28. Laney
LANEY
I was alone at the dig house when Corrado arrived.
The knock startled me. I'd been sorting through field notes, trying to focus on something concrete, something I could control. The door opened before I could answer.
"Laney." Corrado stepped inside, bringing the smell of dust and heat with him.
I stood up from the makeshift desk, wiping my palms on my jeans. My throat closed up. Corrado didn't come out here. Nobody came out here. This place had been mine and mine alone for so long that seeing him in it felt wrong, like two parts of my life colliding.
"What's wrong?"
He pulled off his sunglasses, folded them carefully, and tucked them into his shirt pocket. His expression was unreadable, which for Corrado meant something serious. He wasn't a man who hid much.
"I thought you should know." He crossed his arms. "The holdings are signed away."
I stared at him. My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
"What?"
"Massimo signed them over to Enzo last week. Everything legitimate — the boards, the holdings, all of it." Corrado's voice was flat, delivering facts the way he'd deliver a quarterly report. "It's done."
God. I sank back against the desk, gripping the edge. The wood bit into my palms, grounding me. The holdings were everything Massimo had worked for, everything he'd built. His whole life.
"Why would he?—"
"The men are gone, too," Corrado said, cutting me off. "Vittoria's security. Her people. He sent them away. Every last one."
My pulse was racing now, a wild hammering I could feel in my throat. I wanted to ask more, wanted to understand what this meant, but the words stuck somewhere between my chest and my mouth.
Corrado shifted his weight, uncomfortable in a way I'd never seen him. "There's more."
I waited. My fingers ached from how hard I was holding the desk.
"Vittoria," he said quietly. "He refused her. Every time. Including the wedding night."
The room tilted. I felt it in my stomach, a sick flip that left me breathless and dizzy.
"Every time," I repeated stupidly.
"Yeah." Corrado met my eyes, and I saw something there I couldn't name. Approval, maybe. Respect. "I thought you should know that."
I nodded, because I didn't trust myself to speak. My chest felt too full, like something was pressing down on my ribs and I couldn't get enough air. I knew what Corrado was telling me. I knew what it meant. But I couldn't — I wouldn't let myself say it out loud.
Corrado cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to it."
He was almost to the door when I found my voice. "Thank you."
He nodded once and left, closing the door gently behind him.
I stayed where I was, still gripping the desk like it was the only thing keeping me upright. The holdings signed away. The men gone. Vittoria refused.
Don't do this to yourself, I thought. Don't let yourself hope.
But God, it was hard not to.
I don't know how long I stood there before the second knock came. This one was softer, more tentative. A woman's knock.
"Laney?" Rosaria's voice. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah." I straightened up, quickly swiping at my face even though I wasn't crying.
Rosaria stepped inside, and her eyes went straight to me with that sharp assessing look she'd always had. She was carrying a basket, covered with a cloth that looked like it had been washed a thousand times.
"I brought food," she said. "You look like you haven't eaten."
I hadn't, but that wasn't why she was here. We both knew it.
She set the basket on the desk and pulled up the only other chair in the room, the one with the wobbly leg that I kept meaning to fix. She sat down heavily, folding her hands in her lap like she was settling in for a long conversation.
"You talked to Corrado."
"He just left," I said.
Rosaria nodded. "Good. Then you know some of it." She paused, studying me with those dark eyes that missed nothing. "But not all."
My stomach clenched. I wanted to tell her I'd heard enough, that I couldn't take any more, but the words wouldn't come. Instead I just stood there, waiting.
"The hurt at the dig," Rosaria said quietly. "While you were in Rome. You never knew what it really was."
I remembered. Massimo had mentioned it, had said something about an accident, but he hadn't explained. I'd assumed it was equipment, maybe a trench collapse, the kind of thing that happened on sites when people got careless.
"What was it?"
"Massimo," Rosaria said simply. "He came out here to work. He didn't know what he was doing, made a mess of things, and hurt himself badly enough that we had to bring a doctor." Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Chiara nearly had a heart attack when she found him bleeding all over your tools."
I felt my jaw go slack. "He what?"
"He was here every day," Rosaria continued. "Before dawn, after dark, whenever he could get away. Trying to keep the dig running for you. Doing it badly, but doing it." She shook her head. "That man can negotiate a merger in three languages but he can't handle a trowel to save his life."
My throat was so tight I could barely breathe. I thought about the site, how it had been worked when I came back, how the trench had been handled the way I would have handled it. I'd thought?—
God, I'd thought he'd hired someone. Paid a professional to come out and maintain it.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Rosaria's expression softened. "He didn't want you to know. He just wanted you to come home and find it still here, still yours."
I turned away, pressing my hand over my mouth. My eyes were burning. I was shaking.
"There's more," Rosaria said gently.
I made a negative gesture. I couldn't?—
"Costanza came to him in March," Rosaria went on, relentless in the way only she could be. "When you were in Rome and she thought you were never coming back. She told him to shut the dig down, fill it in, erase it. Use the land for something profitable."
My hand dropped. I turned back to face her.
"He refused her," Rosaria said. "He told her no. He kept it open for you, even when he thought you were gone for good."
The room was too small suddenly, the air too thin. I wanted to sit down but my legs wouldn't bend. I was frozen there, caught between standing and falling.
"I didn't know," I whispered.
