Chapter 17: The Doctor

They carried Bianca down to the sitting room on the second floor and laid her on the long sofa.

Cesare came in last, in an undone shirt, with the ring still shut in his left fist.

He looked at the red on her robe, then at me.

"What did you do?" he said.

"Nothing."

"She says you frightened her."

"I stood in a hallway while your brother held a gun on me," I said. "Ask him."

The second son said nothing, and Cesare's mouth went thin.

Bianca moaned and curled around her stomach.

"Please," she whispered. "The doctor. It hurts so much."

"He's coming," Cesare said.

He knelt beside her and took her free hand.

"He'll be here in ten minutes."

I stood by the fireplace with Tommaso and Dario.

The housekeeper had come in behind us with a basin and a stack of towels.

She was a stout old woman in a gray cardigan who had run the kitchen since before my wedding.

She had not looked at me once.

She set the basin on the table.

"Cesare," I said. "Look at her hand."

"Not now," he said.

"Look at the robe."

He looked.

The stain began under Bianca's palm and ran in a neat, wide fan across the silk.

On her skin, the red had dried tacky between her fingers.

"Blood comes from the body," I said. "It doesn't start at the fingertips."

Bianca sobbed louder.

The housekeeper took a clean towel, wet it in the basin, and bent over the sofa.

"May I, Donna?" she said.

It was Bianca she asked, and Bianca nodded without opening her eyes.

The old woman pressed the towel to the front of the robe and lifted it.

It came away stained bright pink.