The child looked up at me with those wide, dark eyes.
I crouched down slowly, careful not to startle her.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
She nodded.
“How about we get you and your mom something to eat?”
She glanced at her mother, then back at me, and nodded again.
I stood and gestured toward the hallway.
“Come with me.”
The next morning, I called Giulia Cortese.
She answered on the second ring, her voice smooth and sweet as poisoned honey.
“Lorenzo, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We need to talk,” I said. “In person.”
There was a pause.
“Of course. When?”
“Tonight. My estate. Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
I hung up and set the phone down on my desk.
My most trusted man, Carlo, stood by the window with his arms crossed.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked.
“She sent Renata after Sofia,” I said. “She’s been looking for her. Which means she knows who Sofia is and what she saw that night.”
“And if she knows,” Carlo said slowly, “then she was involved.”
I nodded.
“She was part of the ambush.”
Carlo’s jaw tightened.
“Your own blood.”
“My father’s blood,” I corrected. “Not mine.”
I stood and walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling gardens.
Sofia and Elena were outside. Sofia sat on a stone bench while Elena chased butterflies through the flowers.
The sight of them together — safe, alive, smiling — did something strange to my chest.
“I want the house prepared,” I said. “Every entrance monitored. Every staff member accounted for. And I want evidence. Everything we have on Giulia. Financial records. Communications. Anything that ties her to the ambush.”
