Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Blood
I sat in the dark of the study for an hour after the tape stopped hissing. The batteries were dead. The room was cold.
Matteo stood near the door, motionless as a statue, waiting for an order that did not come because I had not yet decided who needed to die first.
My sister had lied to me for eight years.
She had stood at Chiara’s funeral in a black lace veil, holding my arm, whispering about tragic accidents and the cruelty of fate, while her hands were still stained with the blood of the woman I loved. She hadn't just killed my wife; she had stolen my life, turning me into a machine that sat in a stone box counting money and signing death warrants for men who were saints compared to the woman sharing my roof.
Boss, Matteo said softly, breaking the silence. What do you want me to do with the guards in the east wing?
Are they hers or mine? I asked without looking up.
They wear Moretti uniforms, Dante. But Valentina signs their bonuses.
Pull them back. Replace them with the boys from the Palermo unit. The ones who don't know my sister's name.
And Valentina?
I stood up. The chair scraped across the floor with a sound like iron on stone.
She stays in her rooms. No visitors. No phone calls. Cut the landlines to the east wing.
And if she tries to leave?
Tell her she’s welcome to try walking down the drive, I said, buttoning my suit jacket. Let’s see how many guards still salute her when I tell them what’s on that tape.
I walked out of the study, leaving the dictaphone on the desk.
The hallway was quiet, the midday light cutting through the high arched windows in long, golden slants that made the dust motes dance like small, frantic lives.
As I reached the grand staircase, I heard a child’s laughter from the courtyard below.
I stopped and looked down through the balustrade.
Mia was sitting on the rim of the stone fountain, dangling her doll’s feet in the water, while Giulia stood nearby, shaking out a white linen cloth. The little girl looked up, her dark eyes catching mine through the iron rails.
She didn't run. She didn't look down the way the other servants did. She just smiled—a wide, gap-toothed grin that had nothing to do with mafia wars, blood feuds, or ancient debts.
You forgot your doll's shoe, she called out, her voice echoing off the marble walls.
I walked down the stairs, slow and heavy, each step taking me closer to the ground floor. When I reached the bottom, I stopped by the fountain.
On the damp stone beside her feet lay a tiny red shoe made of felt.
I picked it up. It was smaller than my thumb.
Keep it safe, I said, handing it back to her.
She took it, pressing it against her doll's dress with both hands. Are you going to be sad today?
May you like
I looked past her, toward the east wing where my sister was sitting in her lavender robe, staring into a mirror that only showed her what she wanted to see.
No, Mia, I said, my voice steady for the first time in eight years. Today, I'm going to work.
