Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Called Herself Mother
Sofia couldn’t breathe.
Riccardo slammed Antonio against the wall.
Glasses rattled across the nearby table.
“Say that again.”
Antonio stared back at him.
“You heard me.”
Sofia stepped forward.
“My mother didn’t start any fire.”
Antonio laughed once.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Elena Rossi wasn’t your mother.”
The room tilted.
Sofia grabbed the back of a chair.
“Stop.”
Antonio’s eyes softened for half a second.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Sofia—”
“My mother raised me for twenty-six years.”
“She raised you.”
Antonio nodded.
“That part is true.”
Sofia’s voice trembled.
“But she wasn’t your mother.”
Riccardo shoved Antonio harder.
“How do you know Elena Rossi?”
Antonio closed his eyes.
“I was there.”
“Where?”
“At St. Vincent.”
Marco glanced at Riccardo.
“You told us you were working at your father’s restaurant back then.”
Antonio said nothing.
Riccardo’s face became unreadable.
“You lied to me for twenty-three years.”
Antonio looked away.
Sofia suddenly pulled out her phone.
“I’m calling my mother.”
Antonio’s head snapped toward her.
“Don’t.”
That frightened her more than anything else.
“Why?”
“Because if Elena knows Riccardo has seen you, she’ll disappear.”
Sofia stared at him.
“You’re insane.”
She dialed anyway.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
No answer.
She called again.
Straight to voicemail.
Her stomach tightened.
“My mother always answers.”
Antonio whispered, “Not tonight.”
Riccardo turned to Marco.
“Send two men to the Rossi apartment.”
Sofia spun toward him.
“No.”
Riccardo didn’t blink.
“I’m finding her.”
“You are not sending armed men to my mother’s house.”
“If Antonio is telling the truth—”
“He isn’t.”
Antonio laughed bitterly.
“You want proof?”
Sofia faced him.
“Yes.”
Antonio slowly reached into his jacket.
Marco drew his gun instantly.
“Easy.”
Antonio lifted both hands.
“Inside pocket.”
Marco removed a worn leather wallet.
Behind several cards was an old photograph.
Antonio nodded toward it.
“Take it out.”
Riccardo did.
His entire body went still.
Sofia moved closer.
The picture had been taken in a hospital hallway.
The date stamped in the corner was twenty-three years earlier.
Antonio stood in the background.
A younger Riccardo was barely visible through a doorway.
And at the center of the photograph was a dark-haired woman wearing a nurse’s uniform.
She held a little girl.
The child was screaming.
The woman’s face was turned partly toward the camera.
Sofia knew that face.
“Mom.”
Her knees weakened.
Antonio spoke quietly.
“Elena Rossi worked at St. Vincent.”
Sofia stared at the photograph.
Her mother had always said she had worked in a laundromat before Sofia was born.
“She was a nurse?”
“Night nurse.”
Riccardo pointed at the child.
“Is that Chiara?”
Antonio nodded.
Sofia looked closer.
The little girl wore a gold bracelet.
Her bracelet.
Sofia pressed one hand over her mouth.
“No.”
Riccardo’s voice broke.
“My daughter.”
Sofia turned toward him.
She wanted to laugh.
She wanted to scream.
Instead she said, “I was born in Milwaukee.”
Antonio shook his head.
“No.”
“My birth certificate says—”
“Forged.”
Riccardo stepped closer.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“When is your birthday?”
“October seventh.”
Riccardo shut his eyes.
Marco whispered, “Boss?”
Riccardo opened them again.
“Chiara was born October seventh.”
Sofia backed away.
“No.”
A phone rang.
Marco answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“What?”
Riccardo turned.
Marco lowered the phone.
“The men reached Elena Rossi’s apartment.”
Sofia’s heart stopped.
“And?”
Marco looked at her.
“The place is empty.”
Sofia grabbed his arm.
“What do you mean empty?”
“Drawers open. Clothes gone.”
“When?”
“There’s fresh coffee on the counter.”
Sofia’s phone buzzed.
A message appeared from her mother.
DON’T TRUST RICCARDO MARINO.
Sofia stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
Antonio saw her face.
“What did she say?”
Sofia looked up.
May you like
A third message appeared.
HE KILLED YOUR REAL MOTHER.
