Chapter 8 - THE MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER
Giovanni stared at Marco.
“No.”
“I saw the letter before he gave it to Teresa.”
“What letter?”
Marco sat heavily.
“The threat that convinced her Sophia had to disappear.”
My fingers closed around Teresa's rosary.
“The Bellinis didn't threaten me?”
“Not then.”
Giovanni's face changed.
“Salvatore forged it.”
“Yes.”
Everything we had believed rearranged itself again.
“Why?” I whispered.
Marco looked ashamed.
“Because Giovanni was trying to leave.”
I turned to him.
“Leave what?”
“The family business,” Giovanni said quietly.
I stared.
“When?”
“Before I told you about Isabella.”
My anger surged.
“You never told me that.”
“I couldn't.”
“Of course.”
“Sophia—”
“No. Everyone keeps explaining what they couldn't tell me.”
He accepted it.
Marco continued.
“Giovanni had begun selling pieces of the old operation. Warehouses. Clubs. Routes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Salvatore opposed him.”
“Completely.”
Giovanni looked toward the window.
“I wanted restaurants. Property. Construction. Businesses no one had to whisper about.”
“And me?”
His eyes met mine.
“You were why I finally believed I could do it.”
That hurt worse than I expected.
Marco tapped the photograph.
“Salvatore believed Sophia made Giovanni weak.”
“I made him want a normal life.”
“To Salvatore, that was weakness.”
Marco rubbed his face.
“He needed the Bellini alliance. Their port connections protected operations Giovanni planned to close.”
“So he invented a threat against me.”
“Yes.”
“And Teresa believed it.”
“Yes.”
“Then Salvatore followed me to make sure the lie worked.”
Marco nodded.
Giovanni's voice went low.
“And the divorce?”
Marco hesitated.
“I cannot prove it.”
“But?”
“Salvatore had access to Giovanni's legal office.”
My heart dropped.
“He said he didn't forge it.”
“He may not have signed it himself.”
Of course.
Technical truth.
The favorite refuge of powerful men.
I sat down.
Five years.
My entire adult life had changed because an older man had decided love was an obstacle to business.
Giovanni said, “Why didn't my mother tell me before she died?”
Marco looked at the rosary.
“Because she learned the threat was false only three weeks before her stroke.”
Giovanni went still.
“She confronted Salvatore.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She ordered him out of the family companies.”
I remembered the newspapers describing a private disagreement before Teresa's death.
Nobody explained it.
“Did Salvatore know she figured it out?”
“Yes.”
“Did he hurt her?”
Marco's eyes widened.
“No.”
Immediate.
Certain.
“Teresa had high blood pressure for years. Her stroke was natural.”
Relief moved through me.
No new horror.
Just enough old ones.
“She asked me to find Sophia,” Marco continued.
Giovanni stared.
“You found her.”
“Eventually.”
“And still didn't tell me.”
“Because she made me promise something first.”
“What?”
Marco looked at me.
“That I would not bring Sophia back.”
My anger sharpened.
“There it is again.”
“She said if you found Sophia while the old operations still existed, Salvatore would always have leverage.”
Giovanni's mouth tightened.
“She was right about that.”
“She told me to watch Sophia. Quietly. Help if necessary. Never interfere unless she was in danger.”
“So my job?”
Marco looked miserable.
“When you moved back to New York eighteen months ago, I recognized your application.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course you did.”
“I hired you because I knew I could keep an eye on you.”
“You let me think I earned it.”
“You did earn it.”
“You arranged it.”
“I arranged the interview. You kept the job.”
I hated that distinction.
I also knew Marco.
He had never treated me like charity.
That did not erase the lie.
But nothing seemed simple anymore.
Giovanni paced toward the window.
“What old operations remain?”
Marco looked uncomfortable.
“Salvatore still has control through two transport companies.”
Giovanni stopped.
“I sold those.”
“On paper.”
I could almost see the moment something inside Giovanni broke.
Not violently.
Cleanly.
A final thread snapping.
“He used my name.”
“Yes.”
Giovanni nodded.
“Then tomorrow I shut them down.”
Marco blinked.
“You'll lose millions.”
“I've lost enough.”
I looked at him.
He wasn't performing.
There were no cameras.
No family.
No reason to impress me.
For the first time, I began to believe that Giovanni Reachi might actually choose differently now.
Not say differently.
Choose differently.
The office door opened.
We all turned.
Lucia stood there holding Pancake by one ear.
Behind her, Mrs. Patel looked horrified.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “She slipped away when I was speaking with Celeste.”
Lucia looked at me.
“You said grown-up things were almost done.”
I crouched.
“They are.”
She glanced toward Giovanni.
Then Marco.
Then the rosary in my hand.
“Why are you sad?”
“I learned some things.”
“Bad things?”
“Some.”
She considered that.
Then she walked over and hugged me.
Children are generous that way.
They don't need explanations before comfort.
Giovanni watched us.
Lucia pulled away.
She looked at him.
There was no fear in her face.
Only curiosity.
She walked closer.
Giovanni did not move.
“You knew my name.”
“Yes.”
“You look like me.”
His throat moved.
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
Then back at him.
“Emilia said you adopted her.”
“Yes.”
“What is adopted?”
Giovanni glanced at me.
I nodded once.
“It means I became her daddy because she needed one and I loved her.”
Lucia thought about that.
Then she asked the question I had been postponing since the day I saw two pink lines.
“Do I have a daddy?”
My chest tightened.
I stood beside her.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
There was no going back.
Not after photographs.
Not after lies.
Not after five years of other people choosing for us.
I would not become them.
I knelt beside Lucia.
“Right here.”
She frowned.
I touched her small shoulder.
Then I looked at Giovanni.
His eyes filled.
Lucia followed my gaze.
The room seemed to disappear around us.
She looked at his face for a long time.
May you like
Then, in the quietest little voice, she asked:
“Are you my daddy?”
