Ferraro. He had stood in this building. He had looked at my daughter, his Donna's blood, the heir to everything he had married into, and he had signed the papers that buried her here. He had given the order to let her starve. Let her sicken. Let her die in a place with no name, on a road that led nowhere, so that his own illegitimate child could sit in the Montecarlo Estate and call me Mommy while she learned to spit in my face.
I couldn't hold it any longer. I staggered to the corner and retched violently, but my empty stomach produced nothing but bile.
My assistant patted my back, staring at my face, which had gone white as paper.
"Donna Montecarlo, are you alright?"
I shook my head. I straightened up and looked toward the girl in the corner, her gaze vacant and lost. On my right hand, my father's signet ring caught the grey Ashford light. I turned it slowly, once, feeling the weight of the Montecarlo crest press into my finger.
"There's one more thing I need to do."
I needed to be absolutely certain.