Chapter 17 - Vittorio’s Last Letter
The envelope had never been opened.
ISADORA MARINO was written across the front in Vittorio Rossi’s handwriting.
Her hands shook.
She opened it.
Isadora,
If you are reading this, then either I became brave enough to tell you the truth or I died before I managed it.
Knowing myself, I fear the second is more likely.
She almost laughed.
Vittorio continued.
Your father was my best friend.
I failed him.
Not because I wanted his death, but because I allowed a dangerous man to remain close to my family for too long.
There are failures caused by evil.
There are others caused by cowardice.
Mine was cowardice.
Isadora stopped reading.
Gio waited.
She continued.
Marco believes truth is enough.
He is young.
Truth also requires people willing to carry it.
You have always carried more than anyone should.
If one day you meet my son, he will probably irritate you.
Isadora laughed through tears.
Gio frowned.
“What?”
She kept reading.
He believes dignity requires looking angry at least sixty percent of the time.
Gio reached for the letter.
She moved it away.
“I’m finishing.”
Vittorio’s final paragraphs were different.
Giovanni inherited my stubbornness.
I pray he inherits Antonio’s courage.
If circumstances ever place the two of you on the same side, remind him that leadership is not forcing people to stay.
It is becoming the kind of man they choose not to leave.
And if he insults you, Antonio taught his daughter to defend herself.
I suspect Giovanni will learn that lesson quickly.
Isadora looked at Gio.
“The ice.”
“Yes.”
“My dead father predicted the ice?”
“Almost.”
She handed him the letter.
At the bottom, Vittorio had written:
P.S. If Giovanni ruins one of those ridiculous expensive suits, consider it justice.
Gio stared.
Marco laughed until he had to sit down.
Even Isadora couldn’t stop.
For several minutes, the darkness of the previous weeks disappeared.
Later that evening, Gio walked her home.
At her door, he said:
“My father apparently approved of you eight years before I met you.”
“He had excellent judgment.”
“Debatable.”
“You inherited that sixty-percent angry face.”
“Seventy.”
She smiled.
He leaned closer.
This time nobody interrupted.
The kiss was quiet.
No dramatic music.
No audience.
Just two exhausted people who had spent weeks uncovering graves, lies, parents, betrayals, and each other.
When they separated, Gio rested his forehead against hers.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Something normal.”
Isadora smiled.
“Neither do I.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
May you like
“Because normal sounds boring.”
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