15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Lorenzo
I find both of my sons in the kitchen when I get home.
Edoardo is leaning against the counter with his arms folded, while Alessio sits at the island with a glass in front of him that he has barely touched. They look up the moment I walk in.
Neither of them asks why I am late.
They have been waiting.
I close the door behind me and take off my coat.
Alessio searches my face. “Well?”
I hang the coat over the back of a chair instead of answering immediately.
Edoardo straightens. “Papà.”
“We found Rachel.”
Alessio goes completely still.
For a second, I see the same expression he wore when Donna showed us the photographs and explained that Genevieve had a twin. Shock, then caution, because every answer in this case has led to another question.
“Alive?” Edoardo asks.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“We were tracking down a lead. After we left Rachel's mother's, we went to a motel where Rachel had stayed. She followed us from there.”
Alessio’s brow furrows. “She followed you?”
“She paid the motel manager to call her if anyone came asking about her. She arrived while Donna and I were searching the room, then waited until we left.”
Edoardo unfolds his arms. “And where is she now?”
“With the police.”
Silence falls across the kitchen.
Alessio stares at me as though he needs the words repeated.
“The police,” he says.
“Yes.”
“You took her to the police?” Edoardo asks in disbelief.
“Am I speaking a different language?” I ask. “Yes. We took her to the police.”
“And she just went willingly?” Alessio asks. “Never mind, stupid question.”
“She did not have much choice.”
Edoardo watches me carefully. “What happened?”
I walk to the island and set my phone down.
“We confirmed she was following us. We redirected her to one of our warehouses.”
Alessio looks between us. “Did she admit anything?”
“No.”
His expression hardens.
“She tried to deny knowing who we were,” I continue. “Got teary-eyed. When that failed, she claimed someone forced her to set you up.”
“Who?”
“She would not give a name.”
“Are we sure there is one?” Edoardo asks.
“She did not act alone. I know that much.”
Alessio picks up his glass, then sets it down again without drinking.
“What did she say about me?” His voice is quiet.
I could avoid it or tell him a lie.
But I don't.
“She didn't mention you.”
Alessio laughs once, without humor. “Of course.”
“Alessio, you were simply a pawn in her game,” I say. “Whoever set this up was targeting us, but for her, this was all about her sister. Not you.”
His gaze drops to the counter.
I continue, “I've come across a lot of bad people in my life. People who kill without mercy, people who enjoy killing. People who get off on the pain of others. But very few times have I come across a true psychopath.
“Rachel is one,” I say. “There was nothing behind the tears. No grief for her sister. No fear for what she had done to you. Only calculation. Even her fear was deliberate. She was scared because she knew she should be.”
Alessio’s jaw clenches.
“Her sister had the life she wanted, and someone showed her how to remove her as an obstacle. It was as simple as that.”
“And now?” Edoardo asks.
I turn to him. “Now the police have her and all the evidence we found in her car. She had her adoption papers, a letter from her mother, surveillance photographs from before the murder, of you and Genevieve.”
“How long?” Alessio asks.
“She was watching you for a few weeks,” I say.
“No, how long was she watching Genevieve?” he says.
“Over a year.”
He pushes back from the island and stands. The stool scrapes across the floor.
“Over a year, she watched her sister, wishing her dead?”
He turns away from me and walks several steps toward the window.
Edoardo watches him, anger tightening his face.
The instinct to go to him is immediate. So is the knowledge that he does not want to be handled as though he might break.
I stay where I am.
“There's something broken inside her, caro,” I say. “And she knew how to hide it well.”
He stays where he is.
“Was it enough?” Edoardo asks. “What you guys found.”
“We found her adoption records—a letter from her birth mother, her birth certificate. Everything that confirmed she had a twin. There were photographs, and we found a receipt in the motel room she stayed at that confirmed she bought hair dye that matches the color of Genevieve's hair exactly.”
Alessio turns back slowly.
“What happened at the station?” Edoardo asks.
“Julian met us there,” I say. “The police compared Rachel to the woman in the hotel footage. Once they saw her in person, there was no reasonable way to continue treating the woman beside you as Genevieve.”
