Vittorio’s POV
“You gave her the bracelet, yes?” Aunt Malva’s voice cut through the smoke in my study like a curse.
I didn’t answer right away. I was standing by the liquor cabinet, one hand gripping the neck of a crystal glass, the other resting on the edge of the bar.
“I said, did you give it to her?” she snapped, standing in the doorway of his office, arms folded under her shawl, the beads around her wrist clinking softly as she moved. Her eyes were sharp. Ancient. Disappointed.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No.”
“No?” Her brows shot up like knives. “You fool.”
“I forgot.”
Malva stepped forward. “She needs it now, Vittorio. Now more than ever. Don’t make the same mistake that led to Fiorella’s death.”
Her name hit me like a slap. Fiorella.
I stood, slammed my glass down. “D
