Chapter 7
Bianca asked to speak to me the next morning.
Detective Vale allowed it through glass.
I almost refused.
Then Rosalie said, “Elena left room for truth. Not mercy. Truth.”
So I went.
Bianca sat in the interview room with no makeup, her hair pinned badly, her hands cuffed to the table.
She looked nothing like the bride from yesterday.
Good.
I wanted that image dead.
She looked up when I entered.
“I didn’t know they would kill Elena.”
I sat across from her.
“You knew they threatened her.”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
“You knew they wanted the barrette.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Livia was attached to it because it was from her mother.”
Her eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“And you cut her hair anyway.”
She looked down.
“I thought the card was in the hair clip. I thought if I found it before my mother, I could destroy it.”
“Why?”
“Because if she went to prison, I would have nothing.”
I stared at her.
“You nearly married me for my name, my money, and my silence.”
She laughed bitterly.
“My mother arranged everything. Your uncle agreed. I was told you needed a wife, Livia needed a mother, and I needed to stop asking questions.”
“You always had a choice.”
Her face twisted.
“Men like you say that because you were born with power.”
“No,” I said. “I say that because my three-year-old daughter chose to protect her mother’s flower while grown adults betrayed her.”
Bianca flinched.
Good.
I leaned closer.
“If you know anything else, tell Detective Vale. Not for me. Not for a deal. For the child you hurt.”
Tears slid down her face.
“There’s a ledger.”
I went still.
“Where?”
“My mother’s bridal trunk. False bottom.”
Detective Vale moved behind the glass.
Bianca continued.
“And there is another name. Someone inside your house. Not Carlo.”
My blood chilled.
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“I don’t know. My mother called them ‘the widow keeper.’”
Widow keeper.
The phrase made no sense until that evening.
Nico and Detective Vale searched Donatella’s trunk and found the ledger.
Names.
Payments.
Photos.
And beside Elena’s name, two handlers.
Carlo.
And Caterina Rizzano.
My mother.
I read the page three times.
No.
No.
No.
My mother stood across the room, holding Livia’s sweater in her hands.
She saw my face.
“Alessandro?”
I could barely speak.
“What did you do?”
Her eyes moved to the ledger.
Her body folded inward.
“Alessandro.”
“What did you do?”
Livia was upstairs with Rosalie.
Thank God.
My mother sat slowly.
“I did not know they would kill her.”
The same words.
The same cowardice.
I backed away from her.
“You?”
She cried.
“Elena wanted to take Livia away from this life. She asked me to help her leave. She said she would take my granddaughter across the country and never come back.”
My throat closed.
“She asked you for help.”
“She asked me to betray my son.”
“She asked you to save a child.”
My mother sobbed.
“I told Carlo she planned to leave. Only that. I swear.”
“And Carlo told Donatella.”
She covered her face.
“I thought they would scare her.”
I stood there, feeling every memory of my mother crack.
All her comfort after Elena died.
All her tears.
May you like
All her prayers.
She had lit candles over a grave she helped dig.
