"Do you know where he is?"
"New York." I keep my voice flat. Controlled. "Working. Meeting people. Handling business for the family."
"I know he's in New York." She crosses her arms over her chest. "That's not what I'm asking."
"Then what are you asking?"
"Is he okay?"
I study her face. The tension around her eyes. The tight set of her jaw. The way her fingers dig into her own arms.
She knows something is wrong.
She doesn't know what. But she knows.
"Why wouldn't he be okay?" I ask carefully.
"Because no one can reach him." Her voice stays steady, but I catch the slight tremor underneath. "Gianna has been trying to call him for days. Claudio too. He reads their texts but doesn't respond. When Claudio called from a different number, Papa picked up and then hung up as soon as he heard Claudio's voice."
I say nothing.
"He's avoiding them," Antonella continues. "Avoiding his own children. And I need to know why."
I could tell her.
I could tell her right now that her father is gambling again. That he learned nothing from losing everything.
But I don't.
"Your father is fine," I say instead.
Antonella's eyes narrow. "How do you know?"
"Because we're monitoring him. We monitor everyone who works for us."
"Then why isn't he answering his phone?"
"He's busy." The lie comes easily. Too easily. "New York is complicated. He's meeting with people, establishing connections, proving himself useful. He probably doesn't have time for personal calls."
"For a week?"
"These things take time."
Antonella stares at me. Her green eyes search my face, looking for something. Looking for the truth I'm not giving her.
"You're lying to me."
The words hit harder than they should.
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are." She takes a step forward, then stops herself. Maintains that careful distance. "I can see it. Something is wrong and you're not telling me what."
The anger flares again. Hotter this time.
"Why are you standing over there?" I demand.
The question catches her off guard. "What?"