23. Massimo
MASSIMO
Rosaria's knock came at nine.
I was in my father's study, staring at Laney's papers spread across the desk.
The pages I'd brought back from the dig house.
I'd read them twice already, once at the site and once when I got back.
I couldn't stop reading them. Every footnote was precision I'd never noticed.
Every reference to the family's history was something she'd proven, not guessed at.
She'd spent ten years tracing our line back to the Roman era, and I'd never once asked to see her work.
I'd patted her hand and told her it was nice. I'd smiled when she tried to explain what she'd found. I'd walked away.
God, I'd been an asshole.
"Massimo." Rosaria stood in the doorway with a manila folder in her hand. Her face was grim. "We need to talk."
I gestured her in. My throat was tight. I didn't trust myself to say anything yet.
She closed the door and set the folder on the desk. She didn't sit. She tapped the folder twice with one knuckle. "That's the part you haven't read."
I opened it. Photographs. Receipts. A handwritten ledger in my brother's writing, the ink dark and confident.
The first page showed a copy of the original photograph — the one of Laney and me at the dig from the early years of our marriage.
I remembered the day. She'd been laughing, dirt on her cheek, her eyes bright.
I'd been standing behind her with my arm around her waist. We'd been happy.
Below the original were a series of marked-up versions. The same image, altered piece by piece. Red marks showed where Nate Prescott's face had been superimposed over mine. Arrows pointed to where the background had been changed. Digital timestamps showed the progression of edits.
"Where did you get this?"
"Signor Greco's man," Rosaria said. "He kept better records than Enzo did. Probably didn't trust your brother not to screw him over."
I turned the page. The ledger detailed the plan in Enzo's careful handwriting.
The dig, Sofia's birthday, the date on the photograph — each was listed alongside the name of who placed it.
Costanza: dig reference. Enzo: birthday.
Greco: original photo date. I turned another page and saw the invoices.
They'd paid someone in Milan to doctor the photograph.
They'd paid someone else to plant the altered version in Laney's papers where I'd find it.
They'd even paid a third man to follow Nate and document his movements in Rome so the timeline would check out.
God. My hands had started shaking. The page blurred in front of me.
"They planned it together," Rosaria said quietly. "All three of them. Costanza wanted the alliance. Greco wanted his daughter married into the family. Enzo wanted you out of the way. Vittoria knew from the beginning. She was part of the pitch."
The fury came up through my chest like something alive and clawing.
I stood. The chair scraped backward and hit the wall.
I wanted to throw something, to break something, to put my fist through the desk.
I wanted to scream. I didn't. I flattened my palms against the wood instead and leaned over the folder, staring at my brother's handwriting.
The casual cruelty of it. The way he'd written Laney's name without a single hesitation, like she was nothing. Like she'd never mattered at all.
Like I hadn't loved her for ten years.
"Where are they?" My voice didn't sound like mine. It was too flat, too controlled.
"Costanza and Vittoria are upstairs. Enzo's still here. Signor Greco came for dinner. They're all in the house."
"Get them into my father's room," I said. "All four of them."
"Massimo—"
"Now."
She didn't argue. She knew that tone. She left, and I stood there for another minute, staring at the folder.
My pulse was hammering in my throat. I wanted to hit something.
I wanted to break Enzo's face. I wanted to walk upstairs and tell Costanza exactly what I thought of her and her fucking schemes and her need to control everything I'd ever cared about.
I didn't. I gathered the folder and Laney's papers and walked down the hall.
My hands were steady now. The fury had settled into something cold and sharp.
My father's room was at the end of the hall, the door open.
He was sitting in the chair by the window, staring out at nothing. He didn't look up when I came in.
I set the folder on the table beside him and waited.
Rosaria brought them in ten minutes later.
Costanza first, her spine straight, her expression already locked into something cold and untouchable.
She looked at me like I was a problem she'd already solved.
Vittoria came behind her, pale and careful.
She wouldn't meet my eyes. Signor Greco came next, his shoulders tight, his mouth set in a hard line.
Enzo was last. He saw the folder on the table and stopped in the doorway.
Something flickered across his face — surprise, maybe, or fear — and then it was gone.
"Sit down," I said.
Nobody moved. They stood there like they were waiting for me to explain myself. Like I owed them something.
"Sit down."
Costanza took the chair across from my father.
Vittoria stood behind her, one hand on the back of the chair.
Signor Greco and Enzo stayed near the door.
My father said nothing. He looked at the window, not at any of us.
His hands were folded in his lap. He looked old. Frail. Like he'd already given up.
Maybe he had.
I picked up the folder and held it so they could all see it.
"This is what you did," I said. My voice was quiet.
Steady. "The photograph, the three details, the whole goddamn thing.
I know who planned it. I know who paid for it.
I know exactly how you did it, and I know Vittoria was in on it from the start. "
Enzo's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. Costanza didn't even blink. She just sat there, watching me like I was being hysterical.
"You wanted the alliance," I said. I was looking at Signor Greco now.
"You wanted your daughter married into this family.
You were willing to destroy my wife to get it.
You fabricated evidence, paid off men in Milan, planted a fake photograph in her papers.
You used her work, her dig, her own research to make the lie believable. "
Signor Greco's face went hard. "Your wife destroyed herself when she took up with that American."
"She didn't." My voice was flat. "You made it look like she did. You played me like I was nothing."
Vittoria flinched. Her hand tightened on the chair. I didn't care. I didn't care if she was embarrassed or ashamed or just scared her plan had blown up in her face. She'd known. She'd been part of it.
