Chapter 7 - Teresa’s Answer
Teresa Duca said no at breakfast.
Not with a gesture.
Not with a squeeze.
With her voice.
It took nearly ten seconds.
The word came rough and uneven, dragged through muscles still learning how to cooperate.
“No.”
Everyone at the table stopped.
Lorenzo lowered his coffee.
Elena leaned toward Teresa.
“What do you need?”
Teresa pointed at Lorenzo.
Then at the empty chair Vivien used to occupy.
“No.”
Lorenzo understood.
“You don’t want the wedding.”
Teresa’s eyes flashed with frustration.
“No.”
Elena picked up the letter board the speech therapist had left. Teresa’s left hand shook as she pointed, one letter at a time.
N O T W E D D I N G.
Lorenzo frowned.
“Not the wedding?”
Teresa took a breath.
Then pointed again.
Y O U.
Elena looked at Lorenzo.
Teresa continued.
N O.
Y O U.
Lorenzo leaned back.
“You’re saying no to me.”
Teresa nodded.
Then she pointed to another sequence.
Y O U K N E W.
His face changed.
“Knew what?”
She hit the board harder than necessary.
Elena read the next letters aloud.
“Vivien was afraid.”
Lorenzo stared.
Teresa tapped again.
Y O U S A W.
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“I saw she was unhappy.”
Teresa gave him the same look she had used when he was sixteen and lied about denting his father’s Buick.
Elena almost looked away.
Teresa pointed.
P E A C E.
Then:
Y O U W A N T P E A C E.
Finally:
M A K E O T H E R S P A Y.
The breakfast room felt smaller.
Lorenzo stood and walked to the window.
Nobody stopped him.
He had spent his life claiming he hated cowardice.
Yet at home, he had practiced a polished version of it.
Vivien complained about Teresa, so he changed the subject.
Teresa disliked Vivien, so he postponed hard conversations.
Staff tensions reached him as vague reports, and he asked only whether the house kept functioning.
He called it keeping peace.
His mother called it what it was.
Making other people pay for his avoidance.
Behind him, Mia dropped a spoon.
The small clatter broke the tension.
Teresa startled.
Mia whispered, “Sorry, Nana.”
Teresa smiled.
Lorenzo turned back.
The ease between them hurt.
Not because he resented it.
Because he had nearly allowed someone to poison it while congratulating himself on being busy.
After breakfast, Elena wheeled Teresa toward the sunroom.
Lorenzo followed.
“Elena.”
She stopped.
“Can I speak to my mother alone?”
Elena looked at Teresa.
Teresa nodded.
Only then did Elena leave.
Lorenzo noticed.
Permission.
Again.
He sat across from his mother.
“You never liked Vivien.”
Teresa stared at him.
He corrected himself.
“You had reasons I didn’t want to hear.”
She nodded.
“Did you know she was threatening Elena?”
Teresa shook her head.
“Did you know she was pressuring her?”
A pause.
Then a nod.
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Teresa gave him a long look.
He almost laughed.
“Right.”
She reached for the board.
S L O W.
He frowned.
“You were too slow?”
She shook her head.
Then pointed at him.
Y O U.
Slow down.
The instruction was so simple he nearly missed it.
He sat back.
Teresa’s breathing eased.
She pointed again.
V I V I E N N O T B A D A L W A Y S.
Lorenzo waited.
S C A R E D.
He nodded.
“She told me.”
Teresa pointed.
S C A R E D P E O P L E H U R T.
Then, after a long pause:
P O W E R M A K E S I T B I G.
Lorenzo looked at his mother.
That sentence belonged to more than Vivien.
It belonged to him.
Rocco.
The house.
The men at every gate.
The entire architecture of a life built around being too dangerous to challenge.
Later that afternoon, he found Rocco in the garage.
“Stop looking into Vivien’s past.”
Rocco turned from the car he was inspecting.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“We still don’t know whether she ever—”
“We know what she did here.”
Rocco studied him.
“That enough?”
“It has to be.”
“Since when?”
“Since I realized finding ten more ugly things won’t make the first ugly thing more true.”
Rocco leaned against the hood.
“You’re getting philosophical.”
“I hate it.”
“Me too.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
Then Rocco said, “Elena found an apartment.”
The smile disappeared.
“Where?”
“East Boston. Two bedrooms. Third floor. No elevator.”
“How do you know?”
“She asked me to check whether the building had any ownership connection to you.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
Rocco shrugged. “It doesn’t.”
“When is she leaving?”
“Saturday.”
Three days.
Lorenzo looked toward the house.
He had wanted Elena safe.
He had told himself that was the goal.
Now safety was walking away from him.
And he had no right to stop it.
That evening, Lorenzo sat with Rocco in the garage after everyone else had gone.
Rocco handed him a bottle of water.
“You could call three landlords and have her in a penthouse by breakfast.”
“I know.”
“You could buy the building she wants.”
“I know.”
“You’re not going to.”
“No.”
Rocco looked genuinely impressed. “This may be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“Shut up.”
Rocco grinned.
Then he sobered. “You understand she may leave the job too.”
“I do.”
“And your mother will hate that.”
“I know.”
“And you?”
Lorenzo looked toward the dark windows of the house.
He thought of Elena’s emptying room.
Mia’s laughter.
The way Elena corrected him without performing fear first.
“I’ll hate it,” he said.
Rocco nodded.
“Good.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“Good?”
“If it costs you nothing, you’re not actually respecting the choice.”
Lorenzo looked at his oldest friend.
“Everybody in this house became philosophical at once.”
“Maybe you finally started listening.”
Before leaving for the day, Elena asked Teresa one question she had avoided.
“Did you ever think I should quit?”
Teresa studied her, then reached for the board.
N O.
A second line followed.
T H O U G H T Y O U S H O U L D H A V E C H O I C E.
Elena blinked hard.
May you like
That was the difference she had been trying to explain to Lorenzo.
Not rescue. Choice.
