Chapter 31 31

Chapter 31 31

It was a week after the impossible confrontation in Giovanni’s study when Isabella was finally allowed back into the gallery. Giovani had bid her return to work; said she could not afford to be suspicious. To keep up appearances. To keep working on restorations. Keep up with her routine. Be the woman she had always been. The woman she had always been with him. But, of course, everything had changed. She knew the truth about her father. She knew what he had done. She knew about the family he had helped destroy. About why Giovanni had married her. About the scars she had kissed. About the moment of vulnerability they had shared when she touched him. She worked mechanically.

The motions of cleaning and restoring were second nature to her now, as fluid as her own movements, and she simply poured her thoughts into them, her work fed by paths already carved. Fabrizio watched her from a distance but knew better than to ask. Better than to talk about anything or anyone close to her.

He steadied himself at the station and kept her thoughts with her. Luca was in his car as usual, across the street outside of the gallery. Her watcher. He sat still constantly, unmoving. She had grown used to it, as she had grown used to droves of men swallowing her every movement when she made them. This was her life now. This was what it meant to be Isabella Genovese. This was her reality.

The clock had to reach into the afternoon before the gallery was quiet and empty of customers when, the door opened and Isabella looked up from the clean of the delicate seventeenth-century shampoo portrait painting, one of the few things to be an artist assistant required intense precision and stead hands, and a man walked in. he was older, but not by much, maybe he was in his late forties. His clothes were not overly extravagant or garish, but they were expensive and fit him perfectly. The man was in a tailored suit, a fine leather shoes, and an air of wealth and power that made Isabella want to visibly shrink away. None the less, beneath the appearance of control and affluence, Isabella saw desperation – it was in his eyes and in the tension in the man’s shoulders, in a way he clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, uring and simple movement. Isabella’s skin prickled with a definite warning as she straightened up and at the mention

“can l help you? She automatically said. He stepped further into the gallery and then back at the windows, at Luca’s just-visible car parked outside and the security cameras that Giovanni installed last year and he then at her.

“are you Isabella Vinci?” his voice Dio-cultured. Since Isabella heard it more at low-pitch.

“Genovese now,” she bit out, repulsed by the name as he forced it on to her. “can I help you with something? Are you after the restoration services?” his eyes about the room casually, but Isabella saw them always returning to the exits, to the windows, checking for threats and observer, anybody who may be listening.

Finally, he said “my name is Dante De Santis.”

Her blood ran cold. That name, she knew that name. Giovanni spoke of it for years, over dinners and conversations. The person who supposedly hated them enough to hire the crew that killed her husband’s family. The man Giovanni had been working to abate for fourteen years, taking companies down, turning friends into enemies and destroying reputations. His enemy.

“I want you to give your husband a message,” Dante resumed. His voice was urgent now. “I also know that I most likely have little time left. His men follow me around everywhere I go. But I need him to know, I did not do it. I did not give the order to kill his family, truly.”

Her hands were now completely wreathed around the frame she had been refurbishing. “You should leave now,” she said. Her voice did not waver though every atom of her body screamed. “Before his men see you here. Before this... grows into something more.”

“Please,” Dante begged. He was no longer abating anywhere. He was as desperate as a cornered man. “Please listen. Fourteen years ago, Antonio Genovese was my partner. My friend. We were building a connection between our families. An alliance that would have been profitable for all of us. That would have settled the wars and brought peace and balance to the territories.”

He sucked in another breath. “I had no reason to hope for his death. No motive. No benefit from his death. In reality, his death wiped out everything we were trying to do. It destroyed decades of effort. It turned our families against each other. It began a war that has cost me absolutely everything.”

“Then how can Giovanni presume guilt?” Isabella inquired. She had to withdraw. Couldn’t listen. Could not participate in any way. But there was something exceedingly heartbreaking in Dante’s tone. Something deeply moved. Something that she couldn’t just overlook.

“Because somebody left proof,” Dante declared. His fists clenched once more. Knuckles paling. “Somebody has framed me. Someone extremely close to Giovanni. The individual has completed lied to him for fourteen years. Utilizing his sorrow and rage to obtain vengeance on me while doing nothing to protect himself. While benefiting from the war. While they take our areas and acquire territory to build their own kingdom on our ruins.”

