowing which captain hated whom.
Then I became boss.
I centralized decisions.
Removed private family channels.
Married Sofia.
Moved farther from Camilla’s influence.
She interpreted every boundary as rejection.
Marco gave her a solution.
Build a structure that made her necessary forever.
Second table.
Future heir.
Family compound.
Control disguised as continuity.
The letter did not excuse anything.
Good.
At the end she wrote:
I slapped Livia because when the vase broke, I knew your father had beaten me from the grave.
I stopped there.
Not because the rest did not matter.
Because that sentence did.
She had looked at a crying four-year-old and seen an enemy delivering consequences from a dead man.
That was how corrupted her thinking became.
I showed none of it to Livia.
Adult guilt did not belong on her shoulders.
Months later, Livia asked:
“Aunt Camilla sorry?”
“Yes.”
“For slap?”
“Yes.”
“For Mommy?”
I paused.
“Yes.”
“Can sorry fix?”
“No.”
She nodded.
Apparently that answer made sense.
Then:
“Can people fix?”
Sometimes.
“If they want.”
She thought about pancakes again.
I could tell.
“Not yet.”
I smiled.
“Not yet.”
Choice.
Time.
May you like
No deadlines.
The opposite of the world Camilla tried to build.
