She waited three more days before she found the courage. Not because the fear had lessened — if anything, it had sharpened. But because she needed, first, to be certain she was choosing to tell him for the right reason, and not simply because the guilt of withholding it had grown too heavy to carry silently any longer. She found him alone on the fourth evening, in the small sitting room where they'd first spoken honestly about the wasted years. Lorenzo sat with a glass of wine he'd barely touched, staring into space and Lucia recognized, the same restless weight she'd noticed building in him all week, ever since the conversation she'd overheard in the hallway. "You've been distracted," she said, settling into the chair across from him. "All week. I've noticed." "It's nothing. Really. It's just work," Lorenzo said, which wasn't quite a lie. "The financial tracks Sofia's been tracing," Lucia said carefully, watching his face. "The one that keeps resisting every attempt to trace it
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