Alessio remains near the window.
I look directly at him.
“For the moment, you are cleared.”
He does not move.
Edoardo looks at me, then at his brother.
“Cleared?” Alessio repeats.
“Yes.”
“They dropped everything?”
“They have opened an investigation into Rachel. The evidence now points away from you.”
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I have imagined this moment since the police put him in a car outside the house.
I imagined relief. Anger. Perhaps satisfaction.
Instead, Alessio stands in the kitchen staring at me as if he has forgotten what he was waiting to hear.
Edoardo reaches him first.
He crosses the room and grips the back of Alessio’s neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads nearly touch.
“You’re cleared,” he says.
Alessio closes his eyes.
Edoardo holds him there for a second, then wraps an arm around his shoulders.
Alessio lets out a breath that sounds as though he has been holding it since the night Genevieve died.
Edoardo releases, and Alessio drags one hand over his face.
“They really believe it was her?”
“They believe there is enough evidence to investigate her and no longer treat you as the primary suspect.”
Edoardo returns to the island and reaches for the bottle near his abandoned glass.
This time, he pours.
One for Alessio.
One for himself.
Then he looks at me and lifts the bottle.
I nod.
He grabs another glass and pours a third.
Alessio comes back to the island and picks up his glass.
His hand is steady now.
“To Donna,” Edoardo says.
Alessio glances at him.
“I'll admit, I had little faith in her, but hell, it took her less than a week,” he says. “She did a hell of a job.”
Alessio raises his glass slightly. “To Donna.”
“To Donna,” I say.
We drink.
The alcohol burns down my throat.
For the first time in days, I allow myself to feel the weight easing from my chest.
My son will no longer be the easiest answer for the police. They have Rachel. They have the records. They have proof she watched him long before the night at the Halston.
It does not restore what she took from him.
But it gives us some breathing room.
Edoardo sets his glass down. “Did Rachel say who helped her?”
“No.”
“Did you find anything that tells us?”
“Possibly.”
Both of them focus on me.
I pick up my phone and set it nearer the center of the island.
“We copied everything before we turned it over.”
Alessio looks at me. “Everything?”
“The photographs. The adoption records. The documents from the bag. We doubled her cell phone.”
“What did you get from it?” Edoardo asks.
“Ricardo and Matteo are looking into it now. We'll have answers soon enough.”
Alessio’s relief fades slightly.
I expected that and counter it.
“We have Rachel,” I say. “We have proof she watched both of you. We have her phone, which she might have used to contact whoever set us up. That should be enough.”
“And if it isn’t?” Edoardo asks.
“Then we keep looking. I've already discussed with Mario keeping Donna on to find out who was behind this entire set-up.”
Alessio studies the amber liquid in his glass.
“So we still don’t know who’s behind it all.”
“No.”
“Or why they chose me.”
“We will find the reason.”
He looks at me.
There are times a father promises what he hopes.
This is not one of them.
I will find the person who helped Rachel put my son inside that room. I will find whoever altered the footage, whoever moved Genevieve’s body, whoever believed Alessio could be sacrificed without consequence.
The police can have Rachel first.
I will have the rest.
Edoardo picks up the bottle again. “So what happens now?”
I look at Alessio.
He has been cleared for less than an hour. There will be time for the rest.
“Now, we celebrate.”
He lifts a brow. “I think I can get behind that one.”
Edoardo nods. “Me too.”
“Does Mario know?” Alessio asks.
“I called him after we left the station.”
“Then everyone else knows as well.”
“I have no doubt,” I say.
Edoardo reaches for his phone. “The cousins are going to lose their minds.”
“They can come here.”
“Here?” Alessio asks.
“Yes.”
His eyebrows rise. “You object?”
“No.” He looks at Edoardo.
Edoardo looks back.
Something passes between them.
A silent conversation I recognize from years of raising two boys who learned early how to converse without speaking.
Alessio’s mouth begins to curve.
I know that look.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
Edoardo lifts his glass to hide a smile.
I narrow my eyes at both of them.
Alessio’s expression turns openly sly.
“Are you sure it’s us you want to be celebrating with?”