"You mean you want me to take our daughter back to that miserable tenement and keep waiting, day after day, for you to come get us?"
Dante's brow furrowed, a shadow of irritation crossing his face.
"I told you, when the time is right I'll bring you both home. The time isn't right yet."
"I know this place looks grand, but there are a lot of people living here. There really isn't a spare room for you and Valentina. Once the guesthouse wing is finished, I'll send for you..."
I cut him off, my voice flat and cold. "Give it up."
"My daughter and I have stripped nearly every scrap of food from that neighborhood. Then the waterfront flooded, and even the dockworkers can't find a meal. We were on the verge of starving to death. I wouldn't take her back to that place if you made me a servant in this house."
It was laughable, really. The Ferrante compound had rooms enough for a small army, crawling with soldiers and household staff.
And Dante claimed he couldn't spare a single room for his own wife and daughter. Did he truly think I was that stupid?
In my last life, I never told him, not even on my deathbed, that my father was Don Enzo Castellano.