“I don’t think they blame you,” Emily said gently. “Or see things the way you do. I think they know you did your best, given the circumstances. Your husband isn’t exactly the easiest person to talk to. I know that firsthand.”
Alessandra’s expression dulled. “I’m sorry about yesterday. He tends to distrust people he can’t read. He assumes they’re hiding something. It’s not right, but…after what happened with his brother, I don’t think he’s ever truly trusted anyone.”
“What happened?”
“His older brother caused their father’s death to take over the company.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. That’s awful.”
Was that common knowledge? Because Emily hadn’t seen that in his background check. Or did Nicolas—or his father—intentionally prevent that from ever surfacing?
“He got involved with some men from the criminal underworld. That’s where the mafia rumors started. In theend, those same men turned on him and exposed everything to Riccardo.”
“What did your husband do when he found out?”
“He turned him in after Antonio confessed. Said he did it because their father always favored Riccardo, even though he was younger. He thought it was unfair that the company would go to him.”
That didn’t justify killing one’s own father.
Emily had seen how money could twist people. Her mother had cycled through friends like seasons. Maybe that’s why Emily clung so tightly to Zariah no matter the distance. She was someone who valued her for who she was, not what she had. Valentina had also become someone she genuinely liked over the years of knowing her.
“Riccardo tried to make him face justice,” Alessandra continued. “Tried to get him to serve time.”
“Tried?”
“Antonio took his own life.”
Emily gasped, instinctively raising her hand to her mouth, then stopping short when she remembered the dirt-covered glove.
“It was cruel,” Alessandra said. “He chose his own escape and left Riccardo to grieve both his father and brother in the same year. I knew Antonio before I married his brother. He was charming, the kind of man women fell for. Kind. Riccardo was always the colder one. I think he saw his brother through rose-colored glasses too. He never expected something so brutal.”
She kept working the soil as she spoke. “I think that’s why he hates pretense. Why he raised Nicolas and Anna to see through them. When I got pregnant again, he was terrified. He never said it, but I knew it. He dreaded the idea of having another son. I saw fear in him for the first time.”
“And maybe that’s why he accepted Anna’s path in the arts,” she admitted. “He didn’t want his children to repeat the same mistakes.”
“But Nicolas adores Anna.”
Alessandra looked up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I know. I just wish Riccardo knew that too.”
She brushed the dirt from her hands and stood. Her gaze went across the garden. “Enough of the sob story. Your husband’s back.”
Emily turned to see Nicolas standing on the balcony, looking down at them. There was something in his expression she hadn’t seen before. His lips parted slightly, a cloudy look in his eyes, the kind of admiring that made her forget oxygen existed.
18
From the balcony, Nicolas watched them. His mother and the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. He knew he liked this picture of them bonding far too much. So much that he’d been standing here for the past twenty minutes.
It was frustrating, not knowing what was being said.
As Emily’s crouched figure turned for him to catch her downcast expression, his mother stood and outed him.
Emily whirled around, the sun catching her. She was luminous. Her golden-brown eyes narrowed, spotting him.
She tilted her head, curious and feline.
How fucking cute.
Normally, Nicolas would suppress such a thought. Be embarrassed when it slipped through, but after she’d seen her poster in his old bedroom, what was the point?
