Chapter 6
They gave Luke food in the kitchen.
Not on the patio.
Not from the broken plate.
A cook named Rosa brought him pasta, bread, and a glass of milk.
She cried while she served him.
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
Luke did not know what to do with so much kindness.
He looked at me first.
I nodded.
Only then did he eat.
Angelo stood by the doorway, watching.
He looked like a man learning the shape of his own punishment.
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me did.
But the anger was tangled with the memory of the boy who used to sneak cannoli into my coat pockets after late shifts.
The boy who had kissed my forehead and promised me a home.
The man in front of me had power now.
Money.
Men.
A name people lowered their voices to say.
But he also had tears in his eyes when Luke smiled at Rosa.
Milena paced in the hall.
Her heels clicked like a clock.
The lawyer arrived before midnight.
His name was Dominic Vella.
He carried a leather folder and looked as if he had been dragged from sleep into a war.
Angelo brought us into his father’s study.
Dark wood.
Old books.
A portrait above the fireplace.
Milena tried to sit behind the desk.
Angelo stopped her.
“Not there.”
Her face hardened.
Dominic opened the folder.
“I received your call,” he said. “You asked me to pull the private family trust.”
Milena went still.
Angelo nodded.
“And the sealed addendum.”
Dominic hesitated.
“Angelo, that document can only be opened under specific conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“If a child of your blood appears and their claim is disputed.”
No one breathed.
Dominic looked at Luke.
Then at me.
“I believe those conditions are now met.”
Milena whispered, “You will regret this.”
May you like
I looked at her.
“No,” I said. “You will.”
