Chapter 7 - Evelyn’s Plan
Evelyn Mercer had spent years being dismissed as a society mother who cared too much about table settings and family photographs.
Rosa described someone else.
“She checked Isabella’s medicine. Her mail. Her calendar.”
Isabella stared at her.
“My medicine?”
Rosa nodded. “Mrs. Mercer kept telling Mr. Grant you needed to look unstable before court.”
Massimo’s stomach turned.
Isabella remembered headaches, strange fatigue, mornings when she woke feeling foggy after tea at Evelyn’s townhouse.
Torres ordered toxicology testing, knowing too much time had passed to prove every incident.
But Rosa had saved something else.
A photograph.
It showed Evelyn holding Isabella’s prescription bottle beside an open container of sleep medication.
“Why take the picture?” Torres asked.
“Because my mother taught me that rich people call you a liar before they call themselves guilty.”
Massimo almost smiled.
Almost.
At the custody hearing two days later, Grant appeared in a tailored suit with a healing cut near his eyebrow and a story ready for cameras.
His lawyer described Massimo as a violent former organized-crime figure who had terrorized Grant at a public event.
Then security footage from the market played.
Grant attacked first.
Massimo never struck him.
The judge watched twice.
Grant’s lawyer changed subjects.
They introduced photographs of old Bellandi associates entering Massimo’s home.
Dante was among them.
Isabella’s attorney argued that Massimo’s past did not make Isabella unfit.
The judge agreed—but ordered temporary supervised exchanges while the abuse investigation continued.
Grant was allowed brief supervised contact with Noah.
Isabella hated it.
“I don’t want him near my son.”
Torres understood. “A court order isn’t a declaration that you’re wrong. It’s a process.”
Isabella looked at Massimo.
He wanted to say processes failed.
Instead he said, “We follow it. And we document everything.”
After the hearing, Noah asked to speak privately with his grandfather.
Massimo knelt beside him in a quiet courthouse corridor.
“Dad has a blue room,” Noah whispered.
“What’s a blue room?”
“In the old house. I’m not supposed to go there.”
“What’s inside?”
Noah’s lip trembled.
“Mommy’s papers.”
Massimo’s pulse changed.
“What papers?”
May you like
Noah leaned closer.
“The ones Dad said would make everybody believe Mommy is crazy.”
