Some connected to my family.
Others connected to people who hated my family.”
“Why would he keep them?”
“Insurance.”
Her father’s old sentence returned to her.
Some debts belong to people far more dangerous than I am.
Sophie whispered, “Did your family threaten him?”
Alessandro did not give her the easy answer she wanted.
“My family pressured him.
So did other people.
I was young.
I did not control those decisions.”
“That isn’t the same as saying it didn’t happen.”
“No.”
Sophie respected the answer despite herself.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because if that page survived, others may have survived.”
“And you want them.”
“Yes.”
There it was.
No performance.
No attempt to sound noble.
Sophie nearly laughed from the absurdity of it.
“You humiliate people very efficiently in this family.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t insult you.”
“No.
You simply asked whether I was illiterate in front of a dining room full of strangers.”
For the first time all evening, Alessandro Moretti looked caught off guard.
Sophie met his gaze.
“You could have asked me privately.”
He considered that.
“You’re right.”
The apology was not elegant.
But it was unmistakable.
Sophie nodded once.
“If there are other papers, I decide what happens to them.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“It already was.”
Alessandro glanced toward the entrance through which Camilla had disappeared.
“You should also assume that anyone who knows your father kept records may come looking once they learn you exist.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“How can I know?”
“You can’t.”
Again, an answer without decoration.
Sophie returned to work that night.
She served Alessandro the Bordeaux he had requested.
Before pouring, she presented the bottle with steady hands and described the vintage in French.
He listened without interrupting.
When the bill arrived, he paid it normally.
No outrageous pile of cash.
No theatrical rescue.
But before leaving, he placed a business card facedown on the table.
There was no handwritten message.
Sophie did not touch it until he was gone.
