Chapter 7 - THE DAUGHTER OF THE WRONG WOMAN
I read the sentence again.
Then again.
Victor said nothing.
That was wise.
The letter continued.
I did.
My aunt Hannah.
The woman I had never known existed.
The woman married to Carlo DeLuca.
My biological mother.
My knees weakened.
I sat on the basement floor.
Victor crouched several feet away.
Not touching.
Waiting.
I appreciated that more than I could explain.
The letter was twenty-seven years old.
Hannah DeLuca wrote that she and Carlo had discovered a growing conspiracy inside the Romano organization.
Someone was using Romano shipping routes without Victor’s father’s approval.
Weapons.
Drugs.
Blackmail.
Money laundering.
Carlo pretended to participate so he could identify the people involved.
Hannah became pregnant during the investigation.
With me.
When threats began, Rebecca agreed to raise the baby under her own name.
That baby was me.
I pressed one hand over my mouth.
“My entire life…”
Victor’s voice was quiet.
“Rebecca protected you.”
“I know.”
That somehow hurt worse.
The letter continued.
Carlo and Hannah planned to disappear once the conspiracy was exposed.
But they never did.
One paragraph had been underlined.
If Victor Romano is reading this with you, then Salvatore failed.
Victor froze.
“Salvatore?”
“My father was Antonio.”
“Salvatore Romano was my uncle.”
Victor stared at the paper.
Salvatore had died five years before the bombing.
At least officially.
I continued reading.
Salvatore controls the hidden network. Antonio discovered it too late. Carlo agreed to expose him, but Salvatore learned about Hannah and the child.
My skin prickled.
The bombing had roots going back decades.
Victor pulled another file.
Salvatore Romano’s death certificate listed cardiac arrest.
Closed casket.
No autopsy.
We looked at each other.
“Another fake death,” I whispered.
Victor called Marco.
Within minutes, they were searching.
Salvatore had supposedly died in a private clinic in Switzerland.
The clinic burned down two months later.
Convenient.
Too convenient.
I finished the letter.
The final lines were recent.
Different ink.
Added later.
If you are reading this, I may still be alive. Carlo too. Do not search for us until Mia speaks. Mia is the only person who knows where Salvatore took us.
I stared.
“Mia?”
Victor looked toward the stairs.
The little girl had not become silent simply because she was traumatized.
She had been carrying a secret.
A location.
Something dangerous enough that two adults had trusted an eight-year-old child to hide it.
We hurried upstairs.
Mia sat in the library.
I knelt.
“Mia, sweetheart.”
She looked at me.
“Do you know where Hannah and Carlo are?”
Her face went pale.
Victor crouched beside me.
“You don’t have to speak.”
Mia’s hands shook.
Then she pointed toward the bookshelf.
I pulled out the book she indicated.
An old atlas.
Inside, one page had been folded.
Upstate New York.
Mia touched a small blue mark near Lake George.
Victor leaned closer.
“There’s nothing there.”
Marco checked his tablet.
Then his face changed.
“There is.”
“What?”
“A private estate.”
“Owned by who?”
Marco swallowed.
“A company that belongs to Salvatore Romano.”
Victor stood.
“My uncle is alive.”
Mia grabbed my hand.
Then she whispered her second word in two years.
“Bad.”
I hugged her.
Victor looked toward the map.
May you like
And Mia added one more word.
“Waiting.”
