Chapter 4
Matteo Moretti died on a rain-soaked river road.
His car broke through a barrier and rolled down an embankment.
Valentina had been twenty-three.
Ethan had been one.
Thomas had told her grief made people search for enemies inside ordinary tragedy.
Now Ethan’s tablet contained his name.
Valentina pressed play.
Static.
Then Vanessa’s voice.
“Are you sure she’ll believe another accident?”
Marcus:
“She believed Matteo.”
Silence.
Valentina did not move.
Thomas said on the recording:
“Because Matteo’s looked real.”
The room changed.
Marcus looked toward Thomas.
Vanessa looked away.
Valentina replayed it.
Once.
Twice.
Thomas finally spoke.
“You’re making assumptions.”
“No.”
She lifted the tablet.
“I’m listening.”
“Matteo’s death was not your concern tonight.”
Valentina stared.
“My husband’s death isn’t my concern?”
“He’s dead.”
Ethan heard.
His little body tightened.
Thomas continued.
“The living matter.”
Valentina looked at her son.
“Yes.”
Then back at her father.
“Which is why you’re going to tell me what happened.”
Thomas laughed.
“No.”
Simple.
Confident.
Like he was still patriarch.
“You don’t interrogate me.”
Valentina’s guards shifted.
Thomas noticed.
She said:
“I just did.”
Marcus tried to interrupt.
“Matteo drove too fast.”
Vanessa added:
“It was raining.”
Valentina looked at them.
Two answers too quickly.
Prepared.
Then Ethan tugged her sleeve.
“Dad car?”
Valentina crouched.
“Yes.”
“Grandpa said Daddy didn’t listen.”
Silence.
Thomas’s face changed.
“When?”
Ethan pointed toward the pool terrace.
“Before wedding.”
Vanessa whispered:
“Thomas…”
Too late.
Valentina stood.
“What exactly did Matteo refuse to do?”
Thomas looked at her for a long time.
Then smiled cruelly.
“Leave you.”
Her throat tightened.
He continued.
“Your husband thought loving you made him brave.”
Valentina said nothing.
Thomas leaned closer.
“It made him predictable.”
Ethan started crying.
Thomas glanced at him.
“See? Same weakness.”
Valentina’s hand curled.
But she did not strike.
Not now.
May you like
Because Thomas had just revealed motive.
And anger was the one thing he still believed he could control.
