Nobody spoke.
Nonna Lucia’s words hung in the air, thick as smoke.
The proof that the war was built on a lie.
Bella stared at the old woman. For a second she thought she’d heard wrong. A lie? The war between the Morettis and DeLucas wasn’t a fight. It was a religion. Generations raised on it. Baptized in it. Men died for it. Women buried husbands for it. Kids learned their first words and their first enemies at the same time.
How could all of that be built on a lie?
“Explain,” Bella said. Her voice came out sharper than she meant.
Nonna Lucia looked exhausted. Not tired worn down. Like she’d been carrying something heavy for seventy years and her arms were finally giving out.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Make it simple.”
The old woman glanced at Leo. A strange, sad softness crossed
