Chapter 6: Helena's Next Move
She was on the phone when Carmine came back downstairs.
She was standing at the far end of the living room, facing the garden, her voice low and controlled.
She didn't turn around when he entered.
"—not yet.
He knows about the account, not the rest.
Give me until tomorrow." A pause.
"I said give me until tomorrow, Dario."
She heard the floorboard and turned.
She ended the call in one smooth motion and slipped the phone into her pocket.
"Checking up on me?" she said.
"I live here."
"For now." She said it lightly, like a joke, but her eyes weren't joking.
Carmine crossed the room and sat down in the chair across from her.
He didn't rush.
He didn't raise his voice.
"I want to give you a chance to tell me the truth," he said.
"Not because I need it — I have enough already.
But because once lawyers are involved, that chance disappears."
Helena looked at him for a long moment.
Then she sat down across from him.
"What do you think you know?"
"Vellara Holdings.
The forged refinance.
The two million.
Dario Fenwick." He watched her face.
"The man with the scar who visited this house two weeks ago while I was in Rome."
Something moved across her expression.
She covered it quickly, but not quickly enough.
"Leo told you that."
"Leo is seven years old and has been scrubbing your garage floor since summer.
He's been telling me things all evening."
"Children misremember—"
"Helena."
She stopped.
"I'm not asking you to confess.
I'm asking you to tell me one true thing.
Why?" He leaned forward slightly.
"We had a good life here.
You had everything.
Why?"
For just a moment — a single, unguarded moment — something shifted in her face.
Not guilt exactly.
Something older and more complicated than guilt.
Then it closed again.
"You want one true thing," she said.
"Fine." She folded her hands in her lap.
"This was never going to be enough for me.
This house.
This life.
You." She said it without cruelty, which somehow made it worse.
"I needed more than what you were ever going to give me."
"So you decided to take it."
"I decided to secure it."
"By forging my name.
By mortgaging my home.
By putting my son on his knees in the garage."
"Leo is not my responsibility."
"No," Carmine said quietly.
"He's mine.
And that's the part you miscalculated."
Helena's phone buzzed in her pocket.
She didn't reach for it.
"You should know," she said, "that Dario has copies of documents.
About your father's acquisition of this estate in 1987.
About where the money actually came from." She held his gaze.
"If you move against me, those documents go to the financial crimes authority."
"Then let them."
She blinked.
"Whatever my father did thirty-five years ago, I'll face it.
But I won't let you take this house.
And I won't let you touch my son again." He stood up.
"Tonight you'll sleep in the guest room.
Tomorrow morning, my attorney will be here at nine.
You can have your own counsel present."
He walked toward the stairs.
"Carmine." Her voice was different now.
Tighter.
"You don't know what Dario is capable of."
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
"Neither does Dario," he said, "know what I am."
He went upstairs.
He checked on Leo — already asleep, the cleaning cloth still on his nightstand, held onto like a child holds something they don't know they're holding.
Carmine took it gently and set it on the dresser.
He sat on the edge of Leo's bed for a long time in the dark.
Downstairs, Helena made another call.
This one lasted four minutes.
May you like
When it ended, she walked to the garage, got into her car, and drove away from the estate without packing a bag.
She didn't come back that night.
