Chapter 30 30

Chapter 30 30

Isabella awoke in her own bed. She was confused. The day was bright with sunlight filtering from her curtains. For a moment, she could not remember how she got there. Then it came back in pieces. Being in Giovanni’s study. The many papers scattered everywhere. She remembered the confrontation. Giovanni had taken off his mask. She saw his scars. She had kissed them. And then they were crying in each other’s arms. She must have passed out from exhaustion as she couldn’t remember what transpired. She had also perhaps passed out from the emotional toll of everything that had been disclosed in the past hours. She knew just enough to realize that she had not been put to bed.

The memory of the day before knocked her like a cold wave. The truth about her father. The police reports. The photographs. The confrontation of Giovanni. She had held his face. His tears. His brokenness. She had kissed the scars her father had helped give him. She sat up, shame and confusion vying for prominence. How could she have kissed his scars? What type of person would do that? What was she thinking? But she knew. She was seeing Giovanni’s pain and wanting to recognize it. She was seeing Giovanni’s pain and trying to pay respect to it. Trying to remove herself from her father’s crimes by tending to the injury those crimes had caused. Trying to show that she was not Lorenzo Vinci, but she was anxiously sorrowful for everything he had done. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. When Mrs. Russo brought breakfast, she gave Isabella an appraising look.

“Mr. Genovese asked me to tell you that he has left for business in the city. He won’t be back until this evening. He thought you might need some space.”

Space. Yes. That was exactly what Isabella needed right now. She could not face Giovanni. Could not look at him with this piece of memory forever carved in her mind. How he looked without a mask. How his scars felt beneath her fingers. How he cried. How vulnerable he was. Needed time to process. To figure out what changed. She spent the whole morning in her room. Trying to read. Trying to sketch. Her hands kept shaking.

‘I knew that I had to move. To breathe. To escape my thoughts. To a library, which was always my safe place.’ Before she could even say that she had been reading for about an hour, but the truth would be that she had no idea what the story she was on. Chiara appeared in the doorway.

“So,” she said. Cold. Blade sharp. “You finally learned the truth. What your father did. What makes you what you are.” Isabella slowly closed her book.

“Yes.” She had no idea what else to say.

“And now you know why Giovanni married you. Why he hates you. Why you are here.”

“Yes,” Isabella repeated. Chiara moved closer to the chair she was sitting in. Circled like a predator, a beast.

“Yet, even after you learned that your father murdered Giovanni’s family, fully comprehending everything he had lost, you had the audacity to touch him. To kiss him. To almost convince yourself that you have the right to…”

Her stomach dropped. “You saw it,” I said. This was not a question.

“I came to report to Giovanni and saw you instead. Quite the performance, may I say,” Chiara responded sarcastically. “You believed touching his face would free you? That kissing his accumulations would indeed erase everything your father did?”

“I was not trying to erase anything,” Isabella whispered and sat down her book. “I was acknowledging his pain. Apologizing for what my father did.”

“Your apologies mean nothing!” Chiara’s voice broke into a yell. She stopped circling the sofa and looked Isabella straight in the eye. “You are Lorenzo Vinci’s daughter! His blood. His legacy. Everything you do or say is tainted by what he did. And yet Giovanni is starting to forget that. Is starting to think of you as something else.”

“What?” Isabella whispered. She had to hear that. She had to understand how they both saw her.

“A killer’s daughter!” Chiara hissed. Every word felt like a lash. “The spawn of the man who deprived Giovanni of life. You should be crying. You should be dying. You should be nothing but a hostage for Giovanni’s revenge. Yet you crawl into his heart. You make him weaker. And healing your own pain makes him forget why you are here in the first place.”

“I am not doing anything,” Isabella tried to speak up.

“You breathe,” Chiara hushed her. “That is enough. Your existence is an insult to the rest of Giovanni’s family. And when he starts to care for you, starting to feel an attachment to you, that is intolerable.” Chiara leaned close. Her voice was ice-cold and venomous.

“I have made some calls. I have made steps. Soon, you will not be my problem anymore. Soon, you will be just as you should be. Dead, like your father, like everyone born in his bloodline.”

Before Isabella could answer or even process the threat, the door opened. There was Giovanni. As the mask slotted back into place, she could still see the tense line of his shoulders, the tightness of his frame as he held himself.

“Chiara,” he said, and even his quiet voice was filled with danger. “A word. Now.” Chiara straightened. She sneered at her one more time, then pivoted on her heel and walked past Giovanni and out the door of his library. Giovanni’s eyes met Isabella’s for a moment, and she saw something there. A warning? Concern? It was hard to say. Then he was gone, following Chiara, and Isabella was alone. And with the realization that Chiara had made a move. What move? What had she done? She thought about Chiara’s connections, her resources, her power within Giovanni’s organization.

She had been with him for fourteen years. She had built it up from nothing. She had access to people and information and power. Not to mention, she thought about Moretti and his questionings, his too-friendly curiosity about Isabella, his attempts to find out what she knew.

Not to mention how Chiara had said “ soon you will be dead, ” not maybe, not if things couldn’t be arranged, soon, like it was already done, that there was no way of stopping it. Chiara had done something. Isabella was in danger. Real, immediate danger. Was Giovanni able to protect her from his oldest friend and frequent ally? More than that, Was he willing to? She needed to be on guard, to be more vigilant. Find out what Chiara had done, because what Chiara had made clear. Isabella Vinci was a problem that needed to be solved. And Chiara never made idle threats.

Isabella was on her feet, standing by the window once more. The gardens, the high walls, the security cameras. This was a fortress. But forts became jails became tombs. The recording device Silas gave me. Silas himself, the Moretti situation. But this was more pressing. Chiara.

Isabella moved to leave, then realized: she didn’t know what kind of steps Chiara had taken. Chiara’s divine retribution threatened to succeed in ignorance of what it was. She stopped at the door, not considering that the man might have been following her conversation with his guest. Isabella decided she needed to speak to Silas. Needed to speak to Giovanni. Needed to do something. She slipped out of the library and walked the hall to Giovanni’s office. Silas was standing outside.

“We need to talk.”

“This isn’t the time.”

“Someplace private.” Silas nodded, looking at her face. “Follow me.”

They were in a small room Isabella had never been in before. He closed the door behind her.

“What happened?” Isabella looked at him.

“Chiara. She saw me touch Giovanni’s face last night. Kiss the scared side. And now she’s made a call, taken steps. She told me I’ll be dead soon. She says I’m a problem that needs fixing.” Silas’ face was grave.

“Did she tell you who she called?” “No. I think it was Moretti; she mentioned him earlier. He’s been asking questions about my father, and what I know.”

Silas nodded slowly. “That makes sense. If Moretti hired the crew that killed Giovanni’s family, if he has been pulling the strings, then you are a threat. You are poking around. Asking questions. And now Giovanni is starting to care about you. That means Mythos is around toppling over.”

“What do we do?” Isabella asked.

“We move up the timeline,” Silas said, “Tonight. You must get Moretti to admit it tonight. Before whatever Chiara has done can take effect. Before it’s too late.”

“And if I fail?” Isabella asked. Silas was explicit.

“Then you die. And so does Giovanni. And forgive me. Moretti takes the money and runs this city the way he wants. Gets off with fourteen years of murder and manipulation.” Isabella nodded. The stakes were clear. She would be facing Moretti tonight. She would try to get him to admit what he did. Cocytus would be uncovered, or it will kill her with it.