Chapter 8 - The Truth Alessandro Couldn’t ForgiveAlessandro left the house.
He did not shout.
He did not accuse Teresa.
He simply walked out the front door, got into one of the cars, and disappeared down the road.
I watched from the hallway.
Something about the silence frightened me more than rage would have.
Teresa sat at the dining room table afterward with both hands wrapped around untouched coffee.
“He was twenty-two when Riccardo finally told me,” she said.
I remained standing.
“Alessandro?”
“No. Riccardo.”
She swallowed.
“Riccardo told me after his first heart attack.”
“And you never told Alessandro.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because by then Daniel had been dead for years. Lucia had left. Caterina was gone. Gabriel was missing.”
“That is not a reason.”
“No.”
“At least you know.”
She looked at me.
“I was afraid.”
“Of your husband?”
“Yes.”
That changed something.
Not everything.
But something.
Teresa continued.
“Riccardo was not evil.”
“I don’t think that matters much to the person who died.”
“No.”
She accepted the words.
“He was angry. Suspicious. Certain Daniel had betrayed Caterina. He ordered men to stop the car and recover the documents.”
“Stop it how?”
“He said no one should be harmed.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And that went well.”
“The driver panicked.”
“My father died.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the men?”
“One disappeared. The other worked for Enzo Valenti.”
“Marco’s father.”
“Yes.”
“Did Enzo tell Riccardo the truth afterward?”
“He tried.”
“And?”
“Riccardo discovered Daniel had been carrying documents intended for federal investigators.”
I stared.
“So he realized he had killed an innocent man.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do with the evidence?”
Teresa looked down.
“Destroyed part of it.”
Of course.
“And my mother?”
“Lucia found out.”
“When?”
“After you were born.”
“What did she do?”
“She threatened to expose Riccardo.”
That sounded exactly like my mother.
Quiet until something mattered.
Then immovable.
“Why didn’t she?”
“Because Vittorio had learned she had Daniel’s child.”
My chest tightened.
“So Gabriel claimed me.”
“Yes.”
“And Lucia left.”
“With Matteo’s help.”
“What about Riccardo?”
“He gave her money.”
I stared.
“He tried to pay her?”
“No.”
Teresa shook her head.
“He helped her leave.”
The answer surprised me.
“Why?”
“Guilt.”
I did not know what to do with that.
People were becoming impossible to categorize.
Victim.
Villain.
Protector.
Coward.
The same person could apparently be all four.
“What happened to Luca?” I asked.
Teresa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Gabriel?”
“Matteo knows more.”
“Then we find him again.”
My phone vibrated.
A message from Alessandro.
I’m at the old chapel above Monreale. I need time. You are safe at the house. Stay there.
I stared at it.
Then grabbed my coat.
Teresa noticed.
“No.”
“He said he needs time.”
“Yes.”
“He also told me to stay.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I’m going.”
To my surprise, Teresa smiled faintly through her tears.
“I understand why he likes you.”
I stopped.
“He doesn’t.”
She gave me a look only mothers seem capable of giving.
“Of course.”
The old chapel sat above the city.
By the time I reached it with one of Alessandro’s drivers, sunset had turned Palermo gold.
Alessandro stood beyond the chapel wall.
Hands in his coat pockets.
Alone.
The driver remained near the car.
I walked toward him.
“I told you to stay.”
“I’ve developed an allergy to being told what to do.”
“So I noticed.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
I stood beside him.
Palermo spread beneath us.
For several minutes, we said nothing.
Then Alessandro spoke.
“My father made me promise I would clean the family name.”
I looked at him.
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“He never told you why?”
“No.”
A bitter laugh escaped him.
“I thought he meant old business. My grandfather. Contracts. Men he had inherited.”
“He should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“You were his son.”
“Yes.”
“He was ashamed.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“That does not excuse it.”
“No.”
He nodded once.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not trying to make it easier.”
I understood.
Sometimes comfort became another kind of lie.
“I’m angry at him,” I admitted.
“You should be.”
“I’m angry at Teresa.”
“Yes.”
“I’m angry at my mother too.”
He turned.
“Julia.”
“I know why she did it.”
My eyes burned.
“But I spent twenty-seven years believing a story she invented.”
“You are allowed to be angry at someone you love.”
I looked down.
“That sounds practiced.”
“My father.”
Of course.
The silence between us softened.
“I don’t blame you,” I said.
“For what?”
“Daniel.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“But you feel like I should.”
He did not answer.
“Alessandro.”
“My father’s decision shaped your entire life.”
“So did Vittorio’s.”
“Yes.”
“So did Gabriel’s.”
“Yes.”
“So did my mother’s.”
I stepped closer.
“You don’t inherit guilt.”
His eyes met mine.
“That is easy to say when you did not inherit the Marchesi name.”
“You think Lombardo, Bellini, Reed, and apparently imaginary-Caruso-granddaughter are simpler?”
He almost smiled.
“I’m running out of surnames.”
That earned a quiet laugh.
It surprised both of us.
His face softened.
I realized we stood less than a foot apart.
Again.
