Chapter 4
I asked Matteo whether he wanted my chair.
He laughed.
That answer told me nothing.
“I want the family stable.”
“So do I.”
“You’re distracted.”
“By my daughter?”
“By fatherhood.”
There it was.
I stared at him.
“You think loving Sophie weakened me.”
He shook his head.
“No. I think changing rules because she cries weakens you.”
Bianca smiled faintly.
That was the philosophy.
Pain is useful.
Comfort is weakness.
Fear is discipline.
A child crying proves the lesson is working.
I understood my aunt differently now.
She had raised Matteo after his father died.
I remembered him at fourteen.
Never complaining.
Never asking for anything.
We called him strong.
Maybe we had simply failed to notice he was afraid.
“What rules did I change?”
Matteo leaned forward.
“Crew punishments. Household discipline. Family access.”
I almost laughed.
“I stopped men from hitting servants.”
“Exactly.”
The room became quiet.
He believed this.
Not theater.
Not ambition disguised as tradition.
Belief.
“Children see weakness,” he continued. “Staff sees weakness. Capos see weakness.”
I looked at the bowl.
“And what do they see when a three-year-old eats beside a dog?”
“Order.”
Elena flinched.
I did not.
Something colder arrived instead.
“Did you ever eat from that bowl?”
Matteo frowned.
“What?”
“Bianca raised you.”
His eyes hardened.
“Don’t.”
That was answer enough.
I looked at my aunt.
She stood.
“Leave the past alone.”
I almost smiled.
There.
A wound.
Matteo was not simply supporting Bianca’s cruelty.
He was defending the system that had made him.
Because admitting it was abuse would mean admitting some of his proudest qualities were built through fear.
He looked at me.
“She made me useful.”
I held his gaze.
“No.”
Pause.
“She made you grateful for surviving her.”
His face changed.
May you like
For the first time that night, Matteo looked less like a rival.
He looked like a boy still protecting the person who hurt him because the alternative would make his childhood unbearable.
