Chapter 6 - THE LITTLE GIRL THEY TRIED TO ERASE
“Was my mother protecting me from your family?”
Nora's voice shook despite her effort to keep it steady.
Dante set the document down.
“I don't know yet.”
“You know enough.”
“I know somebody threatened to take a girl. I don't know who wrote it.”
Nora looked again.
The handwriting wasn't Beatrice's.
It was precise, angular, almost elegant.
She remembered seeing similar lettering.
On the back of the farmhouse photograph.
But Pietro's handwriting had changed with age.
She couldn't be certain.
“I want to see your father,” she said.
Dante nodded.
“Then we'll go.”
“No bodyguards in the room.”
He hesitated.
“Agreed.”
“And no more deciding what I should know.”
“Nora—”
“All of it. Even if it's ugly.”
Dante looked toward the window.
“My family's history is uglier than you probably imagine.”
She met his eyes.
“Then perhaps it's time somebody stopped decorating it.”
Salvatore was sitting upright when they entered his hospital room.
He looked older than he had the previous evening.
A tray of untouched food rested beside him.
Nora placed the authorization in his lap.
“Tell me who Beatrice Rossi was.”
Salvatore read the name.
His expression broke.
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“She was a brave young woman.”
Nora felt anger rise.
“People keep telling me my family was brave. Nobody tells me what they were brave about.”
Salvatore opened his eyes.
“You deserve answers.”
“Then start with this.”
She pointed to the sentence beneath Beatrice's signature.
“Who wanted to take the girl?”
Salvatore looked at Dante.
“Leave us.”
“No,” Nora said.
Both men turned.
“He stays.”
Dante remained by the window.
Salvatore gave a weary nod.
“Your grandfather brought three children out of Sicily after the fire.”
Nora stopped breathing.
“Three?”
“Enzo. A little boy named Matteo. And a girl.”
“The girl in the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to them?”
“Enzo came to America with his mother.”
“But you said his mother died.”
“Lucia did die. Later than we told everyone.”
Nora gripped the chair.
“And Matteo?”
Salvatore looked away.
“We lost him.”
“What does that mean?”
“We couldn't find him after the journey.”
Nora stared.
“A child disappeared?”
Salvatore nodded.
Dante stepped forward.
“You raised Enzo without telling me he had a brother?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of the person who wanted Matteo gone.”
Silence filled the room.
Nora looked down at the rosary.
“And the girl?”
Salvatore's eyes moved toward her.
“Her name was Beatrice.”
Nora's throat tightened.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
“That doesn't make sense. My mother was Pietro's daughter.”
“He raised her as his own.”
Nora sat down slowly.
Every childhood memory suddenly felt different.
Her grandfather carrying groceries in the rain.
Teaching her Sicilian at the kitchen table.
Sitting beside her bed when she was sick.
He had never been required to do any of it.
He had chosen her.
And before her, he had chosen her mother.
Nora pressed a hand against her mouth.
“Was Pietro her father?”
Salvatore's voice softened.
“Not by birth.”
“Then who was?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Dante moved closer.
“Papa.”
Salvatore looked at his son.
“Vittorio.”
Dante stared.
“Uncle Vittorio had three children?”
“Yes.”
“Enzo, Matteo, and Beatrice?”
Salvatore nodded.
Nora's fingers tightened around the rosary.
“Then Enzo Gallo is my mother's brother.”
“And your uncle,” Dante said quietly.
Nora closed her eyes.
The man who had recognized her rosary.
The man who had arranged her grandfather's name to be spoken at Salvatore's table.
The man who controlled the company that had threatened her mother.
Her own uncle.
By afternoon, the consequences had begun.
Nora received a notice from her landlord.
Her lease would not be renewed.
The building had been sold.
The new owner intended to renovate.
Thirty days.
Nora stood in the hallway, staring at the letter.
For seven years, that apartment had been home.
She had cooked Pietro's favorite soup there.
Held his hand during his final winter.
Sat on the kitchen floor after his funeral because she couldn't bear the silence.
Now someone wanted her gone.
Dante examined the notice.
“Bellwether Holdings,” he said.
Nora laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
“Enzo's company.”
“He owns my building?”
“Through a subsidiary.”
“And you still think we need more evidence?”
Dante folded the letter carefully.
“I think we need evidence that will stand when men like Enzo hire the best lawyers in the country.”
Nora looked at him.
“Will you help me keep my home?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I'll have the sale reviewed.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“I don't want you secretly buying the building and telling me everything is fixed.”
Dante looked almost offended.
“I hadn't said that.”
“You were thinking it.”
After a moment, he admitted, “I considered it.”
Nora shook her head.
“My grandfather spent his life teaching me not to depend on men who could take everything back.”
Dante nodded slowly.
“Then we find another way.”
That evening, Carla came to Nora's apartment carrying a grocery bag.
Inside were bread, pasta, and a small jar of olives.
“My grandmother sends food when somebody's in trouble,” she said.
Nora almost cried.
Carla placed something else on the table.
A small paper envelope.
“I found this behind the register.”
Inside was a photograph of Paul with a young man.
The young man wore a leather bracelet.
And he looked remarkably like Dante.
Nora held it closer.
“Who is that?”
Carla shook her head.
“Paul called him Mr. Bell.”
“When was this taken?”
“Last month.”
Nora stared.
The man couldn't be Enzo.
He was too young.
Perhaps thirty-five.
Carla turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
And a name written beneath it.
Matteo Bellini.
Nora's heart began pounding.
Salvatore had said Matteo disappeared as a child.
Yet here was a grown man photographed less than a month ago.
“Where did Paul meet him?”
“At the restaurant.”
“Why?”
Carla hesitated.
“Paul said he was evaluating the building for a new investor.”
Nora looked again at the photograph.
Matteo stood beside a display of wine bottles.
Above his shoulder hung a framed certificate.
It bore the La Cattedrale insignia.
She recognized it immediately.
She had polished that frame every Friday for seven months.
Matteo had been inside the restaurant.
Not as a stranger.
As someone with business there.
Nora reached for her phone.
But Carla caught her wrist.
“There's something you should know first.”
“What?”
“Paul didn't arrange your table assignment because Enzo told him to.”
Nora stared.
“Then who?”
Carla swallowed.
“Matteo did.”
She pointed to the back of the photograph.
May you like
Beneath his name was a handwritten instruction.
Put Nora Rossi in front of Salvatore. She must hear the truth before Enzo finds her.
