6. Chiara #3
“Including everyone who works there.” I keep my voice level. “I’m not claiming to know who did this. But Livia had opportunity, and she had motive, and she spent the entire disaster pointing blame at me while she wept in front of the guests.”
“That’s not proof.” He shifts my notebook back toward me, keeping his own notes in front of him.
“No, it’s not.” I lean forward. “But it’s reason to look carefully.
She’s been undermining me since the launch preparations began.
The whispers in the village, the questions at the staff meeting, the way she framed her concerns to make me look reckless.
And then she was conveniently absent during the pour, only to appear in time to perform her devastation. ”
“You’re describing behavior that could have innocent explanations.” He sets down his pen, meeting my eyes. “Concern about changes, legitimate questions, being elsewhere when things went wrong.”
“I’m describing a pattern.” My hands grip the arms of the chair. “I watched her smile at me, Lorenzo. In the middle of the chaos, when everyone was blaming me, she looked at me and smiled like she’d won something. You didn’t see it. Nobody else saw it. But I did.”
“A smile isn’t evidence of sabotage.” His gaze drops to the notes he was so willing to take a moment ago. I want him to look back up and at least consider what I’m telling him.
“It’s a reason I’m asking you to look at her conduct.” I hear my voice rising and force it back down. “She was blaming me in front of people, Lorenzo. That part wasn’t private. They heard her, and they didn’t hear you say otherwise.”
“I was trying to contain three hundred people and preserve evidence.” He points to the list of staff he has already called, as though I have accused him of doing nothing at all. “I couldn’t make accusations in the middle of that.”
“I’m not asking for accusations.” The words come out tired rather than angry. “I’m asking why you could tell me yesterday that my changes didn’t contaminate the wine, but you couldn’t say it where anyone else could hear.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I see him wrestling with something.
“Did you get my message last night?” The question comes out sharper than I intended. “The one I forwarded. The threat.”
“I did.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling to something. “I passed the number to the estate security contact this morning. They’re checking what they can, but anonymous messages are difficult to trace.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d received it?” I remember checking the phone throughout the night, finding nothing from him. “I spent the night wondering whether you’d even seen it.”
“I wanted to have something to tell you.” He puts his phone down with the forwarded message still visible. “There’s a driver available if you need to go anywhere. I’d prefer you not go out alone until we know more.”
“I went to the market this morning.” I watch his face for reaction. “With Rosalia and the driver. The delivery didn’t arrive, and we needed supplies.”
“How was it?” He leaves the papers alone this time. I almost give him the easy answer, the one that would let us move on without discussing anything ugly.
“A woman who wished me luck last week told her friends you were cleaning up my mistakes.” I keep my eyes on him, making myself give the rest without softening it. “An old man spat in front of my shoes. Rosalia got me back to the car.”
“Did he threaten you?” Lorenzo reaches for his phone again. I understand why, and still I want to ask him to leave it where it is until I finish.
“He told me to go back to France. I don’t know him.” I stand, unable to sit any longer. “I’ll use the driver. I’m glad you’ve asked someone to check the number. But the people repeating those accusations aren’t all hiding behind a phone. They think your silence means you agree with them.”
“The investigation will show what happened.” He says it like a promise, but it sounds like a delay. “When I have proof, I’ll make a statement.”
“And until then?” I turn to face him fully. “Until then, I just wait? I live with everyone assuming I’m guilty because the Don won’t say otherwise?”
“I never said you did it.” He has set his phone down, but he still hasn’t put my name anywhere in the notes except beside the list of herbs.
The words hit harder than I expect.
“No, you haven’t.” I take my notebook from his desk. The useful questions are still there, written neatly, and I have no idea what good they have done me. “You’ve left me guilty until someone proves otherwise. That’s how this feels from where I’m standing.”
He stands, moving toward me. “Chiara…”
“You made sure I had someone to drive me.” I stay where I am, holding the notebook between us. “I need that. I also need to know I can come home to you and not have to defend myself all over again.”
“What would you have me do?” He stops close enough to take the notebook if I offered it, but I keep hold of it. “Accuse Livia without evidence? Make public statements I might have to retract? Throw away a lifetime of trust because you suspect her?”
“I’d have you believe me.” I can’t keep my voice as steady as I did over the sample notes. “Here, between us. Start there. I’d have you look at me and know that I didn’t do this. That I would never do this. That whatever happened in that cellar, I’m not your enemy.”
The silence stretches between us.
“I need to finish making calls.” He turns back to his desk. “The sommelier’s summary should be ready later this afternoon. We can review it together.”
I stare at his back, at the careful set of his shoulders, at the wall he’s built between us.
“I’ll be in my room.” I move toward the door. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk to your wife instead of manage a crisis.”
***
Rosalia brings supper to my room because I can’t face the dining table.
She sets the tray on the small desk, then puts a paperback on the windowsill to free her other hand. When she lifts the cover from the dish, the smell of warm food reminds me that I haven’t eaten since the bread this morning.
“Sit while I eat.” I pull the other chair closer. She has been on her feet all day, and I don’t want her standing over me as though I might refuse the tray. “Please.”
“I can stay a little while.” She sits with the book behind her, forgotten while she checks that I have a fork. “The cook kept this aside for you.”
That surprises me. I had turned a basket of bread into a verdict this morning. Perhaps I am doing some of the work for the people who want me unwelcome.
“Thank her for me.” I cut into the food while Rosalia watches, then manage a proper mouthful. “You can stop looking as though you’re going to have to feed me yourself.”