Chapter 8 - Bianca’s Father Never Joked.
Bianca Bellini had spent her entire life learning how not to cry in public.
At twelve, she had smiled through her parents’ divorce announcement at a charity luncheon.
At nineteen, she had walked a red carpet hours after discovering her first serious boyfriend had sold private photographs to a gossip site.
At twenty-seven, she had given a speech at her grandfather’s funeral without allowing her voice to shake.
By thirty, composure was not a skill.
It was armor.
The armor cracked at 10:43 the morning after her engagement party.
She stood in her father’s penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan and threw her engagement ring across his office.
The diamond struck a framed photograph and landed on the carpet.
Vittorio Bellini looked at it.
Then he looked at his daughter.
“That was expensive.”
“So was last night.”
“You are upset.”
“I was humiliated in front of half of Chicago.”
“That is temporary.”
“My fiancé ended our party because his supposedly dead girlfriend appeared carrying a child who looks exactly like him.”
Vittorio adjusted his cuff.
“Former girlfriend.”
Bianca stared at him.
“That is what you heard?”
“I heard many things.”
“Did you know she was alive?”
The question changed the room.
Vittorio walked toward the windows.
Bianca followed.
“Dad.”
“No.”
The answer came too smoothly.
Bianca had been raised by a liar.
That meant she recognized polish.
“You knew her old name.”
“Everyone knew it.”
“Luca said they did not.”
“Luca was emotional.”
“You were not.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
“Be careful.”
“No.”
Bianca’s voice grew quieter.
“You be careful.”
He turned.
She had rarely spoken to him that way.
“What did you do four years ago?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“That means something.”
“It means my business is mine.”
“Your business was about to become my marriage.”
Vittorio’s eyes hardened.
“That marriage is still useful.”
Bianca laughed in disbelief.
“Useful?”
“You think Luca is going to come back after last night?”
“He will once he understands what is at stake.”
Bianca stared at him.
For years, she had accepted that Luca did not love her the way romance movies promised.
Their engagement had been built on compatibility, family alliances, public reputation, and the possibility that affection might grow.
She had told herself that was mature.
Now, hearing her father describe the marriage as useful made her feel like inventory.
“What is at stake?”
“More than your pride.”
“Answer me.”
Vittorio walked to his desk.
“You have never needed to know every detail.”
“That is over.”
He looked at her.
Bianca held his stare.
After a long moment, he sighed.
“Sofia became a problem.”
Bianca’s stomach turned.
“What kind of problem?”
“She saw documents she was not supposed to see.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“No.”
“Did Carlo?”
Vittorio’s expression changed.
Bianca saw it.
“You knew Carlo was involved.”
“He was trying to protect his nephew.”
“From what?”
“From himself.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Luca was reckless then.”
“He believed he could separate affection from responsibility.”
“Sofia made him less predictable.”
Bianca felt something bitter rise in her throat.
“Is that why you started inviting me to Moretti events?”
Vittorio did not answer.
She understood anyway.
“You were positioning me.”
“I was opening a door.”
“You were arranging me.”
“I was giving you an advantage.”
Bianca laughed once.
“Was I ever a daughter to you, or just a very well-dressed merger?”
Vittorio’s face tightened.
“Do not be dramatic.”
The phrase finished something inside her.
She walked to the carpet, picked up the engagement ring, and slipped it into her purse.
Vittorio relaxed slightly.
He thought she had changed her mind.
She had not.
“I want to know where the maid is.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“I want to speak to her.”
“No.”
Bianca stared.
There it was again.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
“You know where she is.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“Bianca, stop.”
She took one step backward.
Her father’s phone lit up on the desk.
A message preview appeared before the screen dimmed.
FARMHOUSE STILL QUIET.
Bianca read it.
Vittorio saw her eyes move.
He grabbed the phone.
For one second, neither spoke.
Then Bianca whispered, “You are watching them.”
“I am watching Luca.”
“There is a child there.”
“I know.”
His lack of emotion frightened her more than anger would have.
“Why?”
“Because Luca is about to make decisions that affect everything our families built.”
Bianca thought of Lily barefoot on the marble floor asking whether her mother could stop working if she won a million dollars.
Bianca remembered laughing.
Shame burned through her.
“Call them off.”
Vittorio stared at her.
“You do not give orders in this office.”
“I am not asking as your employee.”
“Then you are asking as a child.”
Bianca’s eyes went cold.
“No.”
“I am asking as the woman whose name you put beside yours in every charitable foundation because it makes you look human.”
Vittorio’s face changed.
She had found the nerve.
Bianca walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To learn what you refuse to tell me.”
“If you contact Luca, you will make this worse.”
“It is already worse.”
She left before he could stop her.
In the elevator, her hands began to shake.
She opened her purse and looked at the ring.
The diamond caught the light.
For months, she had imagined photographs of it on magazine covers.
