Chapter 2 - THE DAUGHTER OF MARIA DELUCA
I had grown up believing my mother was the least mysterious person alive.
Maria Brooks loved crossword puzzles, burned garlic bread with impressive consistency, and kept every birthday card anyone had ever given her inside a blue cookie tin above the refrigerator.
She worked in a public library.
She drove a twelve-year-old Honda.
She cried at dog food commercials.
When she died from pancreatic cancer at forty-seven, she left behind exactly fourteen hundred dollars, two wedding rings, and enough handwritten recipes to feed a church basement for twenty years.
Nothing about Maria Brooks suggested mafia secrets.
Serafina Moretti disagreed.
We moved downstairs to Adrian’s private study while security locked down the estate.
I wore borrowed black pants and one of Adrian’s sweaters because my dress was still damp.
Serafina sat near the fireplace.
Adrian remained standing.
“Start talking,” I said.
No one corrected tone.
Good.
Serafina folded both hands over cane.
“Your mother was born Maria DeLuca in Providence.”
“I know that.”
“Her father was Antonio DeLuca.”
“My grandfather was a dockworker.”
“He owned docks.”
I stared.
“Not the same thing.”
“No.”
Serafina continued.
Antonio DeLuca had controlled waterfront operations across Rhode Island and Massachusetts during the 1970s and 1980s.
Not legally.
He was part of an organization connected to the Morettis, Riccis, and several smaller families.
My mother never told us.
“Why?”
“Because she escaped.”
That word.
Escaped.
“When?”
“Twenty-four.”
“She met my father at twenty-three.”
“She met him while trying to disappear.”
My stomach turned.
Adrian asked:
“Why was she running?”
Serafina looked toward him.
“Because of her sister.”
I leaned forward.
“The sister you said was supposed to be dead.”
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
“Lucia.”
I laughed once.
Not because funny.
“My mother never had sister.”
“She did.”
Serafina’s eyes softened.
“They were twins.”
Everything inside me went cold.
My mother had an identical twin sister and never told us.
“What happened to Lucia?”
“She married into Ricci family.”
Adrian swore quietly.
I looked at him.
“Why is that bad?”
“Because the Riccis currently trying to weaken me are led by Matteo Ricci.”
Serafina continued.
“Lucia was Matteo’s mother.”
I stared.
“Then he’s my cousin.”
“Yes.”
Wonderful.
My anonymous ordinary family tree had just become organized-crime diagram.
“Where is Lucia?”
Serafina looked away.
“She died in a warehouse fire twenty years ago.”
“Supposedly?”
“Yes.”
I caught word.
“What do you mean supposedly?”
“No body was conclusively identified.”
Adrian moved closer to desk.
“Grandmother, you told me Ricci blamed DeLuca defectors.”
“They did.”
Serafina nodded.
“After Lucia’s death, Antonio DeLuca disappeared. Maria already had.”
“And Matteo?”
“He was fourteen.”
Raised by father and Ricci family.
He grew up believing Maria abandoned Lucia before fire.
“And now he knows I’m Maria’s daughter.”
“Apparently.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“So he wants revenge against me for something my mother did before I was born?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s insane.”
Adrian said:
“Family vendettas usually are.”
I glared.
“Useful.”
My phone buzzed.
Marco.
Noah safe.
Security had reached him before anyone else.
He was furious.
Naturally.
I took call.
“Elena, why are men in black suits outside my apartment?”
“Long story.”
“One of them called me ma’am.”
I closed eyes.
“Different problem.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sleep at mafia boss house?”
“How do you know?”
“Someone emailed me a photo of you getting into his car last week.”
I froze.
“What?”
Adrian turned sharply.
“What photo?”
Noah continued.
“You didn't tell me you knew Adrian Moretti.”
“I didn't.”
“Elena, you were photographed with him outside Seaport hotel.”
I had worked an event there.
I remembered Adrian arriving for fundraiser two weeks earlier.
We exchanged perhaps six words.
“Send it.”
Noah did.
The photograph showed me holding clipboard near Adrian.
He wasn't even looking at me.
Timestamp two weeks ago.
Someone had been tracking me before Belladonna event.
