Chapter 6 - THE DAUGHTER NO ONE WAS ALLOWED TO CLAIM
Mrs. Russo dropped the photograph she had been holding.
Vincent bent forward, pressing both hands against his face.
I looked between them.
“Who took the little girl?”
Nobody answered.
The speakerphone remained on the table.
I could hear Alessandro breathing.
Then he said, “Vincent. Tell me what happened.”
Vincent slowly lifted his head.
“For years, I told myself I was protecting everyone.”
“Protecting whom?” Alessandro demanded.
“Lucia. Her child. You.”
“You let me bury my sister.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Was she alive?”
A long silence followed.
Then Vincent answered.
“After the warehouse fire, no.”
Alessandro's voice hardened.
“What?”
“She survived the explosion for several hours. She was taken to Saint Agnes. The photograph you found wasn't taken seven years after her funeral.”
“But the date—”
“It's the date someone copied the picture.”
Alessandro said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“She was pregnant when she died.”
Mrs. Russo made a small sound.
I stared at her.
Pregnant.
I knew what that meant.
A baby had been inside Lucia's tummy.
“Did the baby die?” I asked.
Vincent looked at me.
“No, sweetheart.”
My heart started beating faster.
“What happened?”
He looked at Mrs. Russo.
“Dominic arranged for the child to be taken away.”
Alessandro's voice came sharply through the phone.
“Whose child?”
Vincent swallowed.
“Lucia's.”
“I heard that.”
“Matteo was the father.”
There was a long silence.
Then Alessandro whispered, “Matteo and Lucia had a daughter?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Vincent stared at the carpet.
“She was raised by someone else.”
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“I didn't know where Dominic sent her. Not for years.”
Alessandro's voice became dangerously quiet.
“But you know now.”
Vincent looked at me.
I felt my stomach twist.
He didn't have to say anything.
I already knew.
“Mama?” I whispered.
Mrs. Russo pulled me into her arms.
Vincent nodded.
“Alina.”
The room spun.
Mama had told me Grandpa Matteo was her father.
But Grandma Elena's photograph showed Mama as a baby before Lucia had died.
Nothing made sense.
I pushed away from Mrs. Russo.
“No.”
Vincent looked miserable.
“Sophia—”
“That's not right.”
He lowered his eyes.
“My mother was Elena,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Then how can Lucia be Mama's mother?”
Vincent looked toward the speakerphone.
Alessandro spoke first.
“Because someone is lying.”
Vincent's face drained.
Alessandro continued.
“The girl in that photograph cannot be Alina. Alina was already a child when Lucia died.”
Nobody spoke.
“Vincent, you've just told us a story that doesn't fit the facts.”
Vincent looked toward the door.
One of the guards stepped closer.
His shoulders sagged.
“All right.”
He took off his glasses.
“Lucia's daughter wasn't Alina.”
Mrs. Russo stared at him.
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because Dominic told me to.”
Alessandro's voice turned cold.
“Dominic isn't here.”
Vincent swallowed.
“I know.”
“Then stop speaking for him.”
Vincent sat back.
“Lucia's daughter was named Isabella.”
The name settled over the room.
I had never heard it before.
“Where is Isabella?” Alessandro asked.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I don't know where she is now.”
Alessandro said, “Tell me what you do know.”
Vincent looked at the old photograph in Mrs. Russo's hand.
“Dominic took the newborn from Saint Agnes. He told Lucia the baby had died.”
Mrs. Russo began crying.
“Lucia lived long enough to write that note,” Vincent continued. “She discovered the truth just before she died.”
“And Matteo?” Alessandro asked.
“He knew the baby was alive.”
“Did he try to find her?”
“For twenty years.”
Alessandro went silent.
“That's why he disappeared,” Vincent whispered. “He wasn't running from you. He was searching for his daughter.”
I hugged the wooden bird against my chest.
“Did Grandpa find her?”
Vincent looked at me.
His eyes filled.
“No, Sophia.”
Something about his answer felt wrong.
“Then why did Mama have his bird?”
“Because Matteo left it with her.”
“When?”
“Before he disappeared for good.”
I thought about Mama's drawer.
About the photograph of Grandpa.
About the letters tied with a blue ribbon.
And about the way she sometimes cried when she thought I was asleep.
“Grandpa wrote Mama letters,” I said.
Vincent looked up.
“What letters?”
“She keeps them in a cookie tin.”
Mrs. Russo glanced at him.
“Alina never mentioned letters.”
I nodded.
“She says they are family things.”
Alessandro spoke through the phone.
“Sophia, can you remember anything written on them?”
I thought hard.
One letter had been read aloud to me on my sixth birthday.
Mama had cried halfway through.
I remembered the first sentence.
“Dear little star,” I whispered.
Vincent made a sound.
Almost a gasp.
Alessandro asked, “What else?”
I closed my eyes.
Mama's voice came back to me.
Dear little star, one day you will understand that the people who love you are not always the people allowed to stand beside you.
I repeated it slowly.
Vincent looked as though someone had reached into his chest.
Alessandro's voice returned.
“That was Matteo's nickname for Lucia.”
Mrs. Russo nodded.
“He called her his little star.”
I felt strange.
“Mama said Grandpa wrote it for me.”
Alessandro was silent.
Then he said, “Perhaps he wanted you to hear it.”
Carlo interrupted.
“Don, there's another envelope beneath the kneeler.”
Paper rustled.
Alessandro opened it.
Inside was a small brass watch.
Its glass was cracked.
The hands had stopped at 11:17.
Alessandro recognized it immediately.
“My father's watch.”
Vincent stood.
“No.”
Alessandro said, “Vincent, why would Lucia hide my father's watch?”
Vincent's hands began shaking.
“Put it down.”
“Why?”
“Because Dominic will know you've found it.”
Alessandro's voice sharpened.
“What is inside?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Alessandro, please.”
There was a click.
Carlo had opened the back of the watch.
A tiny folded strip of paper slipped out.
Alessandro unfolded it.
His voice became almost inaudible.
“Two names.”
Vincent shut his eyes.
Alessandro read the first.
“Dominic Moretti.”
Then the second.
He stopped.
I could hear the rain outside.
Finally, he whispered:
“Vincent Vale.”
Vincent lowered his head.
Alessandro spoke again.
“There's one more sentence.”
The silence seemed endless.
May you like
Then he read it aloud.
“The man who helped sell Lucia's daughter is the man who still calls Alessandro his brother.”