Now it looked like a receipt.
She called Marco DeLuca.
He answered on the second ring.
“Bianca.”
“Where is the farmhouse?”
Silence.
Her pulse quickened.
“You know what I am talking about.”
“I know your father would not want you asking.”
“That is exactly why I am asking.”
Marco sighed.
“You should stay out of this.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Maybe everyone is right.”
“Did you know Sofia was alive?”
A pause.
“Who told you that name?”
Bianca closed her eyes.
Another mistake.
“You knew too.”
Marco said nothing.
“Tell me where the farmhouse is.”
“No.”
“Then tell me why my father has someone watching it.”
“You really saw that?”
“Marco.”
His voice lowered.
“Your father does not control the people watching that house.”
Bianca stopped breathing.
“What?”
“He thinks he does.”
“Who controls them?”
Marco did not answer.
“Who?”
“You need to leave the penthouse.”
“I already did.”
“Do not go home.”
“Why?”
“Because if Luca found locker 317 last night, someone is going to start cleaning up old connections.”
Bianca’s stomach turned.
“How do you know about the locker?”
Marco cursed quietly.
“Forget I said that.”
“No.”
“Bianca, listen carefully.”
She heard traffic through his phone.
He was driving.
“Go somewhere public.”
“Do not call your father.”
“Do not call Luca.”
“Why not Luca?”
“Because I do not know who has his phones.”
The elevator doors opened to the lobby.
Bianca did not step out.
“Marco, are you the one who took the box from 317?”
His breathing changed.
“Yes.”
The answer shocked her.
“Why?”
“To keep it away from the wrong person.”
“Which wrong person?”
A horn sounded in the background.
Then Marco said four words that made Bianca grip the elevator wall.
“Your father is not first.”
The line went dead.
Bianca called back.
No answer.
She tried again.
Nothing.
A text arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph taken from across the penthouse lobby.
Bianca was visible in the elevator reflection.
The message beneath it read:
YOU ASK TOO MANY QUESTIONS FOR A BRIDE.
After leaving her father’s penthouse, Bianca called the one person she usually avoided when she felt weak.
Her mother.
Celeste Bellini had moved to Scottsdale after divorcing Vittorio and spent most of her time painting desert landscapes Bianca privately thought were terrible.
Celeste answered on the first ring.
“You sound angry.”
“I have not said anything.”
“You breathe differently when you are angry.”
Bianca stared through the windshield of her parked car.
“Dad knew Luca’s former girlfriend was alive.”
A pause.
“How alive?”
Bianca nearly laughed despite herself.
“Standing in the ballroom alive.”
“With a four-year-old daughter.”
Celeste went silent.
Bianca continued.
“I think Dad helped cover up something years ago.”
“Then he probably did.”
Bianca stared at the phone.
“That was quick.”
“I was married to him for twenty-two years.”
“Your father’s greatest weakness is not cruelty.”
“It is believing consequences are problems for future Vittorio.”
Bianca looked down at the engagement ring in her purse.
“Was my engagement arranged?”
Celeste sighed.
“All wealthy families arrange introductions.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
Her mother’s voice softened.
“I do not know.”
“But I know your father wanted it more than you did.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
That hurt because it was true.
“I humiliated a child last night.”
Celeste did not rescue her.
“Why?”
“Because I could.”
“Then fix what you can and stop performing remorse for what you cannot.”
Bianca looked toward the city.
“Do you rehearse these lines?”
“I am divorced and live with two dogs.”
“I have time.”
Bianca laughed.
The laugh helped.
Then Celeste said the sentence Bianca needed.
“You are allowed to become someone your father did not plan.”
Bianca ended the call ten minutes later with no clear plan.
But she stopped wearing the engagement ring.
Before Bianca called Marco, she drove three blocks without realizing the traffic light had changed twice behind her.
She finally pulled beside the lake and watched waves strike the concrete wall.
Her entire life had been organized around appearing certain.
Now uncertainty sat beside her like an unwanted passenger.
She opened a group chat filled with women who had attended the engagement party.
Messages were already arriving.
Is Luca okay?
Who was the maid?
Was that really his kid?
Someone had attached a blurry photograph of Lily dancing.
Bianca’s anger rose instantly.
Not at Lily.
At the phone.
At the room.
At herself for helping turn a child into spectacle.
She deleted the photograph from the chat and typed one sentence.
Do not circulate pictures of the child.
A friend replied with a laughing emoji and asked why Bianca suddenly cared.
Bianca left the group.
The action was tiny compared with everything else happening.
It still felt like choosing a side.
She called her assistant next.
“Cancel every interview request.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“What do we say about the engagement?”
“Nothing.”
“What about the child?”
“Especially nothing.”
Her assistant hesitated.
“That will make people more curious.”
“I know.”
Bianca looked across the gray lake.
For once, attention was not the prize.
Silence was.
Then she called Marco.
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