I turned to Costanza. She was watching me like I was a stranger.
Her mouth was a thin line, her eyes cold.
I'd spent ten years trying to keep the peace with her.
Ten years believing that if I just held the family together, if I just made her happy, Laney would be safe.
Ten years thinking I could protect my wife by being the son my mother wanted.
I'd been a fucking idiot.
"The alliance is over," I said. "As of now. Signor Greco, you're no longer welcome in this house. Any agreements we had — business, family, all of it — are void."
"You can't do that," Signor Greco said. His voice was sharp.
"I just did."
He looked at my father. My father stared out the window. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't even acknowledge that Signor Greco had looked at him. It was like he wasn't there. Like none of us were there.
I looked at Vittoria. She was gripping the back of Costanza's chair now, her knuckles white. She'd wanted my life. She'd wanted Laney's place, Laney's ring, Laney's name. She'd stood there in the church and smiled like she'd won. Like she'd finally gotten what she deserved.
"You're leaving," I said to Vittoria. "Tonight. Rosaria will see you out."
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She looked at Costanza. Costanza didn't look back. She just sat there, her expression blank, like Vittoria didn't exist. Like she'd already written her off as a failed investment.
"Massimo," my mother said. Her voice was even. Controlled. Like she was talking to a child who needed to be reasoned with. "You're making a mistake."
"No." I stepped closer. The fury was still there, humming under my skin.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to break something.
I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she understood what she'd done.
I didn't. I kept my voice low and steady instead, because losing control would mean she'd won.
"You made the mistake. You thought you could take her from me.
You thought I'd just accept it and move on and marry the woman you wanted me to marry in the first place.
You thought I'd do what I always do — keep the peace, hold the family together, pretend everything was fine. You were wrong."
"She was never good enough for you," Costanza said.
"She was better than all of us." My hands were shaking again.
I clenched them into fists. "She gave up everything for this family.
Her career, her name, her whole life. She spent ten years digging in the dirt on our land, proving our history, doing work none of you ever bothered to understand.
And you treated her like she was nothing.
You laughed at her. You made her feel small. You drove her away."
Costanza's expression didn't change. She didn't apologize. She didn't even blink. She just sat there like I was a child throwing a tantrum, like I'd come around eventually. Like I always had.
I turned to my father. He still hadn't looked at me. His hands were folded in his lap, his face blank. He looked like a man who'd already checked out. Like he'd decided none of this mattered anymore.
"I'm leaving," I said. "I'm leaving the family. I'm leaving the business. I'm leaving all of it."
That got a reaction. Enzo moved forward, his face flushed. "You can't just walk away from the family."
"Watch me."
"What about the holdings?" Enzo's voice was rising. He was angry now, the careful mask slipping. "What about the boards? You're the legitimate face of everything we do. You sit on a dozen boards. You run the portfolios. You can't just?—"
"I'm giving them up." I looked at my father again. He was watching me now, his eyes unreadable. "All of it. The seats on the boards, the portfolios, the estate holdings, the city properties. Enzo can have them. You wanted an heir who'd do what you said without question. You've got one."
My father's mouth moved, like he was going to say something. He didn't. He looked back at the window. His hands stayed folded in his lap.
I picked up Laney's papers from the table and walked toward the door.
Enzo stepped in front of me. We stood there for a second, close enough that I could see the vein in his temple.
He smelled like expensive cologne and entitlement and the smug satisfaction of a man who thought he'd already won. I hated him.
"Get out of my way," I said.
"You're throwing everything away for a woman who's already moved on," Enzo said.
His smile was sharp, satisfied. "She's in Rome right now, screwing that American friend of hers.
My man saw her at a doctor's office. She's pregnant, Massimo.
She's carrying his kid. You're giving up the family, the business, everything we've built, for a woman who doesn't even want you anymore. "
The words hit me like a blow to the chest. Pregnant. Laney was pregnant.
I couldn't breathe. My vision narrowed. For a second I just stood there, the folder in my hand, my brother's face in front of me, the room spinning.
Pregnant. The child was Nate's. It had to be.
We hadn't been together in months. She'd sent me away in Rome.
She'd told me I'd become the thing I'd promised never to be.
The child wasn't mine.
God.
"Where is she?" I asked. My voice sounded strange. Distant.
"Rome." Enzo's smile was cold. Satisfied.
I stepped around him and kept walking. Out of my father's room, down the hall, toward the stairs. My chest was too tight. My hands were shaking again. Laney was pregnant. The child was Nate's. She was in Rome, and I had to get to her.
Rosaria caught me at the base of the staircase. She grabbed my arm, her grip firm enough to stop me. "Massimo, wait."
"I have to go."
"I know." She glanced up the stairs, then back at me. Her voice dropped. "Enzo's gone to Rome. His man saw Laney at a doctor's office. Enzo thinks the baby is Nate Prescott's. He's going after her."
My pulse hammered in my throat. Enzo was going after her. Going after her. The words turned my stomach.
"Then you know you need to go. Now," Rosaria said.
I pulled my arm free. Laney was pregnant. Enzo was on his way to Rome. He thought the child was Nate's. He was going after her, and I didn't have time to stand here.
"Take men with you," Rosaria said. "Don't go alone."
"No."
"Massimo—"
"No." I headed for the door. The night air hit my face, cold and sharp. "I'm done with the family. I'm done with the men. I'm done with all of it."
She didn't try to stop me again. I walked out into the courtyard. My car was parked near the gate. I got in, started the engine, and drove.
I didn't take men. I didn't take a weapon. I didn't send word ahead.
I just drove.