Page 20 of Promised to the Don of Naples
Luca was leaning against the door frame, jacket over his arm, white shirt with the first two buttons undone. Wet hair—he'd just showered. Black eyes fixed on mine, no surprise, no anger. Just watching, the way you watch an animal that's escaped a cage you built yourself, deciding whether it's worth closing again.
I held up the letter.
"What day was it written?"
"The date's on it, bella."
"I know what date is on it. I'm asking what day it was written. October fifteenth, 2015 or 2019, Luca?"
"You know the answer."
"I want to hear you say it."
He came into the office, closing the door behind him. He didn't lock it. He came to the desk, but he didn't get too close—he stopped on the other side, the desk between us, and rested both hands on the edge like a man bracing for a negotiation he doesn't want to have.
"The letter is from 2015. Your father wrote it the summer Matteo stopped going to Capri."
"And why is it in the envelope with a doctored date?"
"Because someone doctored it."
"You?"
"No."
"Who, then?"
"I don't know yet, Valentina."
"You don't know yet?" I gave a mocking smile. "You brought me into this office last night, rolled up your sleeve, opened this folder, swore you'd prove your side of it, and now you're telling me someone doctored it and you don't know who."
"That's right."
"Was it Bianca?"
He went still, and his eyes narrowed a fraction.
"Why did you say Bianca's name?"
"Because she's the one who sent me to this office this morning."
Silence.
He didn't move, but I saw his jaw lock—the left side, near the scar on his eyebrow. It was the first time I'd seen Luca Moretti truly angry in front of me. Even so, he didn't raise his voice, much less slam his hand on the table.
"What did she tell you?"
"She said you have a habit of bringing women here. That you rolled up your sleeve for her in June 2018. Same desk, same folder. Is it true?"
He took three seconds to answer. Three long seconds.
"Bianca was in this office once. In 2018. Not to hear a version of a story, Valentina. To end seven years."
"What a sweet story."
"It's the truth."
"Your truth."
