Chapter 6 - The Little Girl Who Asked the Wrong Question
Sofia did not understand why adults kept whispering.
She did understand pancakes.
That morning, Rosa made them in the shape of stars.
Sofia sat at the enormous Vieri kitchen table wearing pajamas covered in tiny yellow flowers.
Sunny waited beneath her chair.
Alessandro entered.
Sofia pointed a fork at him.
“You’re late.”
Alessandro stopped.
“For?”
“Breakfast.”
“I didn’t know I was invited.”
“You live here.”
He looked toward Isabella.
She hid a smile behind coffee.
“Apparently you were invited.”
Alessandro sat.
Rosa placed coffee in front of him.
Sofia watched him.
“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Isabella nearly choked.
Alessandro remained serious.
“I never had any.”
“That’s sad.”
“Sofia.”
“What?”
“You can’t interview people at breakfast.”
“I’m not.”
She turned back to Alessandro.
“Do you want kids?”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Alessandro looked at Sofia.
Then at Isabella.
“I think I would have.”
The answer changed the room.
Sofia did not notice.
“Mommy says kids are exhausting.”
“I did not say that.”
“You said I make you tired.”
“That is different.”
Sofia grinned.
After breakfast Isabella took a call from her attorneys.
When she returned, Sofia and Alessandro were in the garden.
Sunny chased a ball.
Sofia was asking Alessandro approximately twelve questions per minute.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Black.”
“That’s boring.”
“I suspected you might say that.”
“Favorite animal?”
“Dogs.”
“Sunny likes you.”
“Sunny likes anyone with food.”
“That’s not true.”
Sunny was currently sitting directly beside Alessandro because he had sausage.
Isabella leaned against the doorway.
Something about the sight disturbed her.
Not because it looked wrong.
Because it looked too natural.
She had spent four years creating a life in which Sofia lacked nothing.
Her daughter had love.
Safety.
Family.
Elena was more aunt than assistant.
Isabella’s mother visited every weekend.
There was no empty space.
At least Isabella had told herself there wasn’t.
Then Sofia looked up at Alessandro and laughed.
And Isabella felt something shift.
“Mommy!”
Sofia ran toward her.
“Mr. Alessandro says he knew you when you were little.”
“Not little.”
“You were sixteen.”
“That is little,” Alessandro said.
“Traitor.”
Sofia tilted her head.
“Were you boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“No,” Isabella said.
Alessandro said nothing.
Sofia narrowed her eyes.
“Did Mommy like you?”
Isabella stared at him.
“Answer carefully.”
Alessandro looked at Sofia.
“Your mother and I were friends.”
“That means yes.”
“How?”
“Because you didn’t answer.”
Alessandro looked genuinely defeated.
Isabella laughed.
It escaped before she could stop it.
He looked at her.
For a second, the tension between them disappeared.
Then Sofia asked:
“Did you know my daddy?”
Everything stopped.
Isabella’s smile vanished.
Alessandro’s expression changed.
Sofia looked between them.
“Mommy?”
“Sweetheart, go throw the ball for Sunny.”
“But—”
“Please.”
Sofia ran away.
Alessandro waited.
“Who is her father?”
Isabella stared into the garden.
“His name was Nathan Cole.”
“Was?”
“He died before she was born.”
Alessandro’s face softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nathan and I were engaged.”
She rarely spoke about him.
It still hurt, just differently now.
“He was an architect. Brilliant. Ridiculous. He sang badly in the shower.”
Alessandro listened.
“We were together three years.”
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
He looked down.
“She never met him.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You already said that.”
“I mean it twice.”
Isabella smiled faintly.
“Nathan knew about you.”
Alessandro looked up.
“Why?”
“Because apparently I talked about you in my sleep once.”
He almost smiled.
“He hated you.”
“He had good instincts.”
“He said anyone who could make a sixteen-year-old girl cry for three months deserved to be punched.”
“I agree.”
“You would.”
Silence settled.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
Then Alessandro said, “Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Alessandro nodded.
“Good.”
She frowned.
“Good?”
“You deserved that.”
Something in her chest tightened.
Before she could answer, his phone rang.
He listened.
His expression hardened.
“We have a problem.”
“When don’t we?”
“They traced the missing archive box.”
“To Marcus?”
“To a private storage facility.”
“Where?”
“Queens.”
“When do we go?”
“You don’t.”
She stared.
Alessandro sighed.
“Right. We go.”
Two hours later they entered the storage building with federal investigator Maya Reynolds, an old acquaintance of Isabella’s attorney.
Isabella had insisted on law enforcement.
Alessandro had surprisingly agreed.
Unit 418 contained one metal cabinet.
Inside were photographs.
Not financial records.
Family photographs.
Javier Marquez.
Marco Vieri.
Victor Vain.
All three together.
Young.
Smiling.
Then later photographs.
Arguments.
Meetings.
Surveillance.
One image showed Javier entering a federal building.
Another showed Victor Vain watching from across the street.
Isabella turned it over.
A date.
Three weeks before her father died.
Then she found something worse.
A photograph of herself.
Sixteen years old.
Standing outside the Vieri estate.
Alessandro beside her.
Someone had been watching them even then.
On the back:
THE GIRL IS HIS WEAKNESS.
Isabella’s hands went cold.
Alessandro took the photograph.
His face became murderous.
“Now you understand,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Why you ignored the letter.”
“Yes.”
“You thought caring about me would get me killed.”
“I knew it could.”
She wanted to remain angry.
Part of her was.
But she was also looking at proof that twenty years ago someone had considered a teenage girl useful leverage against Alessandro Vieri.
Maya called from another cabinet.
“You need to see this.”
Inside was a sealed evidence envelope.
A cassette tape.
Label:
JAVIER MARQUEZ — FINAL MEETING.
Isabella’s breathing changed.
“When?”
Maya checked the date.
“The night before your father died.”
The storage facility had an old media room.
They found a cassette player.
Isabella inserted the tape.
Static.
Then her father’s voice.
Older.
Tired.
“If you’re listening to this, I probably failed.”
Isabella covered her mouth.
Alessandro stood beside her.
Javier continued.
“Victor’s son knows about the waterfront records.”
Marcus.
“He’ll come for them eventually.”
Static.
“And if Isabella ever becomes involved—Alessandro, you keep your promise.”
Isabella looked at him.
Her father’s final words followed.
“Do not let her become part of our war.”
The tape clicked.
Then another voice appeared.
Marcus Vain.
Young.
But unmistakable.
“Too late.”
The recording ended.
Isabella stared at the machine.
May you like
Marcus had been with her father the night before he died.
And for twelve years, he had never mentioned it.
