Chapter 9 - The Other Alessia
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
The woman looked enough like me to create doubt.
Not identical.
But similar.
Dark hair.
Bellini cheekbones.
Carefully chosen clothing.
Even the pendant.
Carlo watched the room absorb her.
Then he looked at me.
“You see the problem.”
“No.”
I studied the woman.
“I see a woman wearing jewelry you probably gave her.”
Her expression flickered.
Good.
Carlo produced documents.
A birth certificate.
Private adoption records.
A sworn statement from a retired nurse.
Everything looked polished.
Prepared.
Expensive.
Grace leaned toward me.
“Don’t react.”
“I’m not.”
That was the benefit of having your entire identity destroyed once already.
The second attempt feels administrative.
Independent DNA collection was ordered for both of us.
Carlo objected only enough to perform dignity.
The woman called herself Mara.
While lawyers argued, she avoided my eyes.
At one point I followed her into the restroom.
She jumped when she saw me.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know.”
Her voice shook.
“Then why are you afraid?”
No answer.
“Who paid you?”
Her face hardened.
“I’m Alessia.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I don’t even need the DNA to know.”
“How?”
“Because if you spent twenty-seven years wondering why your life never made sense, you wouldn’t walk into this room looking rehearsed.”
Her eyes filled.
Then the restroom door opened.
Carlo’s attorney entered.
Victor Salvi.
“Mara.”
One word.
Warning.
She immediately left.
Interesting.
The DNA results arrived the following morning.
Mara had no Bellini relationship.
Mine reconfirmed the original findings.
Carlo called the lab compromised.
Grace called that predictable.
Then Elena did something none of us expected.
She came to New York.
Publicly.
For the first time in ten years.
When she entered the trust hearing, Carlo’s face lost color.
“Elena.”
She looked at him.
“You always were a poor liar.”
Then she walked toward me.
No hesitation.
No performance.
She lifted my left hand.
At the base of my thumb was a tiny crescent-shaped scar.
I had it since infancy.
Rosa told me I scratched myself on a bracelet.
Elena began crying.
“You cut yourself on Sofia’s hospital bracelet when your bassinets were pushed together.”
Silence.
Then she produced the original hospital photograph.
Two newborn girls.
One with a scratch at the base of her thumb.
Me.
Carlo’s attorneys stopped smiling.
But Mara was crying harder than anyone.
She stood.
“I’m sorry.”
Victor grabbed her arm.
She pulled free.
“He told me nobody would get hurt.”
Carlo’s face hardened.
Mara pointed at Victor.
“He hired me.”
Victor snapped:
“Stop.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“He trained me for three months. Names. Dates. Family history.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
At least she answered honestly.
Then she said something that shifted every eye toward Dominic.
“But Victor told me Carlo didn’t kill Sofia.”
Dominic stood.
“What did he say?”
Mara looked terrified.
“He said the person responsible was closer to Leo.”
The room changed.
“How close?” I asked.
May you like
She swallowed.
“Inside the Rinaldi house.”
