Make him understand the depth of the bruise he left behind.
Veronica swallowed.
The phone felt heavy in her hand. If she called now, what would he learn? That spectacle worked. Her thumb moved away from his name. She locked the screen. Slipped the phone back into her apron pocket.
The decision steadied her spine.
She rose from the stool, the pocket knife still in her hand, card folded carefully between her fingers.
She was not weak.
*****
By the time Veronica returned to the annex that evening, the city had already swallowed the last of the sunlight. Inside the Genovese estate grounds, everything felt insulated.
She was exhausted.
Nonnina had taken it upon herself to prepare a tray. Pasta still steaming. A small bowl of roasted vegetables. Fresh bread wrapped in linen. A glass of water with lemon. She walked down to the annex corridor slowly. The door was locked. She knocked lightly. "Zuccherino, it's me."
