The Blood on Vittorio’s Shirt

Chapter 08 - The Blood on Vittorio’s Shirt

Raphael did not sleep.

At four in the morning, Josephine found him in the library with three boxes of old family records spread across the floor.

He was sitting beside the fireplace, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading his father’s appointment books.

Josephine stopped in the doorway.

“You’ll ruin your eyes.”

He looked up.

“My mother used to say that.”

“She was right.”

“She also thought television caused bad posture and cold air caused pneumonia.”

Josephine walked in carrying two mugs.

“Tea.”

“I drink coffee.”

“At four in the morning, you drink whatever I bring you.”

Raphael looked at the cup.

Then took it.

Josephine sat across from him.

For a while they said nothing.

Since coming back to the estate, they had become skilled at being quiet together. It did not feel empty.

Finally, Josephine asked, “Do you think your father killed her?”

Raphael stared into the fire.

“My father did terrible things.”

She waited.

“He could be cruel. He believed fear solved problems faster than patience. He believed family loyalty excused almost anything.”

Raphael rubbed one thumb along the rim of the mug.

“But Dileia was his weakness.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“No.”

He looked at her.

“I don’t know.”

Josephine appreciated that he did not turn uncertainty into a defense.

“Mrs. Roz saw blood.”

“Yes.”

“Could it have been Dileia’s?”

“Yes.”

“Could he have tried to help her?”

“Yes.”

She exhaled.

“This is maddening.”

“That is why people lie. Certainty is more comfortable than truth.”

Josephine looked at him.

“You say that like you’ve lied professionally.”

“I have.”

She should have been frightened.

Instead, she was tired enough to be curious.

“About what?”

“Mostly things I believed I had the right to keep private.”

“Did you?”

“Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

Raphael looked back at the fire.

“I was a coward.”

The word did not sound practiced.

Josephine leaned against the chair.

“What did you think the first time you saw me?”

He glanced at her.

“That you were too young to look that tired.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“That’s not romantic.”

“I wasn’t trying to be romantic.”

“What else?”

“You apologized to a chair.”

Josephine stared.

“I bumped into it.”

“The chair was fine.”

“I didn’t know you saw that.”

“I see most things in my house.”

“Apparently not secret pregnancies.”

The sentence escaped before she could stop it.

Raphael went still.

Josephine covered her face.

“I’m sorry.”

He surprised her by laughing.

Not loudly.

Just one low breath that became a real laugh.

She lowered her hands.

“You’re laughing?”

“It was deserved.”

That was the moment the distance between them changed.

Not dramatically.

No music. No declaration.

Josephine smiled.

Raphael looked at her mouth.

Then at her eyes.

Neither moved.

The old clock in the hallway struck four-thirty.

Josephine stood too quickly.

“I should check on Wyatt.”

“Yes.”

She took one step.

Raphael said, “Josephine.”

She turned.

His voice was quiet.

“If I kiss you while you work for me, you will wonder later whether you were free to say no.”

Her breath caught.

He continued before she could speak.

“And I will wonder too.”

Josephine’s cheeks warmed.

“So you were thinking about kissing me.”

“Yes.”

The honesty left her without a clever answer.

Raphael stood.

“I will not make your life more complicated than it already is.”

She stared at him for a long second.

“That may be the nicest rejection I’ve ever received.”

“It is not a rejection.”

That made it worse.

Or better.

She could not decide.

She left the library with her pulse behaving foolishly.

Ten minutes later, she opened Wyatt’s door.

His bed was empty.

Josephine froze.

The bathroom light was off.

The window was closed.

The blanket lay folded back as though he had climbed out quietly.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“Wyatt?”

No answer.

She ran into the hall.

Raphael appeared almost immediately.

“What?”

“He’s gone.”

The entire estate woke in under three minutes.

Security checked doors.

Mrs. Roz searched the kitchen.

Gideon called the gatehouse.

No vehicle had left.

Then Raphael noticed a faint line of light beneath the door at the end of the corridor.

His father’s old chapel.

They found Wyatt inside.

He sat on the floor in pajamas with a cardboard box open beside him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

Josephine nearly collapsed.

She crossed the room and held him so tightly he complained about his stitches.

“What were you doing?”

Wyatt pointed at the box.

“I heard Aunt Ellie say my mother’s name was Dileia. I wanted to know what she looked like.”

The box contained old photographs.

Raphael had not opened it in years.

Wyatt held one.

Dileia at seventeen, grinning from the hood of a car.

“She looks like me,” he said.

Raphael sat beside him.

“Yes.”

Wyatt touched the photograph carefully.

Then he reached back into the box.

“There was this too.”

He handed Raphael a folded newspaper clipping.

The headline was from eleven years earlier.

LOCAL WOMAN KILLED IN ROUTE 2 COLLISION.

Dileia’s photograph appeared beneath it.

Raphael knew the article.

He had read it until the paper nearly tore.

But something was written on the reverse side.

A note in Vittorio Orsini’s handwriting.

R — if you ever find this, I failed twice. Once as a father, once as a witness. Sam did not cause the crash. Neither did I. Ask Gideon what he removed from the car before the police arrived.

Raphael looked up.

Gideon stood in the chapel doorway.

His face had gone gray.

Raphael rose.

“What did you remove?”

Gideon did not answer.

“Eleven years, Gideon.”

Josephine put one arm around Wyatt.

Raphael’s voice became almost calm.

“What did you take from my sister’s car?”

Gideon looked at all of them.

May you like

THE MAFIA BOSS WAS TOASTING CHAMPAGNE WITH HIS MISTRESS... UNTIL HE FOUN...

t

THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS MAID STRUGGLE WITH A HEAVY MIRROR... UNTIL HI...

t

THE MAFIA BOSS WAS ABOUT TO BLAME AN INNOCENT MAN... UNTIL HIS MAID SPOK...

t

Then said, “The gun.”

**And the man Raphael trusted most had just admitted he removed evidence from the scene of Dileia’s death.**