Chapter 14
Five years after the wedding, Victor returned under supervised release.
No weapons.
No contact with known criminal associates.
Financial monitoring.
Travel restrictions.
No role in the Bellacosta foundation.
No authority over the monitored trust.
He lived in a smaller house outside the city, with windows too plain for a man who once measured power by marble.
Seraphina remained in prison.
The annulment was final.
Beatrice was eighty-seven and used a cane every day now, not only when tired.
The Bellacosta mansion had been sold.
The ballroom where Seraphina slapped her became an event venue owned by strangers.
Victor saw a photograph of it online once.
White roses again.
Another wedding.
He closed the browser.
Beatrice invited him to dinner after his release.
He almost refused.
Then went.
She made roast chicken herself, badly.
He ate it anyway.
After dinner, she placed a sealed envelope on the table.
Enzo’s final letter.
Victor looked at it but did not touch it.
Beatrice said:
“I won’t tell you when.”
“Good.”
“I was wrong to decide before.”
“Yes.”
She accepted that without flinching.
Then he asked:
“Did he ask about me?”
“Every letter.”
That was enough for one night.
May you like
Victor left the envelope on her table.
She did not move it until he was gone.
