Chapter 6 - Why Sofia Had Been Watching Me
Adrian wanted me nowhere near Valenti Harbor.
I wanted to go.
Neither of us changed our minds.
So we compromised in the least healthy way possible.
I went.
And Adrian secretly surrounded the entire waterfront with his security team.
“You understand this is not what ‘come alone’ means,” I said.
We sat inside a black SUV three blocks from the meeting point.
“It means he wants you to believe you’re alone.”
“That is not remotely the same thing.”
“It’s the interpretation I’m using.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By Sofia?”
“Repeatedly.”
The mention of her softened my anger.
I hated that.
Midnight approached.
The ledger sitting beside me was fake.
Adrian’s team had created a convincing copy.
The original was locked somewhere he refused to tell me.
Probably wise.
Luca was at Adrian’s house with his sister, Bianca, whom I had briefly met that afternoon.
Unlike the bodyguards, Bianca had hugged me immediately.
Then stepped back and stared at my face for so long I nearly cried.
“You blink differently,” she finally said.
“What?”
“Sofia blinked faster when she was nervous.”
I laughed.
Then Bianca cried.
Apparently grief created strange introductions.
Now the harbor lights glowed through rain.
Old containers stacked along the water.
Wind carried salt and diesel.
My mother was somewhere here.
Maybe.
I checked my phone.
11:58.
Adrian took my wrist.
“Elina.”
“What?”
“If anything feels wrong, you leave.”
“Everything feels wrong.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No heroic decisions.”
“Exactly.”
“You realize you’re saying that while illegally surrounding a harbor with armed men.”
“They’re licensed.”
“That’s not the comforting detail you think it is.”
His mouth almost curved.
Then his expression turned serious.
“Vincent knows you’re Sofia’s sister.”
“Yes.”
“He may know more about Sofia’s investigation than we do.”
“Yes.”
“Do not trust anything he tells you.”
I nodded.
Then opened the door.
“Elina.”
I turned.
He hesitated.
It looked unfamiliar on him.
“Come back.”
Two words.
Simple.
Yet they carried more emotion than everything else he had said.
“I plan to.”
I walked toward warehouse seventeen.
Rain dampened my hair immediately.
A single overhead light burned above the entrance.
My phone buzzed.
ENTER.
I pushed open the door.
Inside, the warehouse was enormous.
Mostly empty.
One chair sat in the center.
My mother was tied to it.
“Mom!”
I ran forward.
“Elina, no!”
Too late.
Lights snapped on.
Vincent Ralston stepped from behind a container.
Gray hair.
Elegant coat.
Tall.
Calm.
He looked like a grandfather from a luxury watch advertisement.
Not a monster.
That made him worse.
“Stop there.”
I did.
My mother’s face was bruised but she looked conscious.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Vincent smiled.
“You have Rosa’s stubbornness.”
I stared at him.
“And Sofia’s face.”
His smile faded slightly.
That reaction told me something.
He had cared about Sofia.
Maybe in his own distorted way.
“Let her go.”
“The ledger.”
I held up the bag.
“First her.”
“You’ve watched too many movies.”
“I work double shifts. Movies are expensive.”
For a fraction of a second, he looked amused.
Then cold again.
“Bring it.”
I stepped forward.
My mother shook her head.
“Elina, don’t.”
Vincent ignored her.
I stopped ten feet away.
“Did you kill Sofia?”
He sighed.
“Direct.”
“Yes or no?”
“No.”
My mother stared at him.
“You’re lying.”
“I did many things, Rosa. Killing Sofia was not one of them.”
“Then who did?”
His jaw tightened.
Interesting.
He knew.
“You brought the ledger?”
“Answer me.”
Vincent studied me.
“You really are like her.”
“You keep saying that.”
“She came here asking the same questions.”
“The night she died?”
“Yes.”
My heart hammered.
“What happened?”
“She confronted me.”
“About my disappearance?”
“About everything.”
“Did you tell her I was alive?”
“I didn’t know where you were.”
“But you knew Mom took me.”
“Yes.”
I looked at my mother.
She closed her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell Sofia?”
“Because your existence was leverage.”
There it was.
Cold.
Simple.
Human life reduced to leverage.
“You planned to kidnap me.”
“I planned to pressure your father.”
“You sent men for a baby.”
“He gave me no choice.”
I laughed.
“No choice?”
“Marco intended to destroy everything I built.”
“Maybe because you were committing crimes.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“You know nothing about the world we lived in.”
“I know enough.”
He glanced at the bag.
“The ledger.”
“Who killed Sofia?”
Vincent sighed.
“I didn’t.”
“Then say the name.”
He looked toward my mother.
Rosa’s face changed.
Fear.
Not of Vincent.
Of the answer.
“Mom?”
She whispered, “Don’t.”
Vincent smiled without warmth.
“Rosa knows.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Elina…”
“You know who killed Sofia?”
“I suspected.”
“WHO?”
Tears filled my mother’s eyes.
“Your father.”
The warehouse went silent.
I stared.
“My father is alive?”
Vincent’s face revealed nothing.
My mother cried.
“I’m sorry.”
My knees almost buckled.
Marco Valenti.
The man in the videotape.
The father who said he hadn’t abandoned us.
Alive.
“He killed Sofia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did you say—”
“I said I suspected.”
Vincent interrupted.
