Chapter 44

Chapter 44
NARRATOR

The De Luca mansion still reeked of stale alcohol and bottled-up rage when Valentina came down the stairs that morning, each step creaking beneath her heels like a reproach. She had spent the night awake, tossing in sweat-soaked sheets and dried tears, venomous thoughts she could not manage to untangle in her mind. The bathroom mirror reflected a woman she no longer recognized: reddened, bloodshot eyes, smeared lipstick, her mouth hardened into a bitter line.
She put on a fitted black dress, not for mourning, but because she believed the color would lend her gravity, an armor of dignity so as not to appear ridiculous before her own fractured clan.
In the kitchen she found Marco hunched over the table, his backpack half-closed at his feet. Dark circles under his eyes, a wrinkled T-shirt clinging to his torso, his face still marked by the hangover from a night of stolen beers. Valentina looked at him, and in that gaze was her entire arsenal of pain: ignored maternal demands, the humiliation of feeling invisible in her own home.
“Where are you going now, Marco?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from breaking.
Marco looked at her without surprise, with that cutting indifference he had inherited from his father, and shrugged disdainfully.
“I’m going out with some friends. Does it bother you?”
Valentina set her coffee cup down harder than necessary, the liquid splashing.
“And your sister? Did you leave her alone again, as if she doesn’t matter?”
Marco pushed away from the table with a snort, yanking up his backpack.
“You don’t know what it’s like living here, Mom. It’s all rules, surveillance, guards following us like dogs. Let me breathe, just once.”
The words were like a knife plunging into her chest. Valentina stepped forward without thinking, driven by a visceral instinct, and slapped him sharply. Marco’s cheek reddened instantly, but he didn’t falter, holding back the pain more out of pride than fear.
“I wish you would die,” he spat suddenly, with rage that knew no filter. “I want you to get out of this house for good. We’re better off without you, without your drinking and your screaming.”
The words struck Valentina like daggers, piercing the layers of armor she had built over the years. She stood frozen, her fingers trembling. For a moment she thought she would collapse right there, her knees buckling under the terrible certainty: she no longer had a place in her son’s life.
Marco didn’t wait for a reaction; he turned and left, slamming the door behind him, the bang reverberating like a full stop.
Alone in the wrecked kitchen, Valentina stormed into the adjoining bathroom. She let cold water hit her face like punishment, hurled the half-empty whisky bottle against the wall and watched it shatter into a thousand shards. She smashed the mirror with her fist, ignoring the pain, kicked the cabinet until the wood splintered.
She slid down to the floor, sitting among the debris, too drained to stand. She cried without restraint, sobs shaking her body until she was exhausted.
When she finally managed to rise, she did so with a sharp gesture, as if deciding she had had enough. She changed into clean clothes—black trousers and a simple blouse—brushed her hair with hands that still trembled, and, without fully recalling why, left the house and got into her car.
She was going to her mother’s house. Sofía Russo was the source of both her strength and her poison; she needed to confront her, or at least seek refuge in that maternal shadow that had never been gentle.

At the entrance, Valentina saw Sebastián’s car parked carelessly, the hood still warm. For an instant, a cold current ran through her body like a premonition: was he there? Why?
But more than surprise, she felt a blade of rage.
The guards did not initially care about her name. A tall, broad man stepped in front of the gate with dry politeness.
“Ma’am, Mrs. Sofía does not receive visitors without prior notice.”
Valentina shot him a murderous look, her face twisted by accumulated fury.
“Don’t make me repeat myself! I am her daughter, her blood.” She shoved the guard with unexpected force. “You will not deny me the door to my own house!”
Startled by the sudden violence, the man tried to regain composure. Servants, alerted by the commotion, came out to intervene. Valentina hurled insults at them, words sharp as blades.
Finally she pushed the gate violently, the metal screeching in protest, and stormed inside like a whirlwind. No one dared stop her again. She climbed the exterior stairs with hard steps, crossing the gilded foyer with its ancient tapestries.
In the upper corridor, the silence grew deeper, oppressive. As she approached the master bedroom door, she heard sounds that gutted any remaining shame: low, complicit laughter, broken whispers, muffled moans that were not of pain but pleasure.
Her mouth went dry at once, her throat closing. A premonition struck her like lightning: the unmistakable stench of betrayal.
She flung the door open, the knob slamming against the wall with a crash.
What she saw stole her breath, leaving her petrified in the doorway: Sofía and Sebastián tangled in the bed with rumpled silk sheets, her silver hair loose over bare shoulders, his suit undone, shirt open to reveal his sweaty chest.
They separated at once, breathing hard. Sebastián’s gaze lost in pure panic; Sofía’s barely restrained surprise quickly shifting into challenge.
“What…?” was all Valentina managed to stammer, her voice broken by a mix of fury and humiliation that burned her insides.
Sebastián sprang up, fumbling to button his shirt.
“Valentina… this isn’t what it looks like. Please, calm down. Let’s talk like adults.”
Sofía, with the glacial composure of someone who controls the scene, rose slowly and deliberately, wrapping herself in a black silk robe.
“Don’t play the victim now, Valentina,” she said sharply, her blue eyes stabbing into her daughter’s like daggers. “I won’t humiliate you for something you can’t control.”
Valentina could not take it anymore. It was an explosion of years of accumulated slights, of nights alone with bottles, of a marriage reduced to appearances. She began to scream, words pouring out in an avalanche:
“How dare you, Sebastián? In my mother’s house? With my own mother? With the woman who should respect you? You’re a traitor! With whom are you humiliating me before the whole world? You’re going to pay for this, I swear to God!”
The shouting frightened the servants. Valentina continued, out of control:
“Sofía! Damn you! You’ve used me my whole life like a pawn in your games! Now you take my husband to your bed and laugh at me! I will destroy you, Mother! Do you hear me? I will destroy you and bring to light everything you hide!”
Sebastián stepped toward her, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and desperation.
“Valentina, listen to me. This can be handled in private.”
“Handled?” she spat, advancing until she was inches from his face. “No, Sebastián! Not this time! Don’t humiliate me again!”
Sofía, far from startled, fixed her with aristocratic contempt.
“Leave right now,” she said with deadly calm. “Leave before this becomes irreversible.”
“What do you mean by that, Mother?” Valentina’s voice faltered for a moment.
“You know exactly how things work in this house. Loyalty is fragile, and betrayal has consequences. Don’t make a scandal out of this, daughter. Or you will regret it.”
Driven mad by hatred, Valentina cursed them both aloud:
“I will destroy you both! I will expose every filthy secret! This is not over! I will have my revenge, I swear it! You will pay dearly for this humiliation!”
She said nothing more. She took a deep breath, and the fury left her weak for a second. It was as if she suddenly realized how alone she was. Without waiting for a response, she turned and stormed out of the room like a hurricane.
The mansion was left in a silence heavier than before, the air charged with electric tension. Sofía and Sebastián looked at each other for a long moment in the disheveled bedroom, understanding that that open door had summoned irreversible storms.
Valentina would show no mercy; her vow of revenge hung in the air like a suspended sword.
And as Valentina drove back with eyes blazing with pure hatred, a single phrase echoed in her mind like a dark mantra:
“I will take revenge. I will make them suffer as I suffer.”