Chapter 7
Camilla claimed she had tried to stop them.
I believed part of that.
Not enough.
She said the Second Table had fractured after Sofia’s death.
Some members were horrified by how far intimidation had gone.
Others argued nothing had happened because the crash was unrelated.
Classic moral accounting.
If the worst outcome was accidental, the earlier cruelty becomes smaller.
No.
Camilla wanted out.
Marco wanted reform from inside.
That phrase almost made me laugh.
“Why keep the rings?”
No answer.
“Why preserve the cabinet?”
Again.
“Why panic over the envelope tonight?”
Camilla finally broke.
“Because your father’s letter named Marco.”
There.
Simple.
Exposure.
Not protection.
Not stability.
She had spent years telling herself the Table was dead.
Then Livia broke the vase.
The envelope appeared.
And suddenly Camilla feared I would discover that her husband had helped manufacture threats around my wife.
So she slapped my daughter.
Same disease.
Protect family by hurting the person who exposes what family did.
I looked at her.
“You called a three-year-old worth less than porcelain.”
She covered her mouth.
“I was panicking.”
“No.”
My voice stayed low.
“You were prioritizing a secret.”
That distinction mattered.
She cried harder.
Then Rafe found one final file on Sofia’s drive.
Audio only.
Sofia speaking to Camilla.
My wife said:
“If anything happens to me, you tell him.”
Camilla answered:
“I promise.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
Five years.
She had attended my wife’s funeral.
Held Livia.
Helped choose flowers.
Watched me become colder.
And kept the promise buried.
“I was afraid what you’d do.”
Maybe.
Partly.
She was also afraid what truth would do to Marco.
Again.
Love becoming permission to edit someone else’s reality.
I stood.
Camilla whispered:
“What happens now?”
I looked toward the hallway leading to Livia’s room.
“First?”
May you like
My voice dropped.
“You never touch my daughter again.”
