Chapter 4
The darkness lasted nine seconds.
Long enough.
A bodyguard shouted.
Glass broke somewhere down the hall.
Then emergency lights returned.
Warren was still in the salon.
Preston too.
Cesare beside Giulietta.
But Lorenzo Bardi was gone.
Giulietta’s senior capo.
The only man besides her who knew about the anonymous photograph.
She stared at the empty doorway.
“Lorenzo.”
No answer.
A guard came running.
“Donna.”
“What?”
“Someone opened the service stair.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
Giulietta looked at Warren.
He smiled faintly.
“This marriage brought interesting guests.”
She ignored him.
“Find Lorenzo.”
Her men moved.
Cesare watched her.
“You trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“Too much?”
“We’ll see.”
Warren laughed.
Giulietta turned.
“You are enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You are.”
His smile faded.
“Because you finally look like your father.”
That irritated her more than it should have.
“What does that mean?”
“Vittorio always looked calmest when he was most afraid.”
Giulietta stepped closer.
“My father scared you.”
Warren considered.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“No.”
Warren’s voice darkened.
“He should have.”
Cesare turned.
Giulietta heard the sentence beneath the sentence.
“What did my father do?”
Warren looked toward the hallway.
“Ask why your mother feared him.”
Giulietta’s jaw tightened.
“My mother loved my father.”
“Love and fear have shared beds for centuries.”
Preston stared at him.
Perhaps hearing his own childhood inside the words.
Giulietta said:
“You’re trying to redirect me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised her.
“Why?”
“Because Cesare is redirecting you toward me.”
Cesare laughed.
“You beat Margaret.”
Warren looked at him.
“And Vittorio beat half this city.”
Silence.
Giulietta hated where this was going.
The dead father was about to become human.
Worse.
Flawed.
Maybe complicit.
Warren continued.
“Lucia did not discover only that I was helping manipulate the DeLuca conflict.”
“She discovered Vittorio knew.”
Giulietta stared.
Cesare said:
“Lie.”
Warren looked at him.
“Which part?”
“Vittorio would never—”
“Your brother liked power more than truth.”
Cesare stepped forward.
Giulietta stopped him.
“Uncle.”
He looked at her.
“If he’s lying, let him build the lie.”
Cesare stepped back.
Warren nodded slightly.
Respect.
Giulietta disliked it.
“What did my father know?”
“That somebody was feeding false information through both families.”
“And did nothing?”
“No.”
“He used it.”
Silence.
Warren continued.
“Vittorio realized the war was making weaker crews depend on him.”
Giulietta felt something hard in her chest.
That sounded possible.
Her father had always called crisis a ladder.
She hated remembering that now.
“He didn’t create the conflict,” Warren said.
“He simply stopped wanting it to end.”
Cesare whispered:
“No.”
Warren looked at him.
“You knew.”
Cesare’s face changed.
Giulietta saw it.
Her uncle looked suddenly tired.
Not guilty.
Defeated.
“Uncle.”
Cesare looked at her.
“Did Dad know?”
He did not answer.
Her voice sharpened.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
Giulietta walked away.
The wedding gown brushed across the floor like something belonging to another life.
“When?”
“Late.”
“How late?”
“Months before Lucia died.”
“Did Mom know he knew?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She confronted him.”
“What happened?”
Cesare looked toward Warren.
“Vittorio promised he would end it.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
Giulietta laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“My mother dies.”
“Father retaliates.”
“DeLuca bleeds.”
“Everyone tells eight-year-old Giulietta it means love.”
Nobody answered.
Warren watched her carefully.
Giulietta looked at him.
“And you?”
“What?”
“What did you gain?”
“The Hale family controlled the northern clubs after DeLuca collapsed.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
“Did you want my mother dead?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“Yes.”
Preston turned.
Warren continued before he could ask.
“Lucia came to my house.”
“She wanted Margaret’s location.”
“I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because Margaret had something that could destroy several families.”
“What?”
Warren looked at Cesare.
“The name.”
“The Marconi traitor?”
“Yes.”
Giulietta’s voice lowered.
“Who?”
“I never learned.”
She stared.
He smiled faintly.
“Disappointing?”
“Suspicious.”
“Reasonable.”
Rocco? No irrelevant. Let's continue.
A guard entered.
“Donna.”
Giulietta turned.
“We found Lorenzo’s jacket.”
“Where?”
“Service stair.”
“And Lorenzo?”
“No.”
“What else?”
The guard held something.
A black envelope.
Giulietta recognized it.
Same paper as the anonymous photograph sent six months ago.
Her pulse changed.
She took it.
Inside was a single card.
Three words.
THE BRIDE LISTENED.
No signature.
Warren saw it.
His face changed.
Giulietta caught that.
“You recognize this.”
“No.”
“Your body disagrees.”
Warren closed his eyes.
Then Preston whispered:
“Mom.”
Everyone looked at him.
He stared at the card.
“My mother wrote like that.”
Warren’s face hardened.
Preston continued.
“She used thick black ink.”
Warren said:
“You barely remember.”
“I remember enough.”
Giulietta looked at the card.
Then toward the dark service stair.
May you like
If Margaret was alive, she had not simply returned.
She had been watching the wedding.
