Dante’s asking me to describe the room again, and I’m rattling off details without thinking.
“The room had crown molding. A dark chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Large windows with blackout curtains. Antique furniture pushed against the walls—all of it bolted to the floor. The decorative vases were already gone by the time I got there.”
I stop talking when I notice the way he’s looking at me. “What?”
“How do you know all that? Those specific details about furniture placement and what was missing?”
“I don’t know. I just…I see it. In my head. Like a photograph.”
“You have photographic memory.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
“It absolutely is. And you have it.” He leans forward, suddenly intense. “Scarlett, this changes everything. If you can remember visual details that clearly, you might be able to see things you didn’t consciously register that night.”
“Like what?”
“Like who else was there. Who gave the orders. Who knew about the ledger.”
My stomach twists. “I don’t want to remember more.”
“I know. But we need this.”
He’s right and I hate it.
Over the next few sessions, we focus on visual details. And slowly, painfully, things start to surface.
Hands. Elegant hands with perfectly manicured red nails. Expensive perfume that mixed with the smell of blood and fear. A cold, cultured voice giving orders.
“Focus on the voice. Male or female?”
“Female. Definitely female. Older, I think. Used to being obeyed.”
“What was she saying?”
I close my eyes and try to hear it again. “Something about cleaning up the mess. About making sure there were no witnesses.”
“Did you see her face?”
“No. Just her hands. And I heard her heels clicking on the marble floor.”
“What kind of heels?”
“Expensive. Designer. The sound was distinctive.”
Dante’s quiet for a long moment. “A woman. That’s new information.”
“Does it help?”
“It narrows the field significantly. There aren’t many women with that kind of power in the families.”
I open my eyes and find him staring at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“What else do you remember about Antonio? His last words.”
“He said ‘saint.’ I already told you that.”
“Anything else? Even fragments?”
