Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ezio
I picked up before the first ring finished.
"Daddy!"
Juliet's voice came through the speaker.
I stood in that room, blood still on my hands, the air thick with rust and fear, the man at my feet, who'd been trying to negotiate with me five minutes ago, finally quiet. But the second I heard her voice, all of it shrank back to someplace distant.
"Juliet." I turned toward the window, pushed open the rain-streaked glass a crack. Night air rushed in, carried off some of the rot. "Still up this late?"
"I can't sleep!" Juliet practically shouted, voice bright with that reckless excitement only a six-year-old had. "When are you coming home?"
"In a bit," I said, voice dropping without meaning to. "What's going on?"
"I learned a new dance at school today! Ballet! The teacher said my legs were the straightest!"
I could almost see her—arms waving around as she talked, those little gold curls bouncing, green eyes sparkling.
Olivia's eyes.
The thought stuck like a needle straight into my chest. I shoved it down, down to the bottom where all the things that shouldn't exist went.
"Ballet?" I raised an eyebrow. "Thought you wanted to learn horseback riding. Last week it was painting. Week before that, piano."
Juliet's giggle burst through the phone. "But Miss Cassie says I have talent! She says maybe I could be a ballerina someday!"
I didn't answer right away.
Talent?
The thought dropped like a stone into water, ripples spreading where I hadn't been ready for them, heading toward something I'd sealed off a long time ago.
The stage. Lights. Rowdy crowd and smoke and booze hanging in the air. Blonde hair catching the spotlight with this warm glow—not dyed, the kind of gold that only showed itself in the light, real.
I crushed the image.
"Daddy? You still there?"
"Yeah, sweetheart." My voice sounded normal. "That's great."
"So, Daddy, does that mean you agree?"
I smiled. "Of course, baby. I'll have someone get everything ready tomorrow."
"Really?!"
"Really."
"You're the best, Daddy!!"
I pulled the phone an inch from my ear, dodging the squeal that could've shattered the speaker. Rocco stood in the doorway, keeping the right distance, not looking at me, just waiting.
I turned to him. Just said, "Handle it."
He nodded. Left. No "the elders might have opinions about this." No "family tradition doesn't usually encourage—" Nothing.
That's how it was now.
Five years ago, people in this building would've frowned. Would've danced around telling me what the Don's daughter should and shouldn't learn, that it wasn't my call alone. Those people were all in their proper places now—some places in this city, some places under it.
The Visconti family was mine.
Juliet wanted ballet, she'd get ballet.
"Daddy, are you listening?"
"Yeah."
"I said the slippers need to be pink, not white. Carolina says pink looks better—"
"Fine. Pink."
"And the skirt! It has to be the puffy kind, not the regular—"
I pulled the phone away, checked the time, cut her off.
"Juliet."
"Hmm?"
"You need to sleep."
Silence on the other end for a beat, then a dramatic sigh. "Okay... Daddy, come home soon."
"I promise. Goodnight, princess."
"Night, Daddy."
I hung up, slid the phone back in my pocket.
The smell in the room was still there, the man at my feet was still there, but something in that phone call had lightened, just briefly—like someone had cracked open a window in the darkest corner of this city, let in light that had no business being there.
I bent down, hauled the man up from the floor, dumped him in a chair.
"Where were we?"
Got back to the Upper East Side close to one in the morning.
The second the door opened, Carmen was already waiting. She took my coat, movements smooth like she'd done this a thousand times, but I caught her eyes—that look. She'd been with me three years. I knew that expression. Something to report, didn't know how to start.
"Juliet asleep?" I loosened my tie, undid my collar.
"Yes. Sleeping hard, but..."
Carmen stopped.
I stopped unbuttoning. Looked at her.
"But what?"
Carmen took a deep breath. "Miss Colonna came by."
My fingers froze on the second button.
"What the hell for?"
"She said she wanted to see Miss Juliet." Carmen's voice dropped low, each word carefully measured. "I tried to stop her, but she said she was just dropping off a gift, would only stay a minute. And Miss Juliet... she hadn't seen her in so long, wanted to play with her for a bit."
"And?"
"I was in the kitchen fixing Miss Juliet's snack. When I came out..." Carmen's throat worked. "Miss Juliet was crying. Crying hard. Took me almost an hour to calm her down. She kept saying, 'Don't tell Daddy.' I asked what Bianca said to her. She wouldn't say."
