Page 18 of Lorenzo

“I left her alive,” Alessio says.

I watch his reflection in the window.

“What was she doing when you left?” Julian asks.

Alessio’s eyes close briefly.

“Putting her dress back on.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She asked if she would see me again.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Tonight. I told her I’d call her after I finished work.”

Julian remains quiet.

Alessio turns from the window. “She was alive. She was talking to me. I kissed her before I left.”

His hand curls at his side.

“I got home before 1:00.”

“I believe you,” Julian says.

“Then why are we talking like their footage matters more than the truth?”

“Because right now, it does.”

The answer stops Alessio for a moment.

Julian opens the folder again and places his hand on the still image.

“This is what the police see. They see you entering a hotel room with Genevieve. They see a timestamp that puts you there during the window in which she died. They see you leaving afterward.” Julia leans back. “I'm not going to lie to you, Alessio. They also see a man with your last name and reputation, and they are ready to believe what they see because of it.”

Alessio returns to his chair, but he does not sit. He grips the back of it and looks down at the photograph.

“I would never hurt someone like that,” he says. “I'm not some kind of monster.”

I look at the image again.

There is nothing accidental about how neatly it fits. The window for the time of death ends at 1:00. Alessio appears on camera leaving thirty minutes later. Our own footage can be dismissed as family-controlled. His brothers’ testimony can be assumed to be simple family loyalty.

Every piece pushes in the same direction.

Toward my son.

“Someone is setting Alessio up,” I say.

Julian looks at me.

“I believe so. The time stamp on this footage did not change itself. They knew what the cops would see, and that it would be very damning.”

Alessio finally sits.

His anger has gone still, which concerns me more.