Chapter 11
Carlo was found in Toronto with cash and two passports.
He talked within twenty-four hours.
Men like him like power until discomfort enters the room.
He claimed Portia ordered everything.
Portia claimed Carlo acted alone.
Both lied.
Together, their statements filled gaps.
Elena’s fire.
Celia’s false guardianship.
Celia’s death.
Maisie’s hidden years.
The stolen trust Rose had created for Celia’s line.
Money had moved through charities Portia controlled.
My mother’s name appeared once.
Then twice.
Then enough that I stopped pretending it was coincidence.
My mother, Antonia De Luca, had known about Elena and Celia.
She had paid Portia to keep the scandal buried.
I visited her at her Fifth Avenue apartment.
She greeted me with tea.
I did not touch it.
Her eyes moved to my hand.
“You know.”
“How much?”
She looked out the window.
“Enough.”
“Did you know about Maisie?”
“No.”
I wanted to believe her.
I did not.
“She is a child.”
“She is a complication.”
The word hit me like ice.
I stood.
“She is under my protection.”
My mother’s face hardened.
“You would throw away blood loyalty for a servant’s grandchild?”
I leaned closer.
“No. I am choosing the only blood in this story that did not lie.”
She slapped me.
I let her.
Then I said, “You will speak to Detective Harris.”
She laughed.
“I am your mother.”
“You were.”
May you like
Her face went white.
That was the day I stopped being an obedient son.
