Chapter 9: Say It

That night, Gemma hung the camel coat on a hook in the east wing and set her mother's portrait against the wall.

She had put the deed in her own drawer, and the jewelry in the safe.

The portrait watched her from the floor.

At eleven, the door opened without a knock.

Raffaele stood in it in shirtsleeves, with her black phone in one hand.

"You went to Hanover Street with six men and told the whole street what Rosanna did."

"You told me to."

"I told you to take the deed. I didn't say to hold a trial on her stoop."

"It was a short one," Gemma said.

The corner of his mouth moved.

He did not smile, but he came into the room.

His eyes went to the portrait on the floor.

"That's her."

"That's my mother."

"You have her mouth."

He said it quietly, and then looked away.

Gemma sat up on the bed, and kept her voice flat.

"Rosanna said to ask you where Fiammetta really is."

"Florence. A clinic, for her nerves. Her mother sent me the address."

"Did you check it?"

"I don't check what I'm told by the family I'm marrying into."

"You didn't marry into them. You bought them," Gemma said.

He crossed the floor and stopped at the edge of the bed.

"I don't want to talk about her."

"Then why are you in my wing?"

"I told you last night was a mistake."

"I heard you."

"I lied."

It came out low and fast, and he looked angry at himself.

Gemma stood up and put her hands flat on his chest.

"Say that again."

"No."

"Then get out."

He did not move.

She slid her hands up to his collar and began to undo his buttons, one at a time, and he stood and let her.

"You still think I did it," she said. "You think I poured her wine and wrote your messages."

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