Chapter 7
Matteo had a son.
Eight years old.
Julian.
That was the future Bianca wanted.
I had always treated him like family.
Because he was.
Apparently Bianca treated him like succession.
“She promised you Julian would inherit?”
Matteo looked sick.
“Not directly.”
“Then how?”
“She said the family needed continuity.”
I almost laughed.
That word again.
People use elegant words when the simple ones sound ugly.
Replace Sophie.
That was the simple version.
Bianca believed the Vitale organization should pass through a male line.
My daughter made that inconvenient.
Matteo had not created the belief.
He had allowed it to flatter him.
“How long?”
He hesitated.
“Since Sophie was born.”
Three years.
I stared.
For three years Bianca had looked at my daughter and seen an obstacle.
Sophie’s birthday dinners.
Christmas gifts.
Family photographs.
All while quietly teaching Matteo that his son deserved what belonged to mine.
“Did Julian know?”
“No.”
Good.
One child spared.
Matteo sat down.
“My son is not part of this.”
I looked at him.
“Neither was mine.”
That stopped him.
Exactly.
Adults build wars around children then claim the children are innocent.
They are.
That does not undo the war.
Elena entered with something in her hand.
A small silver spoon.
Sophie’s.
The handle had been bent.
“What is that?”
She placed it on the table.
“I found it behind the pantry cabinet.”
I frowned.
Elena explained.
Three weeks earlier Sophie tried to take food after Bianca withheld dinner.
One of the kitchen women secretly gave her pudding.
Bianca caught her.
The spoon was bent when she knocked it from Sophie’s hand.
I looked at Matteo.
He closed his eyes.
Another thing he had not asked about.
Elena continued.
“The kitchen staff were told nobody feeds Sophie without Bianca’s permission when Alessandro is in council.”
My house.
My staff.
My child.
A parallel set of rules under my roof.
I looked toward the council-room door.
Every time I entered to control the organization, Bianca took control of the part of my life that could not interrupt the meeting.
My daughter.
May you like
She understood where power leaves blind spots.
And she built herself inside mine.
