10. Valentin #2
“The Signora asked me to. Before she left.” Delfina’s voice catches. “She said to tell you everything when you came home. She said you needed to hear it from someone who was there.”
I think about all the times Solenne tried to talk to me. All the times I was too tired or too busy. All the times I asked her to wait, to be patient, to keep the peace until things settled down.
Things never settled down. I just kept pushing them away.
“You need to rest,” I tell Delfina. “We’ll talk more in the morning. I want to hear everything else you know.”
“Don Valentin…”
“Your position here is safe. So is Teresa’s. Whatever my mother threatened, it doesn’t stand.”
She nods slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for telling me. For being honest when it would have been easier not to.”
She leaves, moving carefully. I sit alone in the kitchen, my phone in my hand, and call my wife again.
It rings through to voicemail.
I call again. Same thing.
I call again later, then set the phone down and walk to the back door. I know where they’re going. I know they’re safe. There is nothing urgent she hasn’t already told me, and still I keep reaching for the phone.
By morning there are thirteen unanswered calls in my history. At some point during the night I moved from the kitchen to my father’s study, but the coffee Delfina left outside the door is still untouched.
I make one more call. It rings until it goes to voicemail.
Fourteen.
Please don’t call tonight. She asked for one thing, and I couldn’t even give her that.
A message arrives from Odette a little later, with a video attached.
She’s blocked your number. Give her space. I called from LA while they were having breakfast at the hotel in Rome. Summer started talking while Solenne was getting ready, and I recorded this part because you need to hear it.
Odette looked after Summer the night I took Solenne to that rooftop before we moved. I remember her answering the door with our daughter on her hip, telling us to enjoy ourselves.
There is no greeting in this message.
I press play.
The video is clearly a screen recording of a phone call, the kind where you can see the other person’s face in a small window.
Summer is sitting on what looks like a hotel bed, wearing pajamas, eating something that scatters crumbs on the blanket.
Behind her I can see a generic hotel room, a window with thin curtains, a door that must lead to a bathroom.
“Can Mama live with you too?” Summer is asking. “At your house?”
“She can stay as long as she needs to, sweetheart.” Odette’s voice, patient and warm. “Are you excited to visit?”
“I guess.” Summer picks at her food. “I wanted to stay for the fireworks. And to dance with Daddy.”
“I know. I’m sorry you missed that.”
“Mama was sad.” Summer’s voice goes quieter. “She cried after the party with the lights.”
“The party with the lights?”
“The one where everyone was dressed up and there was music. Where Daddy was with the pretty lady.” Summer frowns at something in her hand, then eats it. “Nonna said mean things.”
“Which Nonna, sweetie? You have Nonna Delfina and your other Nonna, right?”
“Daddy’s mamma. The other one is nice.” Summer says this matter-of-factly, like she’s explaining something obvious. “Daddy’s mamma said Mama isn’t a real Caruso. And the pretty lady said she’s going to be my new mamma.”
I stop the video. Start it again. Listen to my daughter’s voice, repeating words she overheard and didn’t understand.
Nonna said Mama isn’t a real Caruso. The pretty lady said she’s going to be my new mamma.
I think about all the dinners where my mother seated Solenne at the far end of the table.
All the events where Ginevra appeared at my side while my wife stood somewhere in the background.
All the times I told myself it didn’t mean anything, that my mother was just being traditional, that Solenne was being oversensitive.
My daughter heard those words. She heard them and remembered them and repeated them to a woman she trusted to tell her where she and her mother could live.
The villa has security cameras. My father installed them years ago, covering the common areas. I’ve never paid much attention to them, just let them keep running because it was one less thing to think about.
I find the member of staff who handles the recordings and ask for footage from the corridor outside the small sitting room. The week of the incident with Ginevra. He looks surprised but doesn’t ask questions, just pulls up the files on his laptop and leaves me alone to watch.
It takes me twenty minutes to find the right section. The footage is silent, black and white, the angle covering the open doorway from the corridor. Not perfect, but clear enough.
I see Delfina enter the sitting room. She’s talking to someone just inside, her posture defensive. Then Ginevra crosses into view, moving fast, and shoves Delfina with both hands. Delfina stumbles backward into the doorframe, her hip striking what must be the side table.
And then Solenne appears. She steps between them, putting herself in front of Delfina. Ginevra reaches past her, and Solenne pushes her away. Ginevra falls out of frame.
My mother appears in the corridor, moving quickly. Two staff members hover behind her, arriving after she does. They all enter the room, and the angle shows nothing more.
But I’ve seen enough.
I close the laptop and sit in the silence of my father’s study.