The same tension from the terrace returned.
Only deeper now.
Less playful.
More dangerous.
He lifted a hand.
Slowly.
Giving me time to move.
His fingertips touched a strand of hair near my cheek.
My breath caught.
“Julia.”
“What?”
“I have been trying very hard not to do this.”
“Do what?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
“You know.”
I did.
Every sensible thought in my head screamed that this was complicated.
His father was connected to mine.
Our families were tied together by death, lies, and secrets older than us.
Someone was threatening me.
Gabriel and Luca were still missing.
Marco might be a traitor.
This was possibly the worst moment imaginable to kiss Alessandro Marchesi.
So I kissed him first.
For one startled second, he did not move.
Then one hand came to my waist.
The other cradled the back of my neck.
And Alessandro kissed me like restraint had been costing him something.
Not rough.
Not careless.
Controlled, even now.
But only barely.
The entire city disappeared.
When we finally separated, my forehead remained against his.
“That was a mistake,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“We should not do it again.”
“No.”
Neither of us moved.
His mouth brushed mine.
“Definitely not.”
Then my phone rang.
I laughed breathlessly.
“This is becoming a pattern.”
He released me reluctantly.
The number was unknown.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man spoke in Sicilian.
Older.
Weak.
“Giulia?”
My blood went cold.
“Yes?”
Alessandro immediately noticed my expression.
The man inhaled shakily.
“Your mother used to sing when she was frightened.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who is this?”
“I promised Caterina I would protect both children.”
Alessandro stepped closer.
“Gabriel?”
Silence.
Then the voice whispered, “Is Alessandro Marchesi with you?”
I put the call on speaker.
“Yes.”
Gabriel Caruso exhaled.
“Then listen carefully.”
Alessandro’s entire body became still.
“My son has been taken.”
Luca.
“By who?” Alessandro asked.
“My father.”
Vittorio.
I felt cold despite the warm evening.
Gabriel continued.
“He found Luca three days ago.”
“Why now?” I asked.
“Because of you.”
My stomach dropped.
“Me?”
“Someone saw you at Bella Notte with Alessandro. Vittorio learned your real name.”
“How?”
Gabriel was silent.
Then he said, “There is someone close to Alessandro feeding him information.”
Marco.
I looked at Alessandro.
His face hardened.
“Who?”
“I do not know.”
Gabriel coughed violently.
When he spoke again, his voice was weaker.
“Vittorio wants the box Caterina hid.”
“We have it.”
“I know.”
Alessandro looked toward me.
“How do you know?”
“Because Vittorio knows.”
That sentence chilled me.
Gabriel continued.
“He wants the documents in exchange for Luca.”
“No,” Alessandro said.
“You do not understand.”
“I understand extortion.”
“You don’t understand Luca.”
Gabriel’s voice cracked.
“He has no idea who he is. He thinks his parents died when he was a baby. He has a wife. A daughter.”
A daughter.
Caterina’s granddaughter.
Alessandro closed his eyes.
“Where?”
“Tomorrow night. Port of Palermo.”
“Too exposed.”
“Vittorio chose it.”
“We will involve the authorities.”
“No.”
Gabriel sounded terrified.
“He has people everywhere.”
Alessandro’s expression became hard.
“That was true twenty years ago.”
“You think he lost everyone?”
“I think Sicily changed.”
“So did Vittorio.”
The line crackled.
Then Gabriel said something that changed the entire conversation.
“Do not trust Marco Valenti.”
I looked at Alessandro.
His face did not move.
“Why?”
“Because Marco visited my father six months ago.”
Silence.
“Are you certain?”
“I saw him.”
My stomach twisted.
At Bella Notte, Marco had joked.
Smiled.
Watched Alessandro.
Warned me.
Maybe every word had been calculated.
Gabriel continued.
“But Marco is not the one who betrayed you.”
Alessandro’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“He went to Vittorio because he was searching for his father’s records.”
“Then who?”
The line filled with static.
“Gabriel?”
His voice returned.
Barely.
“The person giving Vittorio information…”
A loud sound interrupted him.
Then silence.
“Gabriel?”
Nothing.
The call ended.
I looked at Alessandro.
“He was about to tell us.”
“Yes.”
“Can you trace it?”
“Already happening.”
He dialed his security team.
Before anyone answered, another message appeared on my phone.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Luca.
A man in his late twenties or early thirties tied to a chair inside a warehouse.
Beside him stood an older man.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Vittorio Caruso.
Beneath the photo was one sentence.
Bring Caterina’s box tomorrow, Giulia. Come without the Marchesi prince, or her son learns how his mother died.
Alessandro read it.
His eyes became cold.
“You’re not going.”
I looked at the photograph.
Then at him.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Julia.”
I met his gaze.
“This started before I was born because everyone kept making choices for women they thought needed protecting.”
His face tightened.
“I am not repeating that story.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then something changed in his expression.
Not agreement.
Respect.
“All right.”
I blinked.
“All right?”
“You’re going.”
“And you?”
May you like
A slow, dangerous calm settled over his face.
“I’m going to make sure you come back.”
