Chương 11
“You.”
“Why am I so large?”
Emma shrugged. “Big.”
Sophia’s smile disappeared.
Alessandro understood. To Emma, he was not gentle because he had carried her. He was enormous, unpredictable, and connected to the man with the ring. Any kindness he offered existed inside that fact.
“The cottage door has been replaced,” he told Sophia.
“With what kind of lock?”
“A stronger one.”
“Who has the keys?”
“You, Giulia, and the police liaison.”
“Not you?”
“No.”
Sophia studied him.
“And my job?”
“Bianca has been suspended. Payroll deductions are under review. You will receive back wages.”
“That was not my question.”
“No,” he said. “Your job is waiting if you want it.”
“If the house remains open.”
“Yes.”
“And if I don’t want it?”
“Then you’ll receive severance.”
“From frozen accounts?”
“An independent administrator is being appointed.”
“You have answers now.”
“I spent the morning being told I didn’t.”
She looked toward the window. Reporters gathered across the street below, their vehicles crowded along the curb.
“My mother spent twenty-seven years trying not to be seen,” Sophia said. “You exposed everything in one night.”
“I exposed my family.”
“You do not get to decide where your family ends.”
Alessandro accepted the rebuke.
“Prosecutor Rinaldi wants to speak with you,” he said.
“I know.”
“She’ll come here.”
“I know.”
“You should have an attorney.”
“I called the number Francesca gave me.”
“Good.”
Sophia looked at him again, suspicious of the lack of argument.
“Why did you come?”
Alessandro had not asked himself clearly.
“To tell Emma the stain did not come out.”
Sophia stared.
He removed the Armani shirt from a paper bag. Giulia had rinsed it and allowed it to dry. The fabric was wrinkled, the cuffs rough, the collar still marked brown.
Emma ran to him.
“My shirt!”
“Technically, mine.”
“I wash.”
“You did.”
“I do good?”
The question returned exactly as it had in the laundry room.
Alessandro crouched.
Her gauzed hands rested against the shirt.
“You worked very hard,” he said.
Emma waited.
He glanced at Sophia. Her expression gave him nothing.
“You should not have had to,” he continued. “You were supposed to stay with your mother and be little.”
“I big.”
“Sometimes.”
“I wash good?”
“The stain stayed.”
Her face fell.
“But that was not your fault.”
“You mad?”
“No.”
“Shirt broken?”
“No.”
She touched the collar. “Mama say cold water.”
“My mother said the same thing.”
“Song lady.”
“Yes.”
Emma considered this connection, then hugged the shirt instead of him.
Sophia turned her face toward the window.
Alessandro placed the shirt back in the bag and stood.
“Keep it,” he said.
Emma beamed.
“It costs more than her bed,” Sophia said quietly.
“Then perhaps it has finally become useful.”
The prosecutor interviewed Sophia that afternoon.
Alessandro was not present. He spent four hours with his own attorneys in a conference room two floors below, listing companies, bank accounts, political contributions, property transfers, and men who had carried out instructions he had once considered ordinary.
His lead attorney, Marco Salvi, removed his glasses midway through the second hour.
“You understand that voluntary disclosure does not guarantee immunity.”
“Yes.”
“You may be prosecuted for crimes unrelated to your mother.”
“Yes.”
“You are describing conduct that extends beyond financial irregularity.”
“I know.”
Marco glanced toward the younger attorneys at the far end of the table. “Leave us.”
When the door closed, he rubbed both hands over his face.
“I represented your father.”
“I know.”
“I represented you because Vittorio asked me.”
“I know that too.”
“Then listen carefully. There is cooperation, and there is self-destruction. Prosecutors will gladly let you confuse the two.”
“What do you recommend?”
“That depends on your objective.”
“To tell the truth.”
Marco sighed. “That is not a legal objective.”
“It is mine.”
“You are not confessing to shoplifting. Hundreds of employees depend on businesses tied to you. Partners will flee. Banks will call loans. Competitors will use this investigation to seize contracts. Men who believe you can expose them may decide prison is not the worst outcome available.”
“You sound like Vittorio.”
“I sound like someone who bills by the hour to prevent clients from becoming martyrs.”
“I’m not a martyr.”
“Good. They are terrible at following advice.”
Marco put his glasses back on.
“We disclose in stages,” he said. “Verified records first. We negotiate protection for employees and legitimate companies. We separate personal admissions from inherited documents. We do not improvise morality in front of prosecutors.”
Alessandro looked through the conference-room glass. Luca sat outside with Emma asleep across his lap, both of them watching a cartoon without sound.
“What happens to Sophia?”
“If her evidence is credible, she becomes a witness.”
“And therefore a target.”
“Possibly.”
“Protection?”
“Police protection has limits. Relocation may be offered.”
“She will refuse to vanish.”
“Then she will discover that courage is easier to admire than to schedule.”
Alessandro looked at the sleeping child.
“Can I transfer money to them?”
“Not directly. It could be viewed as witness influence.”
“What can I do?”
“For the moment? Nothing.”
It was the first punishment he understood completely.
The cassette tapes were examined by forensic technicians. One contained Maria’s conversation with attorney Sergio Serra, who had died in 2008. The second recorded Enzo Moretti and Vittorio arguing in a study the night before Maria’s death.
The audio was damaged but intelligible in sections.
Maria had apparently placed the recorder behind books before entering the room. Her footsteps could be heard, then Enzo demanding to know where she had hidden the accounts.
Vittorio’s younger voice said, Let her leave. Take the boy and let her go.
Enzo replied, She does not leave with anything that belongs to me.
Later, after Maria had gone, Vittorio warned his brother that violence would draw attention.
May you like
Enzo said, Then make someone else responsible.
The tape did not record a murder order. It recorded motive, planning, and Vittorio’s knowledge of the intended cover-up. Combined with payroll records, police corruption files, and Teresa’s letters, it was enough to reopen three deaths.
