Chapter 9 - My Mother Had Been Negotiating
I asked Mom why she kept everything from me.
We sat in her apartment three days after the gala.
She had moved out of Bellafonte’s east-wing suite temporarily.
Not because Vanessa evicted her.
Because she did not want to sleep in a building where staff were confused about whose instructions mattered.
Her Manhattan apartment was smaller.
Quieter.
She preferred it for the moment.
“You own thirty-eight percent of Bellafonte,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You knew refinancing depended on your lease.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Vanessa was pressuring you.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was telling staff to keep you away.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
She stirred tea.
“I told Helen.”
“I’m your son.”
“You are also Bellafonte’s largest member.”
“I would have recused.”
She looked at me.
“Eventually.”
That stung.
“What does that mean?”
“You have spent your life believing protection and control are cousins.”
“Mom.”
“They are.”
“I protect you.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“You also decide very quickly what should happen to people who upset me.”
The slap again.
I looked toward her bruised wrist.
She continued.
“I wanted to negotiate as landowner, not as Dante Serrano’s elderly mother.”
That was fair.
Then:
“I did not tell you because I wanted to know whether I could still solve something without you entering the room and making every man stand up.”
I smiled despite myself.
“I don’t make every man stand.”
“Most.”
She was not wrong.
Then her voice softened.
“I also underestimated Vanessa.”
That was her mistake.
She thought social cruelty would remain social.
She did not expect the cane.
May you like
Neither did I.
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