Chapter 7 - OUR MOTHERS STARTED THIS BEFORE WE WERE BORN
Valentina visited her mother alone.
Not because Dante told her to.
Because he did not.
Her mother, Lucia, lived outside Florence in a restored villa surrounded by olive trees.
When Valentina showed her Elena Vescari’s letter, Lucia sat down.
“I hoped you’d never see that.”
“Everyone keeps saying that about documents involving my life.”
Her mother winced.
Good.
Valentina did not want cruelty.
But she wanted honesty badly enough to tolerate discomfort.
Lucia explained.
She and Elena had been friends before they were partners.
Almost sisters.
Then money arrived.
The vineyard property became unexpectedly valuable after zoning changes.
Lucia wanted to keep it.
Elena wanted to sell.
A dispute followed.
Lawyers entered.
Friendship died.
Eventually, Elena accepted a buyout.
“But it was below value.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lucia’s voice softened.
“Because she needed cash.”
“For what?”
“Her husband was in debt.”
Marco Vescari.
Of course.
Elena used the buyout to protect him.
Then later blamed Lucia for taking advantage.
Maybe both were true.
Human betrayal was becoming exhausting because it refused to stay simple.
“Did you cheat her?”
Lucia thought for a long time.
“I obeyed the contract.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Tears entered her mother’s eyes.
“I knew she was desperate.”
There it was.
Valentina closed her eyes.
Every generation.
A different version of the same sin.
Someone vulnerable.
Someone powerful.
A legal document making exploitation look clean.
“Did you ever apologize?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Pride.”
At least she knew.
Valentina stood.
“Then start there.”
Her mother stared.
“With Celeste?”
“With Elena, if she’s alive.”
Lucia’s face changed.
“She is.”
Valentina froze.
“What?”
Elena Vescari lived in Geneva.
Lucia had known for years.
They had exchanged two letters after Marco left Italy.
No reconciliation.
Just proof of life.
“Does Celeste know?”
“I assume.”
“Does Dad?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
Secrets in wealthy families were apparently not hidden.
They were distributed selectively.
Valentina left furious.
Dante waited outside near his car.
Not on the property.
Not intruding.
She walked past him.
He followed.
For almost a minute, neither spoke.
Then:
“I hate everyone.”
“Reasonable.”
She laughed despite herself.
That annoyed her.
“You’re not supposed to be funny.”
“I’ve been told.”
She looked at him.
“Did you know Elena Vescari was alive?”
“No.”
She believed him.
That mattered more each day.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression turned cold.
“What happened?”
He ended the call.
“Celeste disappeared.”
“From where?”
“Her apartment in Milan.”
“Why?”
“Because someone searched it last night.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
But they had found blood on the floor.
And on Celeste’s desk, one photograph remained.
Valentina in her wedding dress.
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Across her face someone had written:
SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH.
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