"You weren't supposed to." Rosaria stood up, smoothing her skirt with brisk, efficient movements. "There's one more thing. Aurelio's birthday. The closed door."
My pulse jumped. I'd told Massimo about that, about the half sentence I'd overheard that had haunted me for months. He'd given me the rest of it, the whole thing, and it had meant the opposite of what I'd believed.
"I was in the room," Rosaria said quietly. "Behind that door. I heard the whole conversation."
My breath caught.
"He said, 'It was never about the marriage being a mistake.
It was about the fact that I let you destroy it.
I didn't protect her from you, from any of you.
I let you treat her like she didn't matter and I stood there and let it happen for ten years.
That failure is mine.'" Rosaria's voice was steady, precise, giving me each word like she'd memorized them.
"That's what he said, Laney. Word for word. "
It matched. Exactly what Massimo had told me. Exactly.
My knees gave out. I sat down hard in the chair, my hands shaking in my lap.
Rosaria moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the frame. "I thought you should know."
She left before I could answer, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded too loud in the sudden silence.
I sat there in the empty dig house, my hands trembling. The holdings signed away. The men gone. Vittoria refused. The dig kept open. The sentence, confirmed.
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loud against the floor. I couldn't stay here. I needed to move, needed air, needed to think.
I went outside.
The site stretched out before me, the familiar grid of trenches and markers that I could walk blindfolded. The late afternoon sun slanted across the dirt, turning everything gold. I walked toward the main excavation area, where Chiara was crouched over a section of exposed stone, her back to me.
She looked up when she heard my footsteps, pushing her hair back from her face with a dusty hand. She had dirt smudged on her cheek.
"Laney, hey. I wasn't expecting you today."
"Just needed to see it," I said. My voice sounded strange, too high. Like I was trying too hard to sound normal.
Chiara stood, brushing off her knees. She was studying me with concern, her eyes narrowing. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I wasn't, but I didn't know how to explain. "How's the work going?"
She launched into an explanation of the latest finds, pointing to a section of wall they'd uncovered. I tried to focus, tried to care about the stratigraphy and the pottery shards, but my mind kept circling back to what Rosaria had said. Massimo here. Working. Bleeding.
Chiara trailed off mid-sentence. "You're not listening."
"Sorry." I shook my head. "I'm distracted."
"I can tell." She crossed her arms, giving me a look that said she wasn't buying my act. "Something happen?"
I hesitated. Then, because I needed to know, I asked, "The accident. While I was in Rome. What actually happened?"
Chiara's expression shifted, surprised. "You mean with the guy who came?"
My heart started pounding again. "Tell me."
She frowned, like she was remembering something she'd tried to forget.
"Some man showed up. Said he was here to work the site while you were away.
He didn't know what he was doing — I mean, really didn't know.
He was terrible at it." She shook her head.
"But he kept coming. Every day. Before sunrise sometimes.
He'd work until his hands were bleeding, literally bleeding, and then he'd come back the next day and do it again. "
God.
"He never said who he was," Chiara continued. "Wouldn't give a name. But he was determined, I'll give him that. Stubborn as hell." She paused. "And then one day he hurt himself pretty badly with one of the tools and we had to get help. After that he stopped coming."
She was looking at me expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
My throat was tight. "It was Massimo."
Chiara's eyes went wide. "Your husband?"
"Yeah."
"But he — I mean, he didn't know anything about—" She stopped, understanding dawning on her face. "Oh."
"Yeah," I said again.
Chiara didn't say anything for a long moment. Then, quietly, "He really loved this place. I could tell. Even though he had no idea what he was doing."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"He loved you," Chiara said. It wasn't a question.
I looked away, blinking hard. My eyes were burning and my chest ached and I felt like I was going to come apart right there in the middle of the dig.
"I have to go," I said abruptly.
"Laney—"
But I was already walking away, heading for the car. I needed to find him. I needed to see him. I needed to — God, I didn't even know what I needed. I just knew I couldn't stay here.
I got in the car and started the engine, my hands shaking on the wheel. I pulled out onto the narrow road that led away from the dig, dust kicking up behind me.
I didn't know where he was. The palazzo, maybe, or his office in the city, or?—
My phone rang. I grabbed for it without thinking, hoping it was him.
It wasn't.
The call was from the university in Rome, Professor Benedetti's number. I almost didn't answer, but old habits made me hit the button.
"Laney Corrigan."
"Dr. Corrigan, I apologize for calling so late." Professor Benedetti's voice was brisk and professional, like always. "We have an issue with the publication schedule for your findings. I need your approval on several items before we can proceed."
I pulled over, the car jerking to a stop on the side of the road. "Can this wait?"
"I'm afraid not. The deadline is tomorrow morning and we're still missing your signature on three separate documents."
I closed my eyes. My name on my work. My career restored. Everything I'd wanted, everything I'd fought for.
"I'll call you back," I said.
"Dr. Corrigan?—"
I hung up.
I sat there on the side of the road, engine idling, dust settling around me. My hands were still shaking. My heart was still racing.
I wanted to find him. I wanted to see him. I wanted to know if everything Corrado and Rosaria had told me was real, if it meant what I thought it meant, if he'd really?—
But I couldn't make myself say it. Not even to myself.
I put the car in gear and started driving again, heading toward the city, toward the palazzo, toward anywhere he might be.
I didn't reach him.