Chapter 6 - THE COUSIN AT MY TABLE
Paolo had eaten at my table the night before Isabella vanished.
That was the part I could not stop thinking about.
He had watched us argue.
Watched Isabella stand up to him.
Watched me punish her for embarrassing me.
Then he watched her leave.
I gave him the opportunity.
The knowledge burned worse than rage.
Marco traced the video through several relay points but found one useful detail.
A bridge reflection.
Northbound.
Paolo was moving Isabella away from Boston.
“Why send the video?” I asked.
“He wants you following.”
“Then we follow.”
“Not blindly.”
I looked at Marco.
A day earlier, I would have heard caution as weakness.
Now Isabella’s voice lived inside my head.
Think.
So I did.
“What does Paolo need?”
“The ledger.”
“Everyone needs the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marco looked toward Lucia’s letters.
“Because the past is becoming useful again.”
Paolo’s construction companies were bidding on massive public contracts.
If documents surfaced connecting Salvatore and Vittorio to murders, bribery, and political payoffs, Paolo’s legitimate empire could collapse.
But there was more.
My organization had been slowly moving toward legitimate business.
Paolo had pushed hardest against it.
He called me soft.
Said my marriage had made me hesitant.
At dinner, he had demanded we retaliate against a rival family after a warehouse dispute.
Isabella opposed him.
Maybe that argument had not started the plan.
Maybe it told Paolo the perfect night to act.
Then Serena called.
“You need to meet me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere public.”
She gave an address.
A church basement running a food pantry.
I almost laughed at the choice.
No armed security.
No private room.
Nothing I controlled.
Exactly why she chose it.
Serena Vale was forty-three.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
She looked nothing like the voice I imagined.
She also looked familiar.
Then I realized why.
The girl in Gabriel’s family photograph.
She stared at me.
“You look like Vittorio.”
“I hear that often.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know.”
Marco stayed outside.
Serena placed a folder on the table.
Inside were photographs Isabella had sent her.
Old account books.
Property records.
A death certificate.
Lucia Rossi.
I stared.
Cause of death:
Gunshot wound.
Date:
Six years after she supposedly died in Sicily.
Location:
New Jersey.
My hands went cold.
“My mother survived six years.”
“Yes.”
“Who killed her?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where is Mia?”
Serena looked at me.
“Alive.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“You know her?”
“I raised her.”
I stared.
Serena continued.
“My aunt took Mia after Gabriel died. When our aunt became sick, I became her guardian.”
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“She’s my sister.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
Pain moved through me.
“Why?”
“Because every Rossi name she ever heard came with a funeral.”
Fair.
Then Serena pushed another photograph toward me.
A woman in her late twenties.
Black hair.
My mother’s eyes.
Mia.
My sister.
I could barely breathe.
Then Serena said:
“Isabella met her.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Because Mia had something your mother left.”
My pulse quickened.
“The ledger?”
Serena shook her head.
“A key.”
“To what?”
“Isabella figured that out yesterday.”
“Where?”
Serena looked at me.
“A train station locker in New York.”
May you like
Then she added:
“And Paolo knows.”
