Chapter 2 - The Photograph My Father Hid
For twenty-three years, I believed my mother’s story was simple.
She had loved my father.
She had given birth to me.
She had died shortly afterward.
The photograph on the counter told me there was nothing simple about it.
Noah stared at his father’s younger face.
“Where did you get this?”
The older stranger swallowed.
“Your father gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The week before he died.”
Papa suddenly stepped forward.
“Enough.”
I turned on him.
“No. Not enough.”
“Sofia—”
“You knew about this?”
His silence answered.
I felt something inside me crack.
Noah looked toward Paulie.
“Lock the door.”
Paulie turned the sign to CLOSED.
The stranger introduced himself as Vincent Caruso.
And then he told us the first piece of the truth.
My mother, Elena, had worked for Noah’s father decades ago.
Not as a mistress.
Not as family.
As an accountant.
She had discovered money disappearing from businesses controlled by the Moretti family.
Millions.
Someone inside the organization had been stealing.
She had collected evidence.
Before she could reveal the thief, she disappeared from their world and married my father.
Months later, I was born.
Then she died.
At least, that was the story I'd been told.
“What are you suggesting?” I whispered.
Vincent looked at Papa.
My father closed his eyes.
“My mother didn't die naturally, did she?”
Papa’s face crumpled.
That was answer enough.
Noah became frighteningly still.
Vincent continued.
Elena had left behind a ledger.
A record capable of identifying the person who betrayed Noah’s father.
But the ledger vanished after her death.
Noah turned toward my father.
“Where is it?”
Papa shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Vincent pointed toward the photograph.
“She hid clues.”
“What clues?”
“Nobody knows.”
I picked up the photograph again.
My mother's handwriting.
Tell Sofia the truth.
Suddenly the shop where I had spent my entire life felt unfamiliar.
Every cabinet.
Every wall.
Every drawer.
My mother had been here.
What if something of hers still was?
That night, after everyone left, I refused to go home.
I searched.
Papa begged me to stop.
I didn't.
At 2:13 in the morning, I discovered something beneath the old cutting table.
One floorboard was newer than the others.
I pried it loose.
Beneath it was a small wooden box.
Inside lay my mother’s necklace.
Several photographs.
And a sealed letter.
My name was written across the front.
SOFIA.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first sentence destroyed everything I thought I knew.
My darling Sofia, if you are reading this, someone from the Moretti family has finally found you.
But the second sentence was worse.
Whatever happens, do not trust the man who tells you I died.
I slowly raised my eyes.
My father was standing in the doorway.
May you like
And for the first time in my life, I wondered whether the man who raised me had been lying about far more than my mother's death.
[End of Chapter 2]
