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Diego chases me out of the house. “I’ll drive you.”
I stare at the car for a beat. I’m shaking and in no condition to drive. “Okay.” Holding out the keys, Diego takes them from me, pausing when he sees the tremble in my hand.
“Who is paying for the facility?” I ask as we reverse out of the driveway.
“Your mother.”
I shake my head. This whole time. She has known this entire fucking time.
“Do you think Salvatore knows?”
I don’t look at him, but his head shakes in my peripheral vision. “I found no evidence to suggest that.”
I nod once.
“Dino and Giuliana are the only signatures I found on Lucy’s paperwork over the years. Your brother killed Edoardo the same day she was admitted. Was she the reason?”
“How long is the drive?”
He doesn’t answer. I ignored his question. Now he’s ignoring me.
The facility isn’t too far from town, and it only spikes my anger. Lucy was right under our noses the entire time. A short drive, and I would’ve found her had I actually fucking looked.
Slipping my feet into the stilettos Diego was smart enough to grab for me before chasing me out of the house, I adjust my clothing, straighten my back, and storm toward the entrance doors.
An elderly lady sits at the front desk and smiles at me as I enter.
“I’m here to see Giuliana Bianchi.”
Her smile drops away almost immediately. “I’m sorry,” she rebutes. “Giuliana isn’t taking visitors.”
My patience is waning.
I lean over the desk. “I amnotin the mood to be fucked with, and I’m also not someone you want to piss off. I take it you’re familiar with the real Giuliana Bianchi. The old witch who comes here to visit the woman using her name. She likely treats you like dirt on her shoe.”
The woman swallows.
“I’m her daughter. Only I’m more powerful than she ever dreamed of. I carry a gun everywhere I go, and I have no qualms about using it on people whopiss me off,” I yell.
Diego steps up beside me. “Take us to Giulianaimmediately,or you will have an army of police officers through these doors in minutes. You and I both know that whatever is happening with the patient you’re refusing to let us see is far from legal. You’re also likely being paid for your silence to put your children through college.” He gestures to the photo of three kids sitting around a Christmas tree on her desk. The woman drops the photo face down.
“They keep her drugged,” she says sadly, “for her own safety.”
I snort.
The woman stands, moves around the desk, and uses her key card to grant us entry. “That woman, your mother,” she says as she walks. “She said her daughter, the patient,” she clarifies, “tried to hurt a lot of people. She said she’s a danger to herself and her family.”
“My mother is the only threat to society,” I murmur.
She pauses on the threshold of a large room. Sun pours through the glass, and soft music drifts through the speakers. The space is empty save for one woman sitting in a wheelchair by the window. A bassinet sits beside her, and I frown. If Lucy had given birth, the child would be eighteen years old by now.
“I’ll get the doctor. He can explain her situation.”
I move into the room, trying to step quietly on my heels so as not to startle her.
Her hair is still blond but cut short and tied in a small bun at her nape. Scratches line the column of her neck, and watching the way she twitches, it’s not hard to determine that they’re self-inflicted.
Diego hangs back as I approach.
