Page 65 of Caterina
"Yes, I do," I say, then I set my fork down, my food suddenly forgotten. "I've been asked to help there as well."
"By Papà?" she asks, her fork freezing halfway to her own lips.
"Yes," I say. "And by Teresa."
"Teresa," she repeats, her expression unreadable. "Seems Teresa has her hand in everything, doesn't she? What does she know about it?"
"She's the one who found the note," I say. "It was delivered to her office."
"Her office?" Caterina asks quietly. "I didn't know that."
"Yes," I confirm. "It was addressed to her on the envelope, but it was a message for Luca. And it wasn't a subtle threat. It was specific, and it was designed to cause maximum fear. And it did."
"What did it say?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
I hesitate for a moment. I know this information could cause her more pain, more fear. But I also know that she deserves the truth. And I know that the more she knows, the better she'll be able to protect herself and her family.
"It said," I say, my voice low and steady, "that a tree is nothing without its branches. And that the Conti tree is about to be pruned."
I watch as the color drains from her face. The fork clatters onto her plate, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
She stares at me, her eyes wide with a horror that's so profound it's almost palpable. The anger, the resentment, the irritation—it all falls away, leaving only the raw, naked fear.
"Pruned," she whispers, the word a blasphemy in the warm, quiet kitchen. "My God."
I wait. I let the words sink in. I let her feel the full weight of them.
"It wasn't just a threat, Caterina," I say gently. "It was a promise. And it was a declaration of war. They're not just coming after your father. Your father understood the threat to mean his children."
She doesn't say anything. She just sits there, her hands clenched into fists on the counter, her knuckles white. She's looking at something far away, something I can't see.
"I..." she starts, then she stops. She takes a shaky breath. "I need some air."
She pushes her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor with a grating sound. She doesn't look at me as she turns and walks toward the back door, her movements stiff, almost robotic.
I follow her out to the back deck. The night air is cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. The yard is dark, the only light coming from the house and the stars overhead. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the trees, a sound that's usually so peaceful, but tonight it sounds like a warning.
Caterina leans against the railing, her back to me, her shoulders hunched as if she's trying to protect herself from some unseen attacker. I can see the tension in her posture, the strain in the line of her neck.
"I don't understand," she says, her voice barely audible. "Who would do this? Who would threaten children? Wait—"
She turns back to me.
"If it was delivered to Teresa's office, wouldn't that mean it was one of her patients or former patients? She doesn't actually see patients at her office anymore, but she still owns it and has other therapists working there. What about one of the patients there? They're violent offenders, aren't they?" Her mind is racing now, trying to find a rational explanation, a way to contain the threat, to make it understandable.
"That was the first thing we considered," I say. "But it doesn't fit. The letter and the situation with Erica and Emma indicate that—"
Caterina whirls around completely. "What situation with Erica and Emma?" she demands.
Chapter Ten
Caterina
“What situation with Erica and Emma?”
The words come out sharper than I intend, almost a demand, but I don’t care. My heart is still banging too hard against my ribs from the note, from the image it conjures. And now something has happened to Erica and Emma?
And, damn it all to hell, no one told me about it?
