Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
I did not sleep.
At 2:13 in the morning, I carried the photograph downstairs.
Austo was alone in the library.
His jacket was gone.
His sleeves were rolled to his forearms.
A glass of water sat untouched beside him.
Not whiskey.
That detail bothered me more than it should have.
Men in my world drank when they wanted courage.
Austo seemed not to need it.
He looked at the photograph in my hand.
Then at me.
“You found Sofia.”
“Who is she?”
He did not answer immediately.
I set the frame on his desk.
“She has my eyes.”
“Yes.”
“She’s Bellucci.”
“Yes.”
“What was she to you?”
His jaw tightened.
“My sister.”
That answer stopped me.
“Your sister?”
“My half sister.”
I stared at him.
“A Castillion and a Bellucci?”
“Our father had a life before my mother.”
The room seemed to narrow.
Austo continued.
“Sofia was born a Bellucci. She married into my father’s family years later.”
I sat down.
“Why have I never heard of her?”
“Because your father made sure you wouldn’t.”
Something cold moved through me.
“My father?”
Austo leaned back.
“Your family did not always control the territory they have now.”
I almost laughed.
“My family talks as if they built Philadelphia.”
“Your family talks.”
That was the closest thing to contempt I had heard in his voice.
“Sofia discovered your father was diverting money from several shared businesses. She intended to expose him.”
“What happened?”
“She disappeared.”
I stared at him.
“Disappeared?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
The exact number Mrs. Vale had used.
I thought of my father’s fear when Austo visited.
I thought of the crossed-sword crest.
I thought of every locked door in my childhood.
“Did my father kill her?”
Austo’s eyes sharpened.
“I don’t make accusations without proof.”
That answer frightened me more than if he had simply said yes.
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because you climbed into my car wearing a wedding dress your father chose for a marriage you clearly did not want.”
I swallowed.
“You think Olindo is connected to this?”
“I think your wedding was never only a wedding.”
My heartbeat changed.
Austo opened a drawer.
Inside was an old envelope.
He slid it toward me.
My father’s handwriting was on the front.
I knew every hard, slanted letter.
For Austo Castillion.
I opened it.
The paper inside was dated three months before my birth.
Only one sentence had been written.
IF THE GIRL EVER LEARNS WHO HER MOTHER REALLY WAS, EVERYTHING FALLS APART.
I looked up.
“My mother?”
Austo’s expression did not move.
But he did not need to say anything.
May you like
Because suddenly I understood the photograph upstairs might not have shown a distant relative.
It might have shown the woman whose blood I had spent my entire life being taught to forget.
