For several seconds, nobody moved.
Marco lay unconscious on the floor, blood staining the front of his shirt.
I stared at him.
Then at Damiano.
“R.”
The single letter seemed to hang in the room.
Damiano’s expression was unreadable.
“Get the doctor,” he ordered.
Two guards rushed inside.
“Carefully,” Damiano said. “He’s still alive.”
They lifted Marco onto a stretcher and carried him out.
I remained frozen.
There was only one person in the house whose name started with R.
And I didn’t want to believe it.
“Damiano.”
He looked at me.
“You don’t think it’s her.”
His silence was enough.
“Isabella?”
He didn’t answer.
“Your mother?”
“I said nothing.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking about every possibility.”
I shook my head.
“She wouldn’t do this.”
“You don’t know
