Chapter 5
The answer embarrassed Raffaele.
Delia.
Again.
Not exclusively.
But repeatedly.
She sent him screenshots of Sofia complaining.
Messages like:
I’m tired of pretending his relatives are normal.
And:
Once we move, I don’t care if I never sit through another Montoro dinner.
And one that had bothered him for months:
His family acts like money gave them manners. Half of them are thugs in better tailoring.
Raffaele had confronted Sofia about that one.
She denied writing it.
He remembered the argument.
He had not called her a liar.
But he had believed she was embarrassed by what she wrote.
Now he forwarded the screenshots to Claire.
Sofia was asked to provide her original messages.
The first two existed but were altered.
Sofia had written:
I’m tired of pretending everything is normal when Delia treats me like staff.
The screenshot Raffaele received removed the second half.
Another message originally read:
Once we move, I don’t care if I never sit through another Montoro dinner where someone humiliates me.
Again, cropped.
The third message did not exist at all.
Claire examined the metadata Delia had forwarded.
“Could be fabricated.”
“By her?”
“Possibly.”
Raffaele’s anger returned.
Sofia’s words from the kitchen came back.
I shouldn’t have married you.
Delia had spent months showing Sofia instructions that made Raffaele appear controlling.
At the same time, she showed Raffaele messages making Sofia appear contemptuous.
Two people living in the same house had been arguing with versions of each other created by someone else.
But Claire cautioned him again.
“We know Delia transmitted the screenshots.”
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
“She sent them.”
“We don’t yet know who created all of them.”
Raffaele hated how often evidence demanded patience.
The family side became uglier.
Three relatives visited uninvited.
Raffaele refused to let them past the library.
His uncle Carlo spoke first.
“You publicly struck your own sister over kitchen work.”
“She injured Sofia.”
“Her hands will heal.”
Raffaele stared at him.
Carlo continued.
“You’re letting that girl split blood.”
Raffaele’s expression changed.
“That girl is my wife.”
“She is twenty-six.”
“I know her age.”
“She doesn’t understand how this family survives.”
Raffaele leaned forward.
“What does washing your dishes have to do with survival?”
Carlo did not answer.
One of the cousins did.
“It reminds people marriage doesn’t outrank blood.”
Raffaele went completely still.
There it was.
Not Delia’s invention alone.
A philosophy.
Delia had merely turned it into policy.
Raffaele opened the library door.
“Leave.”
Carlo stared at him.
“You’re choosing her.”
“No.”
Raffaele’s voice remained calm.
“I’m choosing a house where my wife doesn’t need permission from my sister to be treated like a human being.”
The three men left.
The next morning, Raffaele ordered the family council suspended indefinitely.
Several capos were furious.
May you like
For the first time, the dispute moved beyond his marriage.
It was becoming a fight over what the Montoro name was allowed to mean.
