Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
“Who?”
Daisy’s question came out barely above a whisper.
Vincent looked toward the photograph.
“Your mother.”
Daisy stared at him.
“My mother died six years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then stop playing games.”
“I’m not.”
Matteo stepped between them.
“What was at my father’s house?”
Vincent exhaled.
“Margaret Gallagher worked there.”
Daisy felt as if the floor had shifted.
“My mother cleaned houses.”
“Yes.”
“She cleaned your father’s?”
“For five years.”
The same five years Carlo Romano had paid Daisy’s hospital bills.
Daisy looked at the photograph again.
Her mother wasn’t visible.
Then she noticed a reflection in the hospital nursery window.
A woman holding the camera.
Margaret.
Her mother.
Daisy had spent her childhood believing her parents had lived a small, ordinary life.
Every hour since meeting Matteo had peeled another piece from that story.
They drove to the Romano family’s old house in Chestnut Hill.
Matteo hadn’t been inside for years.
The mansion was mostly empty now, maintained by an elderly caretaker named Rosa who had worked for Carlo until his death.
Rosa opened the door.
Then saw Daisy.
The woman dropped her keys.
“Oh, my God.”
Daisy stopped.
“You know me?”
Rosa pressed a hand to her mouth.
“You have Margaret’s eyes.”
Matteo looked at Daisy.
Another answer.
Another lie exposed.
Rosa led them into Carlo’s old study.
Daisy showed her the photograph.
Rosa sat down.
“Thomas took that the day Carlo brought you here.”
“My parents brought a newborn baby to a Mafia boss’s house?”
Rosa gave Matteo an apologetic look.
“Your father hated that word.”
“He should’ve chosen another profession,” Matteo said.
Despite everything, Daisy almost smiled.
Rosa explained.
Thomas Gallagher had worked for Carlo as an accountant.
Margaret had worked in the house.
They had fallen in love there.
When Thomas discovered the illegal accounts, Carlo expected him to remain silent.
Instead Thomas threatened to leave.
Carlo surprised everyone.
He let him.
“But Vincent didn’t,” Daisy said.
Rosa shook her head.
“Vincent believed leaving made Thomas dangerous.”
Vincent, sitting under guard across the room, didn’t deny it.
Rosa continued.
“When you were born, Thomas asked Carlo for one promise. If the Romano family’s enemies ever came after him, Carlo would protect Margaret and the baby.”
Daisy looked at Matteo.
“That’s it?”
Rosa hesitated.
“No.”
Of course not.
“Thomas also asked Carlo to make certain the restitution fund survived.”
Matteo leaned forward.
“What fund?”
Rosa looked at Vincent.
“The one your uncle spent twenty-four years trying to find.”
Vincent said nothing.
Rosa walked to the fireplace.
She reached behind the wooden mantel and removed a small tin box.
Inside was a woman’s bracelet.
Cheap silver.
Tiny blue stones.
Daisy recognized it immediately.
“My mother wore that.”
“Until the day Thomas died.”
Rosa handed it to her.
A charm hung from the bracelet.
A miniature house.
Daisy turned it over.
Numbers were engraved underneath.
317.
Luca frowned.
“Another coordinate?”
Rosa shook her head.
“A safe-deposit box.”
Vincent laughed.
“Closed twenty years ago.”
Rosa looked at him.
“You always were impatient.”
She pressed the roof of the tiny house charm.
It opened.
Inside was a narrow key.
Vincent stopped smiling.
Matteo noticed.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
For the first time, they had something Vincent genuinely hadn’t known existed.
Rosa stood.
“Carlo moved the box after Thomas died.”
“Where?” Daisy asked.
“Here.”
She walked to the old upright piano.
Daisy expected a hidden compartment.
Instead Rosa lifted the bench cushion.
Beneath it sat an ordinary steel lockbox.
Daisy almost laughed.
Twenty-four years of violence and searching.
And it had been under a piano bench.
The bracelet key opened it.
Inside were dozens of payment receipts.
Names.
Amounts.
Families.
Matteo picked one up.
His face changed.
“Gallagher.”
Daisy took it.
Payments to Margaret Gallagher.
Not hospital bills.
Monthly payments.
Until Daisy turned five.
“What were these for?”
Rosa looked at Vincent.
“Protection.”
Daisy’s anger returned.
“From him?”
“Partly.”
Vincent looked offended.
“I never threatened Margaret.”
Rosa’s expression hardened.
“You threatened Thomas.”
“That was business.”
“That sentence is why Carlo stopped trusting you.”
Matteo began sorting through the papers.
“These aren’t the ledger.”
“No,” Rosa said. “They prove Carlo kept paying restitution.”
Daisy found another envelope.
Her name was written across it.
Inside was a note from her mother.
Her hands shook as she unfolded it.
Daisy, if you ever read this, your father’s past has found you.
She stopped.
Matteo stood beside her but didn’t read over her shoulder.
She appreciated that.
Daisy continued.
Thomas was not killed because he stole from the Romanos.
He was killed because he refused to tell them where he put the final page.
Her breath caught.
Vincent leaned forward.
“What?”
Even he hadn’t known.
Daisy read the next line.
I knew where it was.
She looked at Rosa.
Rosa whispered, “Keep reading.”
I moved it after Thomas died.
Carlo helped me.
The final page is not proof of who stole money.
It is proof of who ordered Thomas killed.
Daisy’s hands went cold.
Matteo turned toward Vincent.
Vincent’s face had changed.
Not guilt.
Confusion.
Real confusion.
Daisy saw it.
“You didn’t order it.”
Vincent stared at her.
“No.”
Twenty-four years of blame shifted again.
Daisy read the final sentence.
If Daisy ever needs the truth, tell her to look inside the one thing Thomas repaired every Sunday, even when it was never broken.
Daisy knew immediately.
She whispered one word.
“Leo’s watch.”
Matteo frowned.
“What watch?”
“My father’s.”
After Thomas died, Daisy had given it to Leo.
An old mechanical wristwatch.
He wore it until his accident.
Then Daisy remembered something.
The hospital had returned Leo’s clothes.
Wallet.
Shoes.
Belt.
But not the watch.
Her stomach dropped.
“Miller took it.”
Vincent’s eyes widened.
And Luca suddenly said:
“No.”
Everyone turned.
Luca looked sick.
“Miller didn’t take Thomas Gallagher’s watch.”
Daisy stepped toward him.
“Then who did?”
Luca reached slowly into his coat.
May you like
And placed the old watch on the table.
“I did.”
