Forty-two years married. She'd been happy for maybe ten of those years.
Last year, everything finally broke. A twenty-something with a pregnant belly showed up at our door during Sunday dinner, demanding money. When my mother confronted him later, my father laughed in her face. Exchanged eye rolls with my brothers, as if she were just being a hysterical woman.
That night, I found her in the kitchen at 3 AM, hands trembling around a mug of tea. "I can't do this anymore, Domenica," she whispered. Two weeks later, she contacted the FBI.
Someone must have seen her. Or maybe she spoke to an agent on my father’s payroll. It wouldn’t surprise me. However it happened, word reached my father within hours.
Three days later, she was dead. Shot in the head during a home invasion, if you listen to the 6 o'clock news. Completely believable, unless you start wondering how the guy got away when my brother and father were both there.
I knew how my father explained it: betrayal of the family is punishable by death. The ultimate sin. I sat through that dinner, watching him cut his steak while he described how she'd been "handled." My brothers Lorenzo and Arturo nodded approvingly. My brother Rocco stared at his plate. He loved Ma, but he would never speak against Matteo. No one would.
I said nothing. Just ate my dinner and thought about the look in her eyes that night in the kitchen. She hadn't been plotting betrayal. She'd been a woman who wanted to breathe without fear, to wake up without dread. To live.
I heard the soft tap of knuckles on hardwood before I saw Ellie in the doorway, her lean frame silhouetted against the hall light. She leaned one shoulder against the frame, arms folded across her chest.
"You okay?" she asked, voice gentle but direct.
I closed the book and slid it back into its place on the shelf. "Fine."
Ellie's eyes tracked my movements, then drifted to the painting on the far wall. "That painting has always creeped me out." She tilted her head, studying it. "Woman looks so damn sad."
I followed her gaze to the familiar image. The woman in the painting sat with her chin resting on her hand, eyes downcast, surrounded by dark foliage.
"It was my mother's favorite," I said. "Rossetti's 'Pia de' Tolomei.'"
"Original?" Ellie asked, curiosity flickering across her face.
"No. Just a very good print."
She nodded, then straightened. "How about Sabine? We good or is it going to be a problem?"
Classic Ellie. No preamble, just the assessment that mattered. It was why she made such a good medic—she could triage a situation in seconds.
"We're fine," I said. "She needed to understand the situation."
Ellie accepted this with a slight nod. "Kara's with her?"
"Probably." I didn't actually know, but it was a reasonable assumption. Kara was tough as nails, but she had an obvious soft spot for the reporter.
Ellie pushed off from the doorframe. "South gate camera feed is still down. Been trying to fix it but I’m getting nothing."
"I'll look at it," I said, and followed her into the hallway.
Our footsteps were muffled against the soft pile carpet. The walnut doors lining the corridor gleamed with a subtle polish even in the low light. I stole a glance at Sabine’s door. I’d have to have a real conversation with her sooner or later. Ellie and I descended the stairs together, the red carpet runner absorbing the sound of our movement. The house wrapped around us in secure silence, a fortress of my father’s design.
"You and Cam are on duty tonight," Ellie said, breaking the quiet. "She wants to make a run to town tomorrow for cat food. Those strays she found by the south gate are apparently permanent residents now."
I nodded, picturing Cam's stoic face softening around those tiny creatures. "I’ll tell her to take the black SUV. Less conspicuous than the Rover."
"Roger that," Ellie replied.
We reached the landing, and Ellie paused. "I'm going to grab a sandwich before I go to bed. Want one?"
"No, I’m good. I need to check that camera feed."
She nodded and headed toward the kitchen without another word. We didn't need many. Years of working together had made conversation optional. Comfortable silences were more common than not.
I continued down the hall to the command room, my sanctuary of screens and control panels. The door closed behind me with a satisfying click, and I settled into my chair, fingers already reaching for the keyboard. Time to fix whatever was wrong with the south gate cameras.
