12. Nova #3
“Don’t you dare-”
“I said enough.”
I step forward, positioning myself between Nova and my mother. Shielding her, even though she doesn’t need shielding anymore. Force of habit. Love made manifest.
“You want to know why I really left this family?” I ask. “It wasn’t the business. It wasn’t the moral compromises. It was you.”
“Luca-”
“I watched you destroy my father. Watched you crush every person who got too close, who saw too much, who dared to have an opinion you didn’t approve of.
” My voice is steady, cold. “And then you brought home a girl who laughed with paint on her fingers, and I knew - I knew - you were going to break her too.”
“I never-”
“I left because I couldn’t stand to watch it happen. I stayed away for three years, telling myself it wasn’t my place to interfere, telling myself she’d chosen Dante and I had no right-” I stop. Take a breath. “I was a coward. But I’m not anymore.”
I turn to face the congregation. Rows of faces staring back at me, shock and scandal written across every one.
“My brother had her for two years,” I say, “and never knew what he had. Never protected her. Never believed her. Never saw her.”
I reach back, take Nova’s hand, draw her forward to stand beside me.
“She’s mine now.”
The words ring through the cathedral like a bell.
“She’s mine, and I’m hers, and anyone who has a problem with that - anyone who thinks they can look at her wrong, speak to her wrong, treat her wrong-” I let my gaze sweep the room, let them see exactly what I am. “Start with me.”
Silence.
And then Vivienne laughs.
It’s an ugly sound, sharp and brittle and completely unhinged. She’s gripping the back of the pew so hard her knuckles have gone white.
“You think you’ve won?” She’s smiling now, but there’s nothing pleasant about it. “You think you can walk in here, make your little speeches, and destroy everything I’ve built? I am Vivienne Castellani. I own this city. I own the police, the judges, the newspapers-”
“Do you?”
I reach into my jacket. Pull out my phone. Hold it up so she can see the screen.
“Because according to this, Detective Rossi of the financial crimes division would disagree.” I smile.
“He’s been building a case against you for the better part of a year.
Medical records. Bank transfers. Witness statements.
” I pause. “And as of-” I check the time.
“-twenty minutes ago, he has a warrant for your arrest.”
Vivienne goes white.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“The police would never - you can’t just-” She’s sputtering now, her composure completely shattered. “I’ll have you arrested for harassment. For, for trespassing. For-”
“You wouldn’t dare call the police.”
I smile at my mother. Really smile, for the first time in three years.
“Call them? Mamma.” I let the word drip with everything I’ve never said to her face. “They came with me.”
I raise my hand.
And at the back of the cathedral, the doors swing open again.
***
Nova
I watch Vivienne’s face as the officers walk in.
Two of them, in uniform, with Detective Rossi behind them in his plain gray suit. They walk down the aisle slowly, deliberately, their footsteps echoing in the stunned silence.
The guests watch them pass. Witnesses, every one of them, to the end of an empire.
“Signora Castellani.” The detective’s voice is flat, professional. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”
“This is - this is ridiculous-” Vivienne is backing away now, stumbling against the pew. “You have no right-”
“We have every right.” He pulls out a folded document. “Assault. Battery. Witness intimidation. Financial crimes related to the systematic cover-up of domestic abuse.” He pauses. “Shall I continue?”
“I’ll have your badge-”
“Ma’am, I need you to put your hands behind your back.”
“I will not-”
“Signora.” The detective’s voice hardens. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to run. I can see it in her eyes - the calculation, the desperation, the wild animal instinct to flee. But there’s nowhere to go. The officers have positioned themselves to block the side aisles. The congregation is frozen in their pews.
She’s trapped.
Just like I was trapped, all those months in her house.
The officers move forward. Take her arms. Start to turn her around.
And then-
“Wait.”
A voice. Not Vivienne’s. Not the detective’s.
Coming from the family pews.
I turn.
And I see Marta.
The housekeeper is on her feet. Gray hair pulled back in its usual severe bun, best black dress, hands clasped in front of her. She’s trembling - I can see it from here, the shake in her shoulders - but her voice is steady.
“I’ll say it.” She looks at Vivienne. Then at the congregation. Then at me. “I saw everything.”
The cathedral goes completely still.
Marta steps out of the pew. Walks toward the center aisle. Toward me.
“Thirty years,” she says, and her voice carries across the silent church. “I have worked in that house for thirty years.”
She stops beside me. Turns to face the congregation.
And she begins to speak.