Zane went still at her words.
We don't have murderers in the Aldo family.
The implication hit him again like a slap. His jaw tightened, breath freezing in his chest. She hadn't said it directly, but she didn't need to. The shadow of his father lay heavy—always heavy—on his name.
He cursed the dead man silently, cursed him for dragging their family through blood and ruin, for leaving him with a tainted legacy he could never scrub off. A stain he never asked for. A stain that followed him into every room, into every conversation—including this one.
For a moment, he wished that things were different. That his father had been different. That he wasn't always cleaning up a ghost's mess.
Zane sighed, pushing the depressing fog away. His hands, which had gone rigid, loosened and splayed out on the desk. "Until you have proof of that, Aldo, I suggest you stop mentioning it."
Gianna said nothing.
