Chapter 13 - Bianca Surrenders
Bianca surrendered wearing white.
Of course she did.
White coat.
White blouse.
No jewelry.
Hair pulled back.
No funeral lily visible.
She looked like someone arriving to expose corruption, not someone accused of attempted murder.
Her lawyer stood beside her.
A famous defense attorney whose hourly rate probably exceeded Emma’s old yearly survival budget.
Bianca spoke directly to cameras.
“My cousin has spent decades using fear to control our family.”
True enough.
“He manipulated evidence surrounding my mother and me.”
False.
“He has now blamed me for an attack arranged within his own organization.”
False.
“And he intends to trade fabricated accusations for leniency in his own criminal cases.”
Partly true framing.
That was the problem.
The best lies carry enough truth to survive first contact.
Public opinion divided instantly.
Some called Bianca brave.
Others called her a murderer.
Social media dissected my poisoning.
Why had Alessandro switched the desserts?
Why didn’t he warn me?
Was I involved?
Did Emma really exist?
People who had never seen my hospital room decided I was either victim, accomplice, gold digger, or strategist.
I stopped reading.
Elena Romano had survived cardiac arrest.
I refused to be killed by comment sections.
Bianca’s attorneys attacked Emma’s credibility almost immediately.
Not publicly by name because she was a child.
But through filings.
Unreliable juvenile witness.
Unstable housing.
Possible coaching.
Memory contamination.
I hated every phrase.
Alessandro became furious.
“Do not touch her.”
His lawyer replied:
“They are not touching her.”
“They are turning her poverty into dishonesty.”
“Yes.”
“That is touching her.”
I agreed.
But court required restraint.
Emma’s testimony would be handled through child-sensitive procedures.
Video.
Specialist.
Limited exposure.
Physical evidence mattered more.
The vial.
Bianca’s fingerprint.
The costume records.
Kitchen access.
Mara’s testimony.
Rachel’s records.
Caterina’s knowledge.
The case did not rest on Emma alone.
That was important.
No six-year-old should carry the weight of defeating an adult conspiracy.
Then prosecutors received another surprise.
The pastry cook, Paolo, returned.
He had vanished the night I was poisoned.
Everyone assumed he had been paid to flee.
He had not.
He had been terrified.
Bianca’s people threatened his husband.
Paolo hid them both in Pennsylvania.
When Bianca surrendered, he came forward.
His testimony filled the final gap.
Mara paid him to step away.
Bianca arrived afterward.
She wore my copied outfit.
She told Paolo the dessert order had been changed and added something from a small vial.
Paolo objected.
Bianca showed him a photograph of his husband leaving work.
He stepped back.
Then Emma appeared.
She saw Bianca.
She saw the bottle.
She ran.
Paolo had spent months believing his cowardice nearly killed me.
I understood Santoro better now.
Fear travels through families.
“You could have told someone.”
I said when we met.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I thought Mr. Moretti would kill me.”
Alessandro stood beside me.
Paolo would not look at him.
That was another mirror.
Alessandro’s reputation had protected Bianca.
People feared him so much they stayed silent about crimes committed against him.
Power had made him less safe.
Later, I told him.
“Your empire helped poison me.”
He flinched.
“But Bianca—”
“People were afraid to speak because of you.”
Silence.
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
He did not argue.
Good.
The pretrial process lasted months.
My body healed faster than the case.
I returned to work.
Slowly.
No late nights.
No skipping meals.
My cardiologist became the most powerful man in my life because he could end conversations by saying “rest.”
Alessandro hated him.
I adored him.
Emma started school.
Noah too.
Lucia moved into transitional housing.
Alessandro offered a townhouse.
Lucia refused.
“I want something I can pay for eventually.”
He respected that.
He set up an education trust for the children anyway.
Through an independent nonprofit.
No Moretti name.
No control.
That was growth.
Caterina pleaded guilty to conspiracy-related charges tied to Isabella’s death and financial misconduct.
She would likely spend the remainder of her life under some form of custody.
Before sentencing, she asked to see Alessandro.
He went.
Alone.
When he returned, I asked:
“Did she apologize?”
“Yes.”
“Did you forgive her?”
“No.”
“Do you hate her?”
“No.”
“What do you feel?”
He considered.
“Tired.”
I understood.
Caterina gave him one final piece of information.
Bianca had not started as Vittorio’s partner.
She became one after Isabella died.
Before that, Bianca truly believed her aunt’s death was accidental.
Then Vittorio showed her succession documents.
He convinced her Isabella intended to give Sofia part of the family.
Bianca felt erased.
Vittorio fed it.
Turned grievance into ambition.
Ambition into conspiracy.
Conspiracy into murder.
It did not excuse her.
It explained the staircase.
Nobody arrives at the bottom in one step.
The trial date was set for October.
Almost a year after Il Cielo.
On the morning jury selection began, Emma asked me:
“Do I have to see the cake lady?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Are you scared?”
She thought.
“A little.”
“Me too.”
She looked surprised.
“Grown-ups get scared?”
“All the time.”
“Alessandro?”
I smiled.
“Especially Alessandro.”
She laughed.
When I told him later, he pretended to be offended.
The trial opened with the security footage.
9:17:42 P.M.
Emma running barefoot.
“She put something in your cake.”
Then Alessandro switching the desserts.
Then me eating.
Then collapsing.
The jury watched everything.
For the first time, I did not.
I kept my eyes on Bianca.
May you like
She watched herself destroy our lives.
And smiled.
