“This was recovered from Antonio Cardelli’s private safe yesterday morning,” she said.
“The executor notified authorities after discovering payments to a physician, a private pharmacy, and two Rossi Holdings employees.”
Victoria’s gaze moved to Matteo.
“Your father’s private papers belonged to the Cardelli family.”
“Not after they became evidence,” Inspector Riva replied.
She turned the ledger so we could see a marked page.
A transfer of three hundred thousand euros had been sent from a Cardelli shell company to Dr.
Salvi’s private account.
Beside the payment, Antonio had written two initials.
V.R.
Victoria Rossi.
My mother barely glanced at it.
“Initials are not a confession.
Half the people in northern Italy have those letters in their names.”
Inspector Riva nodded.
“That is why we brought more than a ledger.”
She opened another evidence pouch containing a small brown medicine vial.
Lucia made a broken sound near the door.
Everyone turned toward her.
Our housekeeper had worked in the Rossi home since before I was born.
She had packed my lunches, cleaned blood from my knee when I fell from a bicycle, and stood behind my mother at every holiday dinner like a shadow trained not to speak.
Now her hands trembled openly.
“I found that in the study bin the night Mr.
Rossi died,” she said.
Victoria stared at her.
“You should be very careful, Lucia.”
The threat was quiet, but the room heard it.
Lucia’s chin lifted.
“I was careful for five years.”
She stepped away from the wall.
“Mr.
Rossi collapsed at eleven fourteen.
I heard the glass break.
When I came in, he was on the floor, and Mrs.
Rossi was standing beside the drinks cabinet.
She told me to leave.”
My memory returned in fragments.
A telephone ringing in my bedroom.
My mother telling me not to come downstairs.
The ambulance lights arriving too late.
“How long before emergency services were called?” I asked.
Lucia looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Eleven minutes.”
The number landed like a physical blow.
Eleven minutes while my father’s heart lost its rhythm.
Eleven minutes while my mother stood in the room.
“Why didn’t you tell the police?” Bellini asked.
Lucia looked at him.
“Because Mrs.
Rossi showed me photographs of my son leaving his school.
She said accidents happen to children whose mothers misunderstand what they see.”
Victoria’s mask finally slipped.
“That is a lie.”
“Adrian moved my son and me to Turin the following week,” Lucia said.
“He kept us alive.
