Page 26 of Inheritance
Then it slipped away.
“She was,” he muttered. “She was just here.”
I reached out and took the photo from him. “No, she wasn’t.” My mother’s face looked back at me, still smiling, like nothing had changed since the day that picture was taken.
His hands dropped to his sides. Empty.
“She’s not coming back.” I said quietly. “She’s gone.”
His eyes met mine again. And for a moment—just one—he looked like he understood something was wrong.
Then he sank into the chair behind him. Shoulders slumped under the weight of failing memory and age.
Sophia stepped beside me, her hand brushing against mine.
This time, I didn’t pull away.
He sat there, staring into nothing. And I felt it—that last piece of contempt I’d held for him—slip away.
“We’ll figure this out,” Sophia whispered.
I nodded.
But I knew it was over for him.
“I’ll call a doctor tomorrow,” I said under my breath.
“No doctors.” His voice snapped clear and lucid, eyes sharp again. Then he turned to Sophia.
“It’s your turn,” he said, waving her off with a dismissive flick of his hand.
I took Sophia by the arm and led her out.
Closed the door behind us.
His voice followed me into the hall.
“Who broke my fucking lamp?”
Sophia
The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee drew me to the dining room. The house staff had laid out the daily breakfast spread. Bowls of fresh fruit gleamed under the morning light, neatly arranged beside platters of sausage, bacon, pastries, bread, and more than enough coffee to keep a small army alert. I filled a mug and grabbed an apple, biting into its crisp flesh as I wandered around the expansive, empty dining area.
The long table stretched before me, a setting of delicate porcelain plates and polished silverware arranged meticulously for a family meal that would never happen. I pulled out a chair, wincing as the hardwood legs scraped against the floor, then sat down, taking another slow bite of my apple.
No one ever ate together here, but the house staff, unfailingly loyal, still prepared this table every morning, just in case.
I took another bite, set the apple on the table, glanced around at the empty room, and slipped out of my chair, careful this time not to let it scrape.
My exploration of the mansion took me to the room with the chessboard. A single pawn had been moved since I’d last seen it.
“So this is how it’s going to be,” I murmured. Taking a seat, I slid one of my pawns forward in response. I lingered there,staring out the wide window that curved along the room’s outer wall.
From this vantage point, I spotted Gabriel. He moved at a slow, deliberate pace through the gardens, his father at his side. From here, they looked like any other father and son, sharing a quiet moment. They were talking normally, casually, it seemed, then the Don stopped, staring straight ahead. Gabriel said something and urged him forward, but the Don hesitated, turning to look at Gabriel like something was wrong.
From the far corner of the garden, a woman appeared. Confident and elegant, she moved with a soft, unhurried grace toward them. The Don’s gaze snapped between the woman and Gabriel, sharp and accusing, as if he’d just realized he was walking into a trap. The woman approached, unshaken, her presence quiet but insistent. A moment passed. She said something. Gabriel replied. Then the Don dismissed them both with a sharp flick of his wrist and turned back toward the mansion.
The woman didn’t leave. She stepped closer to Gabriel and handed him something, a small orange pill bottle. He slipped it into his coat pocket without a word, keeping his eyes on the Don.
