Perhaps she’s finally learning that she has no leverage or ability to negotiate.
Or perhaps the pain makes it difficult to argue.
Either way, her silence is satisfying.
I end the call and set the phone aside, looking at Danny who had returned to my office to discuss some matter. His expression is…interesting.
Like he highly disapproves of my phone call but doesn’t want to say anything.
That’s too bad for him.
“Something you want to say, Danny?”
He straightens, those green eyes meeting mine with the steady gaze of a soldier preparing to deliver an unpopular report. “She’s not her father, boss. From everything in this file, she’s never hurt anyone. Never betrayed anyone. Never chosen the easy path when it would damage someone else.”
“Neither had Marco.” I stand and adjust my jacket, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from Italian wool. “Prepare the estate for our guest. The future Mrs. Marchetti arrives tomorrow, and I want everything perfect for her arrival.”
Tomorrow, the Giuliana Conti she once knew will cease to exist.
In her place will be a woman who belongs to me as completely as the furniture in this room, as thoroughly as the contracts in my desk drawer.
Danny nods slowly, accepting the order despite his obvious reservations. “Yes, boss. I’ll have everything ready.”
As he moves toward the door, I allow myself one final look at the photographs spread across my desk.
Giuliana treating injured animals with gentle hands.
Giuliana laughing with friends over coffee.
Giuliana living a simple, honest life that’s about to become infinitely more complicated.
Tomorrow begins the education of the future Mrs. Marchetti.
She’ll learn that mercy is a luxury I can’t afford, that her father’s sins have consequences that extend beyond his own punishment, that the choices we make ripple outward in ways we never anticipate.
Marco’s death taught me that lesson three years ago.
Now it’s Giuliana’s turn to learn it.
5
GIULIANA
The black Mercedes that picks me up at 8:00 AM sharp is the kind of car I’ve only seen in movies, with its tinted windows and polished chrome, the interior smelling of leather so soft I wonder what baby animal had to suffer.
The driver is a silent man in his fifties with silver hair and the kind of face that’s seen too much to be surprised by anything.
He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t make small talk.
He just holds the door open and waits for me to climb in with my single suitcase.
I spent most of last night packing and repacking that suitcase, trying to decide what parts of my old life I could fit into one bag.
Clothes, obviously.
My mother’s locket.
The worn copy ofAll Creatures Great and Smallthat made me want to become a veterinarian in the first place.
