Chapter 12
Carlo Vieri finally talked after Lucian’s collapse.
Not under torture.
Under abandonment.
Roman removed his title.
His office.
His men.
His seat at council.
For three days nobody called him.
Nobody asked his opinion.
Nobody visited.
On the fourth, Carlo requested Roman.
Powerless men often found truth when silence became louder than fear.
Carlo entered.
“You win.”
Roman looked at him.
“This isn’t poker.”
“You always liked pretending.”
“Talk.”
Carlo explained the missing money.
He intercepted nearly twenty-two thousand of each fifty-thousand-dollar transfer.
Helena moved the rest for hiding.
Carlo sent his portion to Ash Circle.
“Why?”
“Lucian promised me succession.”
Roman almost laughed.
“You’re seventy.”
“For my son.”
“Who?”
“Anthony Vieri.”
Roman knew him.
Forty.
Capo in another state.
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“So you betrayed my daughter for a son who never asked.”
Carlo closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Roman looked at him.
“Sound familiar?”
Carlo nodded.
The entire story was fathers and mothers deciding descendants needed inherited power.
“What does Anthony want?”
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
“What happens to me?”
“You’re done.”
“Death?”
“No.”
Carlo looked almost insulted.
“No?”
“No council.”
“No family business.”
“No use of the D’Angelo name for influence.”
Carlo’s face darkened.
“You cannot erase me.”
“I can stop answering.”
That frightened him more.
Roman stood.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“Who placed the bell in Helena’s purse?”
Carlo hesitated.
“Isabella.”
Nora’s mother.
Roman stared.
“She’s with Celeste.”
“Yes.”
“So she was at the gala.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see Sophie.”
“Did Helena know?”
“No.”
“Did Nora?”
“No.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
Isabella had approached her granddaughter’s child before revealing she was alive.
Again adults using proximity without permission.
Roman went to Nora.
Told her immediately.
No concealment.
Nora went pale.
“My mother was there.”
“Yes.”
“She saw me.”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t speak.”
“No.”
Nora’s anger was quieter now.
Older than her age.
“She wanted Sophie before she wanted me.”
Roman did not soften it.
“Looks that way.”
Nora nodded.
“Good.”
Roman frowned.
“Good?”
“I’m done making excuses for mothers because they’re mothers.”
Roman understood.
Helena.
Isabella.
Love did not erase damage.
Nora asked:
“Where is she?”
“With Celeste.”
“I want to see her.”
Roman said:
“I’ll arrange—”
Nora raised an eyebrow.
He stopped.
“Sorry.”
She almost smiled.
“I’ll arrange it.”
“Better.”
Then Sophie entered carrying a crayon drawing.
Three people.
A tall man.
A woman.
A little girl.
Roman crouched.
“Who?”
Sophie pointed.
“Mommy.”
“Nora?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Me.”
Roman smiled.
Then noticed someone at the edge of the paper.
An old woman.
Black dress.
“Who’s that?”
Sophie whispered:
“The grandma from the stairs.”
Nora froze.
“What grandma?”
“She says I have two families.”
Roman’s blood went cold.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
They had been home yesterday.
Security locked.
No visitors.
“Where?”
Sophie pointed toward the servants’ corridor.
Roman looked at Nora.
May you like
Isabella had not only attended the gala.
She had entered the house again.
