Before I can process this, before the words can fully sink in, the study door slams open with enough force to shake the walls.
Marcella Valenti stands in the doorway, her face twisted with rage, pearls gleaming at her throat like teeth. Behind her, looking smug and vindicated, stands Matteo.
“What,” Marcella’s voice cuts through the room like a knife, “is going on here?”
Luca straightens, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it. “Mother. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Doesn’t concern me?” She sweeps into the room, her black dress rustling. “My son has his uncle locked in the basement like a common criminal, and it doesn’t concern me? Matteo came to me, bleeding and humiliated, telling me you’ve lost your mind.”
“I haven’t lost anything. I’ve found the truth.”
“The truth.”