My fingers curled into fists, one by one. Then uncurled, one by one.
"Where is she?"
"Miss Colonna's still waiting in the sitting room. Been three hours."
I didn't answer. Turned toward the sitting room.
When I pushed open the door, Bianca sat on the couch flipping through some home magazine. Heard me come in, looked up, smile spreading across her face—that smile with just a hint of coquettish charm.
"Ezio, you're back. I thought you weren't coming home tonight—"
"What happened to Juliet?"
She blinked, then put on this puzzled expression, brow furrowing slightly. "Juliet? She's fine, isn't she? When I got here, she was doing puzzles. We chatted for a bit, she seemed tired, so I had Carmen take her for a bath..."
She said it naturally, voice casual, like she was recalling some insignificant detail.
I looked at her.
I'd seen this routine plenty of times. Every time she crossed a line, every time someone came asking, this was the act—eyes clear, tone gentle, matter-of-factly pushing it all back like the other person was making things up.
Three years ago with the manor thing. Two years ago with the staff thing.
Then all those times after—big and small—when she used my name to boss people around.
Every time, I'd accepted the explanation.
Because she'd miscarried.
Because I owed her.
Because I told myself those things hadn't crossed a certain line yet.
"Carmen said she cried for a long time," I said.
Bianca's expression didn't shift. She just set her wine glass on the coffee table, sighed lightly, voice taking on a note of helplessness. "Kids cry all the time. Maybe she was just cranky from being tired... Ezio, are you exhausted today? Let me have someone heat something up for you—"
"She told Carmen not to tell me."
That sentence landed, and Bianca finally stopped.
The room went quiet. Not long—two, three seconds—but in those seconds, something in her face made a subtle adjustment, like recalculating.
Then she turned, stepped closer, voice switching to something softer.
"Ezio, Juliet's a sensitive child, you know that. Sometimes she gets upset over little things... Tonight I just said a few things to her, wanted to help her understand her situation properly—"
"What things?"
"Just... about her upbringing, about how she needs a stable family."
"Bianca."
My voice didn't change. Didn't get louder, didn't get heavier. But she stopped.
All these years, she'd dealt with me enough times. She knew what that tone meant.
"What did you say to Juliet?" Not a question.
Bianca looked at me for a moment. Made a decision.
She sighed, walked to the couch and sat, folded her hands in her lap, looked at me with this unshakable frankness.
"I just told her the truth, Ezio. That woman left her five years ago.
Five years. Not a single phone call. Not one letter.
Juliet needs to know what kind of person her mother is eventually.
Better now than waiting for her to figure it out when she's older—"
"So," I cut her off, "you told her that her mother didn't want her?"
The instant Bianca's expression changed, I knew I'd guessed right.
The air went silent.
So silent I could almost hear my own blood moving.
"You want to be Juliet's new mother." I put weight on 'new mother,' voice light, like I was tasting something disgusting.
"Ezio, I was just—"
"You sat on my couch, spent an hour making my six-year-old daughter cry. Then you told her she needs a new mother."
I stepped closer.
"And you think that 'new mother' is you?"
Bianca's face went white in an instant. Then her tears came, rolling down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them, just let them fall, those blue eyes pooling with water, making her look fragile and innocent.
I'd seen it too many times.
It used to work.
"I just wanted to help you..." Her voice started shaking. "These five years, watching you hold everything together alone, watching you refuse to tell me anything, watching you move here rather than... I just wanted you to know someone's willing to..."
She lunged forward, arms around my neck, whole body pressing against me, lips near my ear. Her body trembled, but her movements were practiced, smooth like she'd rehearsed this a hundred times.
"Ezio... I know you're still angry... but look at me, okay? I'm the only one who really cares about you... That woman took the money and ran. She never loved you..."
Her fingers started undoing my shirt buttons. One, two. Fingertips trailing across my chest with just the right amount of trembling.
"Let's be together, okay?" Her voice went soft and sticky, like melting sugar. "I'll be good to Juliet. Better than her real mother. I'll make her forget that woman who abandoned her. I'll—"
I caught her wrist. Pulled her hand away slowly.
"Bianca."
"...I've given you so much. I lost my baby. I just want—"
"Your baby," I said. "I remember. I have guilt about that. That won't change."
She heard the turn coming. Movements froze slightly.
"But that guilt," I looked at her, "isn't permission for you to do whatever you want to Juliet."
"Ezio—"