It was at that moment that a conversation had with Marco flooded back to me and I asked, “You know, I have trusted your guidance since I was a child. You led and I followed, your loyal and devoted subject. And I know you don’t like questions, but I have one for you and I demand an answer.” For a moment, her expression turned puzzled, as if she couldn’t believe I was capable of talking to her this way. “Vincenza, why did we lose our seat at the high table and why did you need to gamble me to get it back?”

“You know what happened,” she said quietly, landing her furious gaze on Tor.

I shook my head. “I always took what you said at face value because I believed you would never lie to me, but I am calling you out. It doesn’t make sense. It never did.”

Her eyes filled with tears. Her hands balled into tight fists. “He lifted his gun. He shot it and we lost our father.”

“Why though?” I looked between them and my stomach ached, desperate for answers. “Why?”

“Because Ettore Scala is an unfeeling monster. He shot papa and murdered him in cold blood.”

Ettore laughed but there was nothing humorous about it. “As always, Vincenza, your story is lacking. I didn’t raise my weapon until necessary.”

“Liar!” My sister stood, seething. “You aimed and shot to kill.”

Ettore glowered at her. Exasperated, he boomed, “Yes, I did, but I wasn’t aiming for him.”

What?

The silence that followed was painful. It seemed I was only going to get answers from one person and so, I turned to my husband and my voice broke when I begged, “What happened? Please tell me. I need to know. I’ll never heal if I don’t.”