Page 48 of Beautiful Evidence

My stomach turns. I’ve known this question was coming. Vincenzo warned me. I lift my chin slightly.

“I was aware that my father was under investigation,” I say carefully. “But I was not in contact with him.”

Greco’s voice drops a note. “And is your report final?”

“It is,” I say, nodding once and leaving it at that. My chest feels like a ticking time bomb, and my palms are so sweaty that if I picked up my glass of water, it would slip from my grasp.

“And you stand by it?” she asks, watching my face closely.

My throat tightens. I nod again, slower this time. “Yes.”

The judge clears his throat and closes the folder with a quiet finality. “That concludes the initial deposition,” he says, already shifting the next file toward himself. “We reserve the right to call you again should new evidence arise.”

The court reporter stops typing. Her hands still hover above the keys.

I rise too quickly from my seat, knees tight, limbs awkward, but I make it out of the room without stumbling. The hallway feels cold, or maybe it's just my anxiety, but I'm sweating too. I move through the building like a ghost and no one stops me to talk.

Outside, the heat slams into me. Rome in early summer is relentless. The pavement radiates warmth through the soles of my shoes, and a line of sweat immediately breaks beneath the collar of my shirt. But the deposition is over, and I am out. It's over.

Across the street, Vincenzo’s car is already waiting. He’s parked in the shade of a tree, engine running, elbow resting on the windowsill like he hasn’t been watching the door for the last hour. I cross without looking at traffic, but the street is quiet. He leans over and opens the door before I reach it. I slide into the passenger seat without a word and close the door behind me.

Vincenzo doesn’t say anything right away. He pulls out into traffic, takes a right, then another, winding us away from thestate building. I let my head fall back against the seat and close my eyes.

“You held the line,” he says after a long silence, and I feel his hand on my knee.

I open my eyes and turn my head toward him. “I did.”

“They won’t come for you again. They know they don't have proof for any accusation. They wanted an easy win, and you didn't let them win."

Flinching, I swallow the bile of lies back down and nod at him. “They wanted me to flinch… but I did what you told me to do."

“You did so well.” He glances at me briefly, then back to the road.

“Then why do I feel so bad inside?" My eyes roll toward the window, and I stare out at the passing scenery.

We drive in silence for a while. My breath starts to slow. My pulse stops kicking at the inside of my throat. I watch the buildings change outside the window, city bleeding into outskirts.

“I’m not like him,” I say. I don’t mean for it to come out, but it does. Vincenzo doesn’t ask who I mean. He knows I mean my father and everything he's done in his life. I won't ever be like him.

“No,” he says. “You’re not. But you’re still his daughter.”

The truth of it cuts cleanly, without venom. I let the words settle in my chest. They don’t sting or make me flare up in anger. Instead, they settle like truth. They clarify what I’ve always known but never dared to say out loud.

My phone buzzes in my lap. I glance down and see the name.Papà.

There’s only one message. One line.

Papà 11:12 AM: You did good,figlia mia.

I stare at it for a long moment, then turn the screen toward Vincenzo.

He reads it and gives a single nod. “It’s done.”

“No,” I say. “It’s started…" My hand reaches down to where his rests on my knee, and I interlock our fingers. My future is so uncertain, and nothing I planned or wanted for my life will happen now, but inside, I feel steady. For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm home. And if it takes being connected to the very legacy I tried to cut off to keep myself stable, then so be it.

Because I don't want a future if Enzo isn't in it.

30

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