Chapter 2

"You did fine, Mr. Crowe."

I keep walking.

He falls into step beside me like a shadow. Like he's done it for years.

"Fine." He tastes the word. "I keep a Don's chair warm for his widow, fool an entire Council, make his mother cry on cue — and I get fine."

"You were paid."

"I was saved." He says it lightly. Almost amused. "Don't pretend that's the same thing."

A maid hurries by. Silas's whole face changes — soft, lost, the gentle son again — until she's gone. Then it drops.

I hate how easy it is for him.

We turn into the east corridor. Quiet here. No staff.

He slows.

"You know, Mrs. Bellandi, I'll admit something."

I stop.

He stops too.

"When you came to me with your offer," he says, "I thought I was replacing some merchant. Some banker. Some soft husband from a soft family."

His head tilts.

"Not the Don of the Bellandis."

My pulse ticks once, hard.

I keep my face still.

"And?"

"And nothing." His mouth curves. "I'm not the kind of man who scares easy. If I were, I'd have crawled to the Riccis a long time ago. I wouldn't have ended up in a ditch for you to find."

He takes one step closer.

Then another.

Close enough that I can smell him — clean linen, cold air, something darker underneath. Not Adriano's scent. Not at all.

His hand lifts.

I don't move.

He reaches past my cheek and plucks something off the shoulder of my dress. A petal. White. Probably from the funeral wreaths still rotting in the front hall.

He holds it up between us.

"You had something on you," he says softly.

Then he flicks it away and steps back like nothing happened.

Like he didn't just measure exactly how close he could come before I broke.

I draw a breath.

"Don't do that again."

"Do what, Mrs. Bellandi?"

His smile is small. Innocent. He gestures vaguely at the air like he has no idea what I mean.

I know this man now.

He looks like a gentleman. He's not.

A door opens down the hall. Cosima's maid leans out.

"Donna Rosa. She's asking for you."

...

The room smells like beeswax and old prayer.

Cosima is propped against the pillows, rosary back in her hands. The color is returning to her face.

I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for her hand.

"Mamma, the doctor said —"

"Rosa."

Her voice is calm. Quiet.

That's how I know I'm in trouble.

"You have a lot of nerve."

My stomach drops.

"Mamma —"

"Did you really think that a mother wouldn't know her own son?" she doesn't raise her voice, not once.

The room goes very still.

"Who is that man you brought into my house?"

I slide off the bed and onto my knees beside her. I don't have to fake it. The marble is cold through my dress.

"I wasn't going to lie to you. Not for long. I swear on Adriano."

"Then start talking."

"His name is Silas Crowe. I found him three weeks ago. He owed me his life — the Riccis had him half dead in a back alley and I pulled him out of it. He looks like Adriano. Exactly like Adriano."

Her fingers tighten on the rosary.

"And you thought you'd just — dress him up. Walk him in here."

"I thought," I say carefully, "that if I didn't, Lucia would be sitting in Adriano's chair by the end of the month."

That lands.

I see it land.

"Mamma." I shuffle closer on my knees. "The Council was one vote from naming Enzo heir. One. And the second that boy puts on Adriano's ring, who do you think he answers to? Me? You? Or the woman who raised him?"

She doesn't speak.

"Adriano's body was never found. I don't believe he's dead. I have men in three states still looking. But until I bring him home, someone has to sit in that chair, or this family eats itself alive."

I let my voice crack. Just a little.

"And if — if Adriano really isn't coming back — at least this way, the seat is still ours to give. To a cousin. To a real Bellandi child we choose. Not to Lucia's."

Cosima closes her eyes.

The rosary moves through her fingers.

A long minute passes.

"You should have told me," she says finally.

"I know."

"That man. Crowe."

"Yes, Mamma."

"He's nothing? No family? No one looking for him?"

"No one." I keep my eyes down. "His father died when he was seven. He never knew his mother."

She is quiet for a long time. Then her hand comes down on the top of my head. Light. Almost a blessing.

"All right, Rosa."

"Mamma —"

"Double the men looking for my son."

"Yes, Mamma."

I walk to the door.

And only when I close it behind me do I let myself breathe.

The corridor is empty.

But the air at the end of it, near the corner — it shifts. Just slightly. Like someone was standing there a second ago and isn't anymore.

I stare at that empty corner for a long time.