He Followed: Building Our Scarred Life

my triumph, my h

renzo "Enzo" Conti shielding his new business ally-and rumored future bride-from a storm. I stood al

ion. A restorer of broken art, trapped in my own

wn restoration

e papers within a genuine museum loan agreement. He signed it without

g two secrets: my unborn child, and the

t was the end

s wr

ollo

my wood, clears my path, and learns to soothe our daughter at 3 a.m. When assassi

olding a peace I've never seen. "Let me use

a story abou

Don who became a carpenter, the restorer who learned to break free, and the

They're forged in the silent space between

pte

sia

e world, my husband, Lorenzo "Enzo" Conti, was on the news, his

enaissance masterpieces that others had deemed lost causes. For four years, I had poured every ounce of my loneliness, my silent despair, into these canvases, working in the sterile, soundproof studio E

urse, cuore mio. I wouldn't miss it for the world," he'd said, his voice a low rumble that once sent warmth through me. Before leaving, his hand had settled on my shoulder, his fingers

knot of dread tightening in my stomach. The headline was stark: L

amily empire, as they rushed into a government building. His expression was focused, protective. She looked up at him with an expression of absolute

ting. It was a statement. He was choosing his business, ch

. I looked down and saw it-a hairline fracture spiraling up fro

d. I could feel their pity, a physical weight pressing down on

ed again. A t

ra needed my presence. Y

k mechanism finally grinding to a halt. This was Omertà, the code of silence

understood my place: a beautiful object he owned, proof the beast had a cultured side. My

iend, appeared at my side, his face etche

last-minute meeting. You know how it is." The lie

he believed none of it. "Well, your public awaits

pping before my pièce de résistance: a once-shattered 15th-century Madonna, he

o convince the viewer that the damage never existed at all. That the masterpiece has always been perfect, whole." I

plause. Only I knew th

lessia Rossi Moretti shows us that some b

ng in the air, a secr

Chiara glowed. My fingers rose, tracing the exact spot on the painted cheek where a fissure had on

ed, the word lost i

heart used to be. Not sadness. Not anger. I

d not e

t of Gabriel's office. My hands were ste

essia Conti. Dra

pers?" His voic

ocuments for the Bellini triptych