Nobody moved.
"My mother is dead," Elena said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt, the old Moretti trick surfacing exactly when she needed it most. "I buried her three years ago. I am not doing whatever this is."
The woman's expression didn't change. "I know she's dead. I was there, at a distance, the day you and Vittoria stood at that grave." She stepped further into the room, unhurried, and Elena caught the same calm precision she'd first seen in Adrian at the gala — a person who'd spent years learning to make a room rearrange itself around her simply by entering it. "I don't mean I gave birth to you, Elena. I mean something this family stopped having the language for a long time ago."
"Then don't say it like that," Adrian said, sharp, stepping half in front of Elena without se
