Chapter 8
Diana did not deny knowing about the glove.
She denied that knowledge created responsibility.
“I knew Lorenzo was asking questions.”
“And you let him.”
“He was an adult.”
“You knew Carlo was involved.”
“My husband had made mistakes.”
“Your son helped block Marcus from seeing me.”
“Mark was young.”
“He was twenty-six.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Still young.”
Grace entered then.
Maya asleep in her arms.
She had heard enough from the hall.
Diana looked at her with open irritation.
“Oh, good. The servant wants a seat at the council now.”
Grace stopped.
I stood.
Diana smiled.
“There. Every time she looks wounded, you rise.”
Grace surprised both of us.
She walked past me.
Placed sleeping Maya carefully on the sofa.
Then turned toward Diana.
“My father died for him.”
Diana folded her arms.
“And?”
“My father tried to warn him.”
“So?”
“You knew.”
Diana’s eyes narrowed.
Grace continued.
“You knew he was scared. You knew Mark stopped him. You knew your husband was hiding something. Then after Dad died, you told me he was nobody.”
Diana shrugged.
“You survived.”
Same logic.
Again.
Grace laughed.
Softly.
“That is what cruel people say when survival ruins the ending they wanted.”
Diana’s face changed.
Good.
Grace stepped closer.
“You didn’t have to kill my father to help bury him.”
Silence.
I looked at Diana differently.
That was it.
Maybe she had not ordered the warehouse hit.
Maybe she had not caused Lorenzo’s collapse.
But every time truth threatened the structure protecting her husband, her son, or her own status, she had pushed it downward.
Marcus.
Grace.
Maya.
Servants.
Anyone lower in the hierarchy.
Keep them quiet.
Then call silence order.
Diana looked at me.
“You’re going to let a maid accuse me?”
Grace answered.
“No.”
She looked at me too.
“He’s going to decide whether I’m wrong.”
That distinction mattered.
No appeal to pity.
No demand for punishment.
Just truth.
I looked at Diana.
“Did Carlo know who ordered the attack on me?”
She hesitated.
Finally.
“Yes.”
Grace closed her eyes.
“Who?”
Diana looked toward the Christmas ballroom.
Then back at me.
“Your uncle Stefano.”
Dead seventeen years.
A former north captain.
My father’s brother.
Another ghost.
But Diana’s next sentence kept the mystery alive.
“Stefano ordered it.”
May you like
Pause.
“Carlo made sure it could happen.”
