Chapter 4 - THE NIGHT MY MOTHER CHANGED MY NAME
My legal name was Alina Valdez.
Except apparently it wasn’t always.
Marco found my original birth certificate before midnight.
The name printed across the top was:
LENA SOFIA BELLINI.
I stared at it.
“No.”
Date of birth matched.
Hospital matched.
Mother:
Sofia Bellini.
Father:
Unknown.
Six months later, an amended certificate had been filed.
ALINA SOFIA VALDEZ.
“What does Valdez mean?” Dante asked.
“My mother said it was my father’s surname.”
Marco shook his head.
“No record.”
I felt sick.
“Then who is my father?”
Nobody answered.
Dante looked at the original certificate.
“There’s a sealed court attachment.”
Marco nodded.
“Judge’s authorization.”
“Which judge?”
“Frederick Morelli.”
Dante swore softly.
I had no idea why.
“Who’s Morelli?”
“Family attorney.”
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“Why would your family lawyer change my name?”
“That’s what we need to know.”
Dante called the retired judge.
He was eighty-three.
Living outside Boston.
At first he refused to talk.
Then Dante said my original name.
Silence.
Long silence.
Finally:
“Bring the girl.”
I hated being called the girl.
We drove there anyway.
Judge Morelli looked at me for less than five seconds before sitting down heavily.
“You have Lucia’s eyes.”
Dante stiffened.
“She has gray-green eyes.”
“So did Lucia.”
I leaned forward.
“Who was my father?”
The judge looked at Dante.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Francesco made sure of that.”
My stomach dropped.
Morelli explained that twenty-three years earlier, Dante’s father controlled more than ports and construction.
He controlled people.
Lucia Rosselli discovered he was laundering money through children’s charities and secretly helping politicians hide illegal payments.
She wanted to expose him.
Sofia Bellini and Elena Marconi helped her collect documents.
Three girls against one powerful man.
Then Lucia disappeared.
“Died,” Dante corrected.
Morelli shook his head.
“No body.”
Of course.
There was never a body in this family.
“What happened?”
“Francesco found out.”
He turned toward me.
“Sofia was already pregnant.”
My heart pounded.
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Morelli’s eyes moved to Dante.
Dante looked confused.
Then horrified.
“No.”
The judge did not answer.
I stood.
“No what?”
Dante backed away.
His face had lost color.
The judge whispered:
“Lena’s father was a Rosselli.”
Everything inside me froze.
I looked at Dante.
He shook his head immediately.
“Not me. She’s too young.”
Obviously.
Then there were only so many possibilities.
Julian.
Francesco.
Someone else.
“Who?”
Morelli looked toward the dark window.
“Julian.”
My knees almost gave out.
Dante’s supposedly dead brother.
The man who had followed my mother eight months ago.
My father.
I stared at Dante.
Which meant the terrifying mafia boss whose baby kept reaching for me was not a stranger.
He was my uncle.
And Leo—
I looked down.
Leo was my cousin.
That explained nothing.
Babies did not remember cousins they had never met.
Then Judge Morelli added:
“That isn’t why Leo recognizes her.”
Dante turned.
“What?”
May you like
The old man’s face tightened.
“Because Elena Marconi was not Leo’s biological mother.”
