Focused.
“Who did?”
“His mother.”
My hands start shaking before I even realize it.
I press them flat against the table, trying to stop it.
“At the funeral,” I whisper.
The memory comes back clearer now.
Too clear.
Cold marble floors.
Black dresses.
The smell of flowers that were already dying.
“She pulled me aside after the service.”
Saint doesn’t interrupt.
He just watches me.
Waiting.
“She told me I didn’t belong there. That I had stolen her husband. Her family.”
I swallow.
The words still sting even now.
“She said no one would ever believe Marco wasn’t responsible if something happened to me.”
The room goes very quiet.
“She said…” My voice trembles. “She said she’d take everything from him. And from me.”
I force myself to finish the memory.
“And that I’d disappear quietly.”
For a moment nobody moves.
Nobody breathes.
“I thought she was just being cruel,” I say softly.
I remember the look on that woman’s face now.
Calm.
Certain.
Like she already knew exactly how the story would end.
