Chapter 4 - The Daughter Dominic Buried Twenty-Eight Years Ago
Dominic moved us that night.
Not to a hotel.
Not to another apartment.
Back to the Ferrero estate.
I argued until my throat hurt.
He listened.
Then he said, “You may hate me safely.”
That ended the discussion.
Lucia slept in a bedroom overlooking the harbor.
I sat beside her until midnight.
When I finally stepped into the hallway, Dominic was waiting.
Without the hat and jacket, he looked less like the man people whispered about and more like someone who had forgotten how to be tired.
“You should sleep,” I said.
“So should you.”
“Are you my father?”
There it was.
No preparation.
No polite entrance.
Dominic stared through the tall windows.
“I don’t know.”
“You think I am.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to be?”
That question hurt him.
I saw it.
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
“You don’t know me.”
“No.”
“You missed twenty-eight years.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get them back because Paulo found a file.”
“I know.”
I hated how calmly he accepted my anger.
It would have been easier if he defended himself.
Instead, he said, “Tomorrow we find the truth.”
The DNA test was arranged privately.
Dominic insisted on two laboratories.
“Why two?”
“Because I trusted one version of the truth once.”
Neither of us discussed what would happen if the answer was yes.
We focused on South Harbor Station.
Locker 314 had been untouched for four years.
Inside was a padded envelope.
Paulo had left copies of hospital records, photographs, and an old cassette tape.
There was also a bracelet.
A tiny hospital identification bracelet.
BABY FERRERO — FEMALE.
My hands trembled.
Dominic couldn’t touch it.
The cassette was labeled DR. HENRY VALE — 1998.
Gabriel found a player.
The recording was poor.
A frightened male voice spoke.
“I was told the mother had died. The infant survived respiratory distress. Mr. Salerno instructed me to alter the record.”
Dominic shut his eyes.
“He said Mr. Ferrero was unstable and the child would be safer elsewhere.”
The doctor coughed.
“I believed him at first.”
The tape crackled.
“Later I learned money had changed hands.”
My stomach twisted.
“The infant was transferred to a private adoption agency.”
Then came the sentence that destroyed whatever doubt remained.
“She had a crescent-shaped birthmark beneath her left shoulder.”
My hand moved instinctively toward my back.
Dominic saw it.
“Alina?”
I said nothing.
When I was a child, my mother used to call it my little moon.
A pale crescent beneath my shoulder blade.
Dominic turned away.
His shoulders shook once.
Only once.
Then he recovered.
But I had seen it.
That afternoon, the first DNA result arrived.
Probability of biological parentage: 99.9998%.
Dominic Ferrero was my father.
I read the number three times.
Lucia climbed onto the chair beside me.
“What does it mean?”
I looked at Dominic.
He couldn’t speak.
So I did.
“It means Mr. Ferrero is my biological father.”
Lucia frowned.
Then her eyes widened.
“So he’s my grandpa?”
Dominic made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a broken breath.
Lucia studied him.
“You don’t look like a grandpa.”
For the first time since this began, I laughed.
So did Dominic.
It lasted five seconds.
Maybe six.
It was the happiest moment we had.
Then Gabriel entered.
“Victor contacted us.”
Dominic’s smile disappeared.
“What does he want?”
“To meet.”
“Where?”
“The old Ferrero restaurant in the North End.”
“No.”
Everyone turned toward me.
I stood.
“He wants you to go because he thinks he still controls the situation.”
Dominic studied me.
“You sound like Paulo.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
Victor’s message requested Dominic alone.
Dominic agreed publicly.
Privately, Gabriel arranged surveillance.
I was supposed to remain at the estate.
I did not.
“You’re not coming,” Dominic told me.
“He stole twenty-eight years of my life.”
“That is exactly why you’re not coming.”
“He may have killed my husband.”
“And I will get you the answer.”
“No. I’m getting it myself.”
Dominic stared at me for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Elena used to argue exactly like that.”
The name silenced me.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“What was she like?”
His smile became sad.
“Impossible.”
I almost smiled too.
Then I remembered we were discussing a meeting with the man who had erased my childhood.
The restaurant had been closed for renovation.
Victor sat alone at a table beneath an old photograph of Boston’s waterfront.
Dominic entered.
I watched from another room through a small monitor.
Victor poured himself water.
“You look better.”
“No thanks to you.”
Victor smiled.
“You always were dramatic.”
“You drugged me.”
“I slowed you down.”
“Why?”
“Because you were asking questions.”
Dominic sat opposite him.
“About Paulo Reva?”
Victor’s smile disappeared.
There.
The first crack.
“You found the book.”
“I found more.”
Victor looked at him.
Dominic said one word.
“Alina.”
Victor closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he looked relieved.
Not afraid.
Relieved.
“I wondered how long it would take.”
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“You stole my daughter.”
“No.”
“You falsified her death.”
“I saved this family.”
“You stole my daughter.”
Victor slammed his palm onto the table.
“You were thirty years old! Your wife had just died. Your father was dying. Half the organization wanted your chair. A baby would have been leverage.”
“So you gave her away?”
“I protected her.”
“For twenty-eight years?”
Victor leaned forward.
“And she lived, didn’t she?”
I wanted to run into that room.
Gabriel stopped me.
“Wait.”
Dominic remained terrifyingly calm.
“And Paulo?”
Victor looked down.
“That was unfortunate.”
My entire body went cold.
“Did you kill him?”
Victor’s silence lasted too long.
“Did you kill Paulo Reva?”
“No.”
I blinked.
Victor leaned closer.
“I tried to scare him. I took the key. I searched his office. But I did not kill him.”
“Then who did?”
Victor laughed softly.
“You still haven’t figured it out?”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Victor looked directly toward the hidden camera.
My blood froze.
He knew we were watching.
Then he said:
“The person who killed Paulo is the same person who let Alina bring Lucia into your house today.”
Behind me, someone inhaled sharply.
I turned.
Mrs. Bianchi stood in the doorway.
May you like
And in her hand was Paulo’s missing wedding ring.
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