"And you," she continued, her tone breaking between anger and heartbreak, "when you started at that prep school, you got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Those kids weren't your friends. They were dangerous. Sons and daughters of people who would have loved nothing more than to hurt a Valente. That night, they drugged your drink. You didn't even know what was happening to you." Her voice rose, trembling with the memory. "If your mom hadn't burst in at just the right moment, with help, God knows what they would've done to you."
She paused, her breath uneven, her hands shaking.
"She fought them off," my mother said hoarsely. "She protected you. She took ten knife wounds for you. Ten. Do you understand that? If it weren't for her, your life would've been ruined that night."
The room was completely silent now. Every single person listening. The bodyguards along the walls had gone still, eyes fixed straight ahead, trained not to react but unable not to hear. Somewhere in the back of the room, a glass had been set down and not picked up again.