This had not begun with bedroom.
“Who emailed?”
“Unknown Proton account.”
“What did message say?”
Noah hesitated.
“Noah.”
ASK YOUR SISTER WHY MARIA RAN.
I sat.
Adrian took phone.
“Keep your door locked. My team stays.”
Noah:
“Is that Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the mafia boss?”
Adrian glanced at me.
“I prefer businessman.”
Noah:
“That sounds exactly like mafia boss.”
Despite everything I laughed.
Then call ended.
Adrian laid phone down.
“Your placement at Belladonna.”
“What?”
“Who assigned you?”
“My manager.”
“Name?”
“Celeste Ward.”
Marco was already searching.
Celeste owned boutique event company where I'd worked four years.
Brutal boss.
Excellent reputation.
No criminal connections I knew.
Adrian asked:
“Did you normally handle Moretti events?”
“No.”
“Why this one?”
“Senior planner called in sick.”
“Name?”
“Danielle Moss.”
Marco searched.
Danielle had not been sick.
She had been paid $18,000 two days earlier from shell company, then left Boston.
I stared at Adrian.
“Someone wanted me here.”
“Yes.”
“And in your west wing?”
My memory returned.
Celeste had personally told me replacement linens were stored upstairs.
“She sent me.”
Marco checked Celeste’s calls.
One number tied to Ricci-connected restaurant.
Adrian’s face hardened.
“You were planted.”
“I wasn't working for them.”
“No.”
“Then why put me in your room?”
Serafina answered.
“To trigger exactly what happened.”
“Fake engagement?”
“Perhaps.”
I looked at Adrian.
“Did Ricci expect you to protect me by claiming relationship?”
“If they know me well.”
“Why would that help them?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Because under our family rules, announcing an engagement gives my fiancée certain inheritance protections.”
I stared.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s old trust structure.”
“What protections?”
“If I die while formally engaged and marriage contract filed, she receives temporary voting interest pending succession.”
“I’m not formally anything.”
“Public declaration may be enough to create dispute.”
Serafina whispered:
“Matteo may be trying to make Elena appear part of Moretti succession.”
Why?
Then Marco entered.
“We found Celeste Ward.”
“Where?”
“Airport parking garage.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“On way.”
Good.
“She was trying to leave.”
“What did she have?”
“Cash. Passport. And photograph.”
He handed phone.
An old photograph.
Two identical women in their twenties.
One was unmistakably my mother.
The other wore dark dress and held baby.
On back:
MARIA & LUCIA - 1991
Below that, another line.
ONE DAUGHTER BELONGS TO EACH HOUSE.
I felt sick.
“What does that mean?”
Serafina whispered:
“There was an agreement.”
“What agreement?”
She did not answer immediately.
Adrian looked at grandmother.
“Tell her.”
Serafina’s face hardened with shame.
“When Maria and Lucia were born, DeLuca family had no sons. Antonio made alliance with Ricci and Moretti families.”
“Through children?”
“Yes.”
“Women were assigned like property?”
“In that generation, often.”
I looked away.
Serafina continued.
“Lucia married Ricci. Maria was intended to marry Adrian’s uncle.”
I turned to Adrian.
“Your uncle?”
“Giovanni.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
Of course.
Serafina:
“Maria refused. She ran and married your father.”
“So my mother broke alliance.”
“Yes.”
“And now someone wants to finish it with me?”
“No.”
Adrian’s voice came immediately.
I looked at him.
He continued.
“Whatever our grandparents promised is irrelevant.”
Serafina nodded.
“Agreed.”
Progress.
Then she added:
“But Matteo may not agree.”
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
A video.
I pressed play.
A woman sat inside dim room.
Older.
Silver hair.
Thin face.
My mother’s face.
Almost exactly.
She looked directly at camera.
“Elena.”
I stopped breathing.
“If you're seeing this, Matteo found you.”
The woman swallowed.
“My name is Lucia Ricci.”
Alive.
My mother’s twin sister was alive.
And she continued:
“Do not marry Adrian Moretti.”
May you like
Then:
“Because Adrian’s father is the man who tried to kill your mother.”