“Marco came back eleven months ago.”
My heart hammered.
“From where?”
“Europe. South America. Places people disappear when they need to.”
“Why?”
“He learned Sofia was investigating the harbor.”
“That doesn’t explain murder.”
“No.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“But Marco believed Sofia worked for me.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“He didn’t know she was his daughter?”
“He knew.”
“Then why hurt her?”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Because Marco stopped being the man in that videotape a long time ago.”
My mind resisted.
This was manipulation.
Adrian warned me.
Trust records, not promises.
I held onto that.
“Where is he?”
Vincent smiled.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you give me the ledger.”
I threw the bag toward him.
It landed between us.
“Take it.”
He gestured to one of his men.
A man opened the bag.
Flipped pages.
Vincent watched his expression.
Then his face changed.
“You think I’m stupid?”
I ran toward my mother.
A shout.
Someone grabbed me.
Then glass shattered high above.
Lights went out.
Adrian.
His team moved.
Chaos.
Footsteps.
Commands.
My mother screamed.
I found her chair in the darkness and pulled at the restraints.
“Elina!”
“Mom, I’m here.”
A flashlight beam swung past.
Then Adrian appeared.
He cut the restraints.
“Move.”
We ran toward the side exit.
Behind us, Vincent shouted.
“ELENA!”
I stopped.
Adrian grabbed my arm.
“Don’t.”
Vincent’s voice carried across the warehouse.
“Ask Adrian what Sofia found in his house!”
I looked at Adrian.
He kept pulling me.
“What does he mean?”
“Not now.”
“WHAT DOES HE MEAN?”
A gunshot struck metal somewhere behind us.
Adrian pushed us outside.
“Move!”
We reached the SUV.
My mother climbed in.
Adrian followed.
Doors locked.
The driver accelerated.
Only when we were several blocks away did I speak.
“What did Sofia find in your house?”
Adrian stared out the window.
I knew that expression now.
It meant there was something he didn’t want to say.
“Adrian.”
My mother whispered, “Elina, leave it.”
“No.”
Adrian finally looked at me.
“Two weeks before Sofia died, she found a file in my office.”
“What file?”
“My father’s.”
“About what?”
“Vincent Ralston.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was in it?”
“Evidence my family had done business with him.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“Illegal business?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
The mafia part no one discussed directly.
“And Sofia thought you were protecting him?”
“She thought I knew more than I admitted.”
“Did you?”
“I knew enough to know Vincent was dangerous.”
“But not what happened to me?”
“No.”
My mother watched Adrian carefully.
He noticed.
“You don’t trust me.”
“No,” she said.
“Fair.”
That surprised her.
He continued.
“But I loved Sofia.”
My mother’s eyes softened slightly.
“I know.”
“How?”
She looked at me.
“Because Sofia told me.”
I froze.
“When?”
“The phone call.”
“The night you spoke?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
My mother looked down.
“She told me Adrian was the only person she regretted lying to.”
Adrian’s face changed.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
My mother shook her head.
“She didn’t say.”
A new mystery.
Of course.
Then my mother looked at me.
“There’s something else.”
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
“Please don’t say that.”
“Elina.”
“What?”
“Sofia had already seen you before she called me.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She found you online.”
My mind stopped.
“She knew who I was?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She searched old Arizona records. Found your name. Found social media.”
I felt strangely exposed.
“She saw pictures of me?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she contact me?”
“She wanted proof first.”
My mother began crying.
“She was afraid walking into your life would hurt you.”
I looked out the dark window.
My sister had seen me.
Not in person.
But she had seen my face.
She knew what I looked like.
Then my mother said something that hurt even more.
“She came to Restorante Orelio once while you were working.”
I turned.
“What?”
“She watched you from outside.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“When?”
“Four days before she died.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
My mother continued.
“She told me over the phone.”
“What did she say?”
Rosa smiled through tears.
“She said you were arguing with a customer who snapped his fingers at you.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“That sounds like me.”
“She said you looked happy.”
“I wasn’t.”
“She didn’t know that.”
My throat tightened.
“She wanted to come inside.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“She was afraid.”
I stared out the window.
Somewhere four days before Sofia died, I had been carrying plates, complaining about tips, worrying about rent—
while my twin sister stood outside watching me.
I had probably passed within twenty feet of her.
Maybe I looked through the window.
Maybe our eyes almost met.
The possibility hurt worse than never knowing.
But my mother wasn’t finished.
“She took a picture.”
“What picture?”
“Of you through the window.”
“Where is it?”
My mother looked toward Adrian.
“Sofia mailed it to me.”
Adrian’s face went still.
“And?”
“I still have it.”
“Where?”
She swallowed.
“In the one place Vincent never found.”
We drove to an old church two towns away.
Father Dominic Hale had died twelve years earlier.
But before his death, he had left Rosa access to a small archive cabinet.
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
Standing behind Orelio’s bar.
Laughing at something.
Taken from outside.
On the back Sofia had written:
MY SISTER.
I finally found her.
Tomorrow I’m going inside.
She never made it.
I held the photograph against my chest.
For the first time, I cried for Sofia not as a mystery.
Not as Adrian’s wife.
Not as Luca’s mother.
As my sister.
And somewhere beneath that grief, something changed.
May you like
I wasn’t only searching for who I had been.
I was going to finish what Sofia started.
