Page 14 of Lorenzo

“I don’t know what happened after I left,” Alessio says. “I don’t know who came into that room or how long she was alone.”

His grip tightens around the cup.

“But she was alive when I walked out.”

His jaw clenches hard enough for me to see the muscle shift.

No one interrupts him.

Alessio stares into his coffee.

“If I had stayed, she would still be alive.”

Edoardo turns toward him at once. “You don’t know that.”

Alessio looks at his brother, anger and grief cutting through the exhaustion on his face.

“Yes, I do,” he says angrily. “I know I left her there.”

“You might be dead too,” Edoardo says, showing emotion that is rare from him.

“Either way, this is on me,” Alessio says.

“This is on whoever killed her,” I say. “You left her in a hotel room having no reason to think that she wouldn't be perfectly fine.”

“I should have taken her home myself,” he says. “Made sure she got there safe.”

Alessio looks away.

Tomasso rubs a hand over his mouth. Matteo stares down at his plate. Dante’s attention stays fixed on Alessio.

Victoria watches Alessio with worry in her eyes. Mario remains still beside her, studying my son as carefully as I am.

I let the silence hold for another moment.

“The only thing we can do now is figure out what happened after you left, and why the police think you're the one who did it.” I lean forward. “Tell us everything you remember.”

***

Julian keeps us waiting for less than five minutes.

It is still long enough for Alessio to stand, cross the length of the office, turn near the windows, and walk back again.

I remain in one of the chairs facing Julian’s desk. My son has been restless since we left the house, though restless is too mild a word for what I am watching. Every movement is edged with anger. He pushes one hand through his hair, drops it, then reaches for his phone before remembering that the police still have it.

Julian has assured us that they cannot look through it without a warrant, and I know for a fact that there's nothing damning on it.

But it still doesn't sit right with me

“Sit down,” I tell him.

“I’ve been sitting all night.”

“Then stand still.”

He stops near the window and looks at me.

The exhaustion in his face makes him look older than his twenty-four years. There are shadows beneath his eyes that were not there yesterday. Alessio is usually the most polished, charming person in any room. Even after a night out, he somehow manages to come out on top.