Page 54 of Of Lies and Shadows

“You know Anika will never be like other girls,” he says suddenly, and I blink.

I glance toward the hallway where his daughter had just disappeared, confused by the shift. “What does that have to do with?—”

“She’s twenty-two now. But she’ll never be fully independent. She’s the sun of my life and her mother’s, our brightest joy. God made her a little different. Soft, radiant, vulnerable. I wouldn’t change a thing.” His voice gentles. “But there was a time she wanted what she called a normal life. Friends. School. So we sent her to Bonaventura Academy. Quietly. No one knew who she was—not for her safety, and to give her that chance.”

I watch him, uncertain where he’s going.

“She was targeted,” he continues. “Mocked. Isolated. Teenagers can be cruel. Vicious. But there was a girl… a year older, sharp as glass and gentle as silk. She never asked who Anika was. Never used her. She simply took my daughter under her wing. Protected her. Ate lunch with her every day. Took her shopping. Sat with her during meltdowns. That girl showed kindness for no reward. No power. Just because it was right.”

His eyes lift to mine.

“That girl was Francesca Mori.”

Something sharp slices through me—shame, maybe. Or guilt. Or something even uglier. It lodges in my chest like shrapnel, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

I don’t speak. Just sit there, staring.

“The answer to your question is no,” Rizzo says quietly. “I would not have granted death.”

I lean back in the chair, exhaling slowly through my nose, trying to mask the knot tightening behind my ribs. That pain loosens something, some internal latch I didn’t even know was there, and what slips out next surprises even me.

“She’s not playing the game like I expected,” I say quietly. “She’s… distant. Robotic. And when she does show emotion, it’s only for the children. Or for him.”

“Bruno?”

The way he says it makes something twist in me. Everyone knows. Everyone sees it. Their affection, their loyalty, their unspoken understanding.

And I hate it. I hate him.

“And it bothers you?”

“I don’t give a damn what she feels for him,” I snap, even though the words taste like a lie.

I remember it. The way she looked at him back in the judge’s office—her voice cracking, her eyes darting to him like he was her anchor.

“But she looked at me once like I was the villain in her story. And I can’t stop thinking… what if I am?”

Rizzo sets down his cup with careful precision. His face is unreadable.

“This is an easy answer,” he says. “You married a girl you thought was a traitor. You humiliated her. Threatened her. Put a gun to her head. And now you’re surprised she doesn’t look at you like a knight in shining armor?”

His words land like a series of punches, but I don’t flinch.

“She lied,” I bite out. “She spied. She got close to my children,my family, and sold me out.”

“And yet here you are,” he says softly. “Asking why it doesn’t feel like a victory.”

I look away, my jaw clenched. But I know why. I keep remembering the way she used to look. The spark in her smile when she talked to the twins. The ease. The warmth.

And then I remember the night I took it all away. The blank stare. The stillness. The silence.

And there it is, that poisonous whisper again:Does she really deserve it?

Rizzo presses a button on his phone. I hear her voice. Crackling. Tense. Sharp with fear.

It’s a recording. Her on the phone with her father. He’sasking for the children. Offering her freedom in return.

And she—shethreatenshim. Offers her life instead. Tells him if he touches even a single hair on their heads, she’ll give me everything. Even more.

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