Chapter 9 - The House That Raised Her
They did not send Serena into the house alone.
Dante refused.
The attorney refused.
Even Patricia, who had spent most of her life confusing obedience with safety, refused.
Instead, Patricia called Vincent back.
“She’s coming,” she said.
“But I’m bringing her.”
He cursed.
For the first time Serena could remember, her mother interrupted him.
“You wanted your daughter.
Those are the terms.”
Investigators had begun taking statements.
They could not build an entire operation around a promise made by frightened witnesses in forty minutes, and they told them so.
They warned both women against entering the house.
Serena listened.
Then she asked whether officers could meet them outside while Patricia retrieved documents she said she was authorized to access.
The answer was cautious.
No guarantees.
No immunity.
No permission to force a locked cabinet.
Enough for Patricia to make her own choice.
At 5:52, Elias parked down the street from the Romano house.
Dante sat beside Serena.
She wore borrowed jeans, a sweater, and his coat.
The robe was folded in the trunk.
“You can still stop,” he said.
“So can he.”
She looked at the house.
“He just never does.”
Dante touched her hand.
“If anything changes, leave.”
“I will.”
“Don’t stay for a confession.”
“I won’t.”
“Serena.”
She turned.
He wanted to say three years’ worth of things.
Instead, he said, “Come back.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
It was quick.
Unsteady.
Real.
Patricia walked up the front path first.
Serena followed.
Vincent opened the door himself.
No hug.
No question about the dust in her hair or the scrape on her ankle.
His eyes went straight to Dante’s coat.
“Take that off.”
“No.”
The word surprised all three of them.
Vincent stepped aside.
In the foyer, Serena stopped.
Two suitcases stood beside the stairs.
“You’re leaving.”
“Business.”
“Before breakfast?”
“Your mother has been filling your head.”
Patricia walked toward the office.
“I’m getting the statements.”
Vincent caught her arm.
Serena moved forward.
“Let her go.”
He stared at his daughter.
For one strange second, she saw his calculation.
Not whether he had hurt her.
Whether she could still be managed.
Then a door opened behind him.
Carlo Esposito stepped out of the office.
His sleeve was torn.
A dark stain marked his cuff.
He looked at Serena and smiled.
May you like
“Good.
Now we can stop asking nicely.”
