Page 139 of The Cost of Silence

The word hits like a physical thing.

Uncle.

“The uncle,” I say quietly.

He inclines his head, mock-pleased. “So, he told you about me.”

“Not by name,” I answer. “Just enough to make you sound like a bad feeling.”

He laughs, a low, genuine sound. “I suppose that’s something. Sit down, Isabella. We should talk.”

Everything in me screamsno.

I don’t sit, but I don’t run either. The door is behind him. The balcony is glass. There are probably men in the hallway, but they’re not here, and knowing he got past them, I don’t know what condition they’re in, or whose side they’re on.

He clocks my glance toward the corridor and smiles again, this time with teeth.

“Don’t worry about the men outside,” he says. “They’re sleeping. It was quick. I’m not a monster.”

The cold that slides into my veins at that is almost worse than fear. I can’t tell if he’s lying. I don’t think he is. “How did you get in?” I ask, buying time, because my brain is trying to find anything, a phone on the table, a kitchen knife, a shard of glass, that would give me leverage.

“Carefully,” he says. “And with help. That’s the thing about families, Isabella. There’s always someone who needs something more than loyalty. Someone whose mother is sick. Someone whose job suddenly becomes… negotiable.”

The call from Marta rings in my head. My stomach drops. “What did you do to her?” I whisper.

“Nothing more than was necessary.” He waves a hand, dismissive. “A staged collapse, a convincing doctor, a threat whispered in the right ear. She’ll be fine as long as she remembers her place. In the meantime, she did what she had to do. She called Adriano, he left in a hurry, the guards relaxed, and I walked in when they inhaled the gas I released on this floor. Easy.”

He’s proud of himself. Of the neatness of it. Of the way he exploited the softest part of Adi’s life and turned it into a weakness.

“You bastard,” I breathe.

“Language,” he chides lightly. “I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Breaking into a man’s home and murdering his staff is a strange way to do that.”

“Is it?” He lifts a brow. “Enzo and I grew up in a different world, tesoro. This is how impressions were made where we’re from.”

“That’s why he spent the last ten years trying to be something else,” I say. “Something better.”

A shadow passes over his face, gone almost before I can catch it.

“Ah, my sainted brother-in-law,” he says. “So noble. So determined to wash the blood off the family name, even if it meant choking the men who built it. Did you know he was my best friend before he married my sister? Then he threw me aside like dross on his shoe.”

There it is. The chip on his shoulder. The grievance polished over decades.

He cocks his head as he walks closer, forcing me to take a step back. “You remind me of your father.”

Air rushes out of my lungs like I’ve been punched. “You knew my father?”

“I did. He was annoying and poked his nose where he shouldn’t until he couldn’t.” He gives a little chuckle. “I’m a poet and didn’t know it.”

I feel sick, bile is crawling up my throat, and I feel lightheaded as the realization hits me. “You killed my father.”

His smile sharpens. “Straight to the point. I see why the Ledger liked you.”

He doesn’t deny it. Oh, God, he didn’t even try to deny it.

“He was nosy,” Domenico continues. “He poked his nose into things that did not concern him. He thought because he had a press badge and a tired woman and a clever little girl at home, that made him untouchable. He learned otherwise.”