Chapter 4 - ISABELLA’S ROSARY
Roman lowered his gun.
Not because he trusted Luca.
Because his hand had started shaking.
“Our mother died.”
“That’s what Matteo wanted everyone to believe.”
“I identified her.”
“No. You identified her coat, her jewelry, and a face damaged badly enough that Matteo told you not to look twice.”
Roman’s jaw clenched.
“I saw her wedding ring.”
“Because she gave it to the woman before the car burned.”
I stared at them.
“What woman?”
Luca looked at me.
“Teresa Moretti. Isabella’s housekeeper.”
I remembered Teresa.
Kind eyes.
Quiet voice.
She vanished after the funeral.
We were told she returned to Sicily.
“She died instead of Isabella?”
“Yes.”
Roman looked as though someone had cut open an old wound and found another underneath.
“Why?”
“To get Isabella out.”
“Out from whom?”
“Matteo.”
Roman laughed once.
Cold.
Disbelieving.
“You expect me to believe our priest imprisoned our mother?”
“No.”
Luca’s eyes darkened.
“She helped him at first.”
That reversal silenced everyone.
I stepped closer.
“Helped him do what?”
“Control the Bellini family.”
Roman stared.
“Mother hated the business.”
“She hated chaos.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“To her, it became the same thing.”
Luca sat near the fireplace.
For the first time, he looked less like a threat and more like an exhausted man who had spent too many years carrying something alone.
“After Father died, Matteo convinced Mother that Roman would start a war.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“I prevented one.”
“You did.”
Luca nodded.
“But she didn’t know that yet.”
He looked at me.
“She believed you were Roman’s weakness.”
The old hurt stirred.
“She wasn’t exactly subtle about that.”
“No.”
Roman glanced at me.
His guilt was immediate.
I ignored it.
Luca continued.
“Matteo showed her reports claiming rival families planned to use you against Roman.”
“Were they real?”
“Some.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
The best lies always contained enough truth to survive.
“So Isabella ordered Roman to leave me?”
“No.”
Luca’s answer surprised me.
“She ordered him to send you somewhere safe.”
Roman looked sharply at him.
“What?”
“She never told you to destroy the marriage.”
Roman’s face changed.
He stared at his brother.
“She told me there could be no connection.”
“She told you no visible connection.”
I turned toward Roman.
“What exactly did she say?”
His eyes stayed on Luca.
“That if my enemies believed I loved you, you would never survive the winter.”
Luca nodded.
“That part was true.”
“And then?”
Roman swallowed.
“Matteo told me the only convincing separation was cruelty.”
I felt the church again.
The night Roman looked at me and called our marriage a mistake.
The way he said he felt trapped.
The disgust in his voice when he told me he had never wanted the life we built.
“You chose the words.”
Roman looked at me.
“Yes.”
That mattered.
Even if Matteo manipulated him.
Even if Isabella wanted distance.
Roman chose the knife.
He saw that realization on my face.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I know now.”
I looked away.
Luca reached inside his coat.
Roman’s hand moved toward his weapon again.
Luca rolled his eyes.
“Some things never change.”
He removed a rosary.
Black beads.
Silver crucifix.
I recognized it.
Isabella carried it every Sunday.
“She gave this to me the night she escaped.”
Roman took it carefully.
His thumb passed over one bead that had been replaced with red glass.
Luca pressed it.
A tiny compartment opened in the crucifix.
Inside was a key.
Roman whispered, “Mother loved keys.”
“She loved control.”
Luca’s voice carried no affection.
No hatred either.
Just history.
“What does it open?” I asked.
“A safe-deposit box under the name Elena Rossi.”
The name from Luca’s earlier warning.
“Who is Elena?”
“Isabella.”
I stared.
“She lived under another name?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three years.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“She was alive for three years after I buried her.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you find out?”
“Six months after you left.”
Roman’s grief turned instantly into anger.
“You let me believe she was dead.”
“I was trying to understand why she wanted the world to believe it.”
“You could have told me.”
“And you could have trusted your wife enough not to break her heart.”
Roman flinched.
Luca didn’t apologize.
For once, I was grateful.
“Where did Isabella live?” I asked.
“Milwaukee.”
That startled me.
Not Sicily.
Not Europe.
Ninety miles away.
Ordinary.
Almost insulting in its simplicity.
“And what happened after three years?”
Luca’s expression changed.
“She vanished again.”
Roman laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.”
“I found blood in the apartment.”
“Body?”
“No.”
“Matteo?”
“I thought so.”
“Thought?”
Luca looked at Paulina’s photograph.
“Until four years ago.”
The playground picture.
“You took it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because a woman approached Paulina.”
My blood froze.
“What woman?”
“Older. Gray coat. Sunglasses.”
“Isabella?”
“I couldn’t see her face.”
“Then why assume it was her?”
Luca took something from inside his coat.
A child’s red mitten.
Paulina’s.
I remembered losing it when she was five.
“You took this?”
“No.”
He turned it over.
Stitched into the cuff was a tiny blue thread in the shape of a cross.
Isabella stitched crosses into every gift she made for family.
Always blue.
Roman saw it.
His face drained.
“Our mother.”
Luca nodded.
“She returned Paulina’s mitten after the playground.”
I could barely breathe.
“Did she speak to my daughter?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I was close enough to hear.”
That answer made me furious.
“You were watching a five-year-old from hiding?”
“I was watching whoever was watching her.”
“Do you understand how insane that sounds?”
“Yes.”
He did not defend himself.
“I kept my distance because Matteo believed I was dead.”
“You let Roman believe it too.”
“Yes.”
Roman stepped forward.
“Why?”
Luca’s face finally cracked.
“Because every person you loved became leverage.”
Silence.
Then he looked at me.
“I knew about Paulina because Isabella knew.”
My anger sharpened.
“How?”
“She had someone watching you after Roman left.”
Roman’s voice became dangerous.
“Who?”
Luca hesitated.
That frightened me.
“Luca.”
His eyes settled on me.
“The person who told Isabella you were pregnant was the same person who has been beside you almost every day since.”
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
Roman moved closer.
“Who?”
May you like
Luca’s voice was quiet.
“Mira.”
