Chapter 9: The Morning After
Alessandro didn't sleep.
He sat in the kitchen of his apartment until the city outside the window went from dark to grey to pale morning light.
He had a cup of coffee that went cold.
He didn't make another.
At seven, Livia padded in wearing her socks and an oversized jumper, her hair uneven on one side, and sat across from him at the table.
"You didn't sleep," she said.
"No."
"Me neither.
Not really." She pulled her knees up to the chair.
"I kept thinking about the clippers.
The sound they made."
He looked at her.
"I'm sorry you were there for that."
"It wasn't your fault."
"It was my fault that she was in your life at all."
Livia considered this with the particular seriousness of an eleven-year-old who has decided to be honest.
"You didn't know," she said.
"People are good at hiding things."
He reached across the table and put his hand over hers.
At eight-thirty, he called Carla's lawyer.
The man had already been briefed — Carla had called him the previous evening.
The document was scanned and sent within the hour: four pages, Bianca's signature on the last one, the coercion clause clear in the second paragraph, the payment amount confirmed in the third.
Alessandro forwarded it to the officer who had taken his statement.
At ten, his own lawyer called.
"I've reviewed what you sent," she said.
"The coercion is clear.
The fabricated evidence is harder to prove without the original altered photographs, but the document itself acknowledges their existence.
That's significant." A pause.
"The police will likely move forward.
This isn't a civil matter anymore."
"What does that mean in practical terms?"
"It means Bianca Ferrante may be facing a criminal complaint.
Coercion.
Possibly fraud, depending on what the payment was structured as." Another pause.
"Her father's lawyers have already been in contact with my office this morning.
They're calling it a private financial arrangement between two parties."
"Of course they are."
"It won't hold.
The document is too specific." His lawyer's voice was calm and precise.
"Alessandro, you did the right thing yesterday.
I want you to know that clearly."
He thanked her and ended the call.
Livia was at the kitchen counter, making toast.
She had found the good bread and the apricot jam and was concentrating on spreading it evenly, the way she always did.
"Can we go get my hair fixed today?" she asked without turning around.
"Yes," he said.
"I made an appointment for eleven."
She turned.
"You made it this morning?"
"Last night, actually.
I found a place that opens early."
She looked at him for a moment.
Then she smiled — small, real, the kind that reaches the eyes.
"Okay," she said.
She brought her toast to the table and sat back down.
"And after?"
"After, we do whatever you want."
"Can we go to the park?
The one with the ducks?"
"Yes."
"And can we get those sandwiches from the place near the fountain?"
"Yes."
She bit into her toast.
Chewed.
Looked out the window at the morning.
"Daddy," she said.
"Yes."
"I'm glad the wedding didn't happen."
He looked at his daughter.
At the uneven hair she was already making peace with.
May you like
At the jam on her thumb she hadn't noticed yet.
"So am I," he said.
