Page 54 of The Last Vendetta

“Should I arrange for transportation?”

I grinned, appreciating how well this man truly knew me and understood that I wasn’t just another docile, ignorant woman. I really appreciated that he was loyal to me, not my mother, and would keep the secret of anything I was planning to do.

“No, thank you.” I’ll figure it out. I would ask Renzo to come with me. It only seemed right since we were both mutually curious and working on this together.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He’d already done so much. But now that he was here, another question struck me.

“What started the rivalry between the Acardi and Bernardi names?”

He furrowed his brow, seeming stunned by that question. It was out of the blue like that, but I felt confident that he’d have a guess. He was older than Father had been. Francis came on as a guard when my grandfather ruled.

“I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But I think it had something to do with Arianna.”

I blinked. “Arianna?” Renzo’s mother?

He nodded. “Arianna Bernardi.”

Biting my lip, I dreaded the worst. “Did… my father sleep with her?”

He immediately shook his head. “No. No, no. I don’t think so. Arianna was quite besotted with Giovanni. From what I observed, she was very much a woman in love with only her husband.”

Then… I winced. “Did Mother sleep with Giovanni?” Affairs were the first thing to come to mind with rivalries. Infidelity and honor. Those were the primary reasons Families engaged in rivalries.

“I don’t know,” Francis admitted slowly, rubbing his jaw. “But if I can be honest, your mother has always been too calculating.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I quipped.

“She’s too calculating in everything she does, and if there were one person to suspect of causing trouble between the Families, I would think of her.”

Francis received a summons on his ear piece, and that ended our secret chat. I thanked him again, and as soon as I left the solarium, I went to my room and called Renzo.

“Hello?” he answered, likely suspicious of the unidentified number.

“Can you talk?” I asked.

“Call me back in a few minutes.”

I wasn’t worried about his reply. He was likely near someone who could overhear. Or he had to deactivate the tracking on his phone. I gave it five minutes and called again.

“How did you get my number?” he said for a greeting.

“I have my ways.” I’d found it in my father’s office after the funeral. “I know where she is.”

“You do?” He huffed a laugh. “You work quickly.”

A smile lifted my lips. He lifted my spirits.

“Considering you shouldn’t be ‘working’ at all, especially not like this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, not sorry. You should know by now that I’m not a pushover like the other women in our lives.”

“Where is she?”

“I’ll show you.”

He grunted. “What?”

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