Dante moved closer. Not threatening. Just desperate. Pleading. “My businesses are in ruins. Everything I built over forty years. My family is hiding. My wife and children cannot use their own names. My allies scattered because they think theirs is the only way to escape Giovanni’s wrath. My reputation is destroyed. All because Giovanni still thinks I was the one who ordered that hit. And I didn’t. I swear on my own children’s lives, on everything I hold sacred, I did not do it.”

“Why are you telling me this, then?” asked Isabella. Her mind was racing. This was dangerous. Giovanni would know Dante came here. Luca had probably called him already. Would know what was said. Would be furious his enemy had dared to approach his wife.

“Because you are his wife,” said Dante. “Because maybe you can reach him in places no one else can. Because I have... I’ve heard,” he added, choosing his own word, “I’ve heard you are not like him. That you are kind. Human. That you have a conscience. That maybe you care more about truth than revenge. That maybe you don’t want an innocent man’s blood on your hands.”

“You heard wrong,” said Isabella. But she did not sound convinced. She’d heard of truth. Too much so. Cared too much about it. Always. Even when she should not. Dante pulled out a folder from the inside of his jacket. He set it carefully on her worktable.

“This is proof. Documents from business transactions. Communications from Antonio to me. Proof that I had nothing to gain from Antonio Genovese’s death. That somebody else had everything to win. By getting you guys hate each other. Using Giovanni’s need for revenge as a weapon.”

“Who?” Isabella demanded. She shouldn’t engage. She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t involve herself in this war that had raged for fourteen years. But she couldn’t resist. Dante looked towards the windows, Luca’s car; the cameras.

“I cannot say the name,” he began carefully. “Not here. Not where his people will listen. But it is – it is one who Giovanni –” he sighed deeply. “One he trusts absolutely. Who has been with him since before his family died. Before my family was a threat to his. Someone who has been whispering in his ear for fourteen years. Steering him toward me as he would a weapon. Using his pain and my existence to tear me apart. All while using the protection offered by their shared power to continue building themselves up.”

He pushed the folder towards her. “Give this to him. Force him to look. Force him to read with an open mind. Make him question whether or not his enemy is the only true one. Please. Please, Mrs. Genovese. I have – I have children. A daughter as old as you are. A son who turned twenty last month. A wife I’ve been married to thirty years. People who need me. And Giovanni is going to kill me based on lies. Based on evidence faked by an enemy of mine who wanted us both destroyed for their own gain”.

Before she could reply, however, the gallery door was blown open with force that was practiced. Luca stood there, his hand inside his jacket where she knew he kept his weapon. His face was stony; hardened. “Get away from Mrs. Genovese” he said. Dante raised his hands, palms forward.

“I am going,” he said slowly. “I came to speak. I came in peace. I meant no harm.”

“You came to threaten her,” Luca said. He moved between Dante and Isabella. His body a shield. “You came to use her to get to Giovanna. To manipulate her. Bad move. Very bad move.”

“I am not threatening anyone,” Dante said. He was backing toward the door. His hands still raised. His movement slow and non threatening. His eyes found Isabella’s one last time. Desperate. Pleading. “Please. Just look at the evidence. Ask questions. Do not let fourteen years of lies end with my death. Do not let whoever did this get away with destroying three families.”

And then he left. Running. The door closed behind him. Luca immediately pulled out his phone. Calling someone. Giovanna, Isabella assumed. Reporting what had happened. She looked at the folder on her worktable. Evidence that might prove Dante’s innocence. Or might be more lies. More manipulation. Another layer of conspiracy. Or what if he wasn’t lying? What if Giovanna was the one looking for the wrong man for fourteen years? What if someone had his grief and rage as a weapon?

“Mrs. Genovese,” Luca said. He was pocketing his phone. His face still hard. “Do not touch that folder. Mr. Genovese is on his way. He will want to see it first. He will decide what to do with it.”

Her hands hovered over the table. Someone close to Giovanna framed Dante. Someone he trusts completely. Someone who has been with him since the beginning. Since right after his family died.

She thought about Moretti with his grandfatherly smile and careful questions. His too-frequent visits. His interest in what my father might have told her. About Chiara with her possessive fury and violent threats. His jealousy. Her rage. Her desperate need to keep Giovanni focused on revenge. About Silas with his quiet investigations. His allegations of conspiracies and manipulation.

Which one was the liar? Which one had been manipulating Giovanni for fourteen years? Which one wanted Dante dead, not for justice but for power? And more importantly would Giovanni even listen if she tried to tell him? Would he be willing to question fourteen years of certainty? Would he be able to face the fact that his entire quest for vengeance had been built on lies?