Chapter 6
We found the room beneath the chapel.
Not empty.
Prepared.
A small bed.
Blankets.
Children's books.
A water pitcher.
Mia's favorite stuffed rabbit.
That was what nearly broke me.
The rabbit.
It belonged in her bedroom.
She slept with it every night.
Someone had taken it without me noticing.
Mia saw it from the doorway.
“Bunny.”
I lifted her immediately.
“No.”
She pointed.
“I want him.”
Marco retrieved it.
Mia hugged the rabbit against her chest.
Then looked around the stone room.
“Grandma said this is special room.”
My throat tightened.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Maura stood under guard twenty feet behind us.
She laughed.
“For God's sake.”
I turned.
She shrugged.
“You're behaving like I built a dungeon.”
I looked at the windowless stone walls.
“What would you call it?”
“A protected room.”
“For a five-year-old you planned to hide from her father.”
“For a child whose father was going to be temporarily incapable of caring for her.”
There it was.
She had rehearsed that line.
I looked at Grant.
He looked sick.
“Temporarily incapable?”
He turned toward Maura.
“What did you give him?”
She sighed.
“Nothing yet.”
“What was in the bottle?”
“Enough.”
“For what?”
“Sleep.”
“How long?”
Maura smiled.
“Why are you suddenly concerned?”
Grant stared.
She stepped closer to him.
“You wanted his chair.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop pretending you cared how it became empty.”
His face changed.
I watched it.
He had wanted power.
He had been willing to humiliate Mia.
He had helped hide her punishment.
He had planned to sit in my chair.
But Maura had kept something from him.
Something bigger.
Grant lowered his voice.
“You told me one night.”
Maura smiled.
“Did I?”
His face went pale.
“Mother.”
She laughed softly.
“Don't make that pathetic face.”
She glanced at Mia.
“One crying child in this family is enough.”
Grant's jaw tightened.
“You said Lorenzo would wake up after council.”
“I said what you needed to hear.”
There it was.
He looked at me.
For the first time, fear replaced arrogance.
“What was in the bottle?”
I asked again.
Maura stared at me.
Then smiled.
“Something your father once used.”
My chest tightened.
“My father?”
Maura's smile widened.
“He understood difficult nights.”
My father, Antonio Vitale, had died seven years ago.
Heart failure.
Sudden.
At home.
After a council dinner.
I felt the room change around me.
Grant heard it too.
“Mother.”
Her eyes moved toward him.
“You talk too much when you're frightened.”
“You said it was only for Lorenzo.”
Maura's face sharpened.
“Grant.”
He took one step back.
I stared at my aunt.
“What did my father use?”
“No idea.”
“You just said—”
“I said he understood.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You know exactly what was in that bottle.”
Maura smiled.
“Then prove it.”
She still thought this was about proof.
As if I intended to put her in a courtroom.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I looked at the old stone shelves.
One had been recently cleaned.
Dust disturbed.
A box removed.
My security chief noticed too.
He pulled it free.
Inside were six black bottles.
Same shape.
Same glass.
Five empty.
One sealed.
Grant stared.
Maura's expression finally changed.
Not much.
Enough.
My father had died seven years earlier.
Five empty bottles sat beneath my chapel.
I looked at Maura.
“How many men did you help rest?”
She said nothing.
Grant whispered:
“Jesus.”
Maura turned on him.
“Don't be stupid.”
He stared.
“You've done this before.”
“No.”
“You kept them.”
“Insurance.”
“For what?”
She looked at me.
Not him.
“Memory.”
That word stayed with me.
Because Maura wasn't afraid of what the bottles could do.
She was afraid of what they could prove she'd done.
Then Mia spoke from my arms.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
She pointed at the stone shelf.
“Grandma has Daddy picture here.”
I followed her finger.
Behind the box was a photograph.
Old.
My father.
Maura.
Three senior capos.
Taken the Christmas before he died.
One man in the photograph had been scratched out.
Not lightly.
Violently.
Grant stared.
“Who is that?”
I knew.
“Uncle Victor.”
My father's younger brother.
He disappeared six years ago.
The family had always said he left the country after betraying us.
Maura smiled.
“He did.”
I looked at the empty black bottles.
Then at the scratched face.
“No.”
May you like
My voice came out quieter than hers.
“You told us he did.”
