Chapter 11 - Marco’s Biggest Lie
Marco found me the next morning at the café.
I was pouring coffee for a construction worker when he slid into a booth.
“You look terrible.”
“You’re one to talk.”
He had not slept either.
I brought him coffee.
“Antonio?”
I gave him a look.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounded like something.”
“I just noticed that when you’re angry, he’s usually involved.”
“I’m not discussing Antonio.”
“Definitely Antonio.”
I sat opposite him.
“What do you want?”
“To confess something.”
“Can we go one week without somebody confessing?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
Marco wrapped both hands around the cup.
“I knew your father was alive.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“Not who he was.”
“Explain quickly.”
“Vincent had me deliver paperwork to the Westchester facility twice.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“You saw Samuel?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know he was your father.”
“His last name is Bennett.”
“You know how many Bennetts exist?”
“Did Vincent tell you why he was there?”
“No.”
“What did you deliver?”
“Payment authorization.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I breathed.
“What else?”
Marco looked miserable.
“I saw a photograph in Samuel’s room.”
“What photograph?”
“A little girl.”
My heart stopped.
“You.”
“You recognized me?”
“Not then.”
“When?”
“After you showed me the Harbor Bridge paperwork.”
My hands tightened.
“You knew before you left that note at my apartment.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Sophie—”
“You knew.”
“I panicked.”
“You knew my father was alive and you tried to scare me away.”
“I thought Vincent would hurt my mother.”
“And what about me?”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
People turned.
I lowered my voice.
“For fifteen years, I thought my father abandoned me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That sentence isn’t big enough.”
“I know.”
I walked into the back room.
Marco followed.
“I brought something.”
He handed me a photograph.
Samuel.
Sitting in the Westchester garden.
Holding a framed picture of me at age six.
I stared.
“He kept it on his nightstand,” Marco said.
I sat down.
Every emotion collided.
Anger.
Grief.
Relief.
Love.
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“You should have told someone years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I’m done letting fear decide everything.”
That sounded familiar.
Maria.
My grandmother.
Antonio.
Me.
Maybe fear had been making decisions for all of us.
Marco swallowed.
“Investigators offered my mother a cooperation agreement.”
“Will she testify?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
“Vincent contacted me.”
I looked up.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What did he want?”
“The red ledger.”
“Do you have it?”
“No.”
“He thinks you do?”
“He thinks I can get it.”
“What did you say?”
“That I’d try.”
My pulse jumped.
“Why?”
“Because investigators wanted me to keep him talking.”
I stared.
“You’re working with them?”
“Yes.”
“Does Antonio know?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Vincent expects Russo people to follow me.”
I almost laughed.
“They probably are.”
Marco nodded toward the window.
A black sedan sat across the street.
“Exactly.”
“You’re using yourself as bait.”
“I’m fixing what I can.”
“That is stupid.”
“Probably.”
“Dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Very stupid.”
“You already said that.”
We sat in silence.
Then Marco asked, “Are you going to forgive Antonio?”
I glared.
“Why does everyone care?”
“Because the way he looks at you is becoming embarrassing.”
My face heated.
“You are imagining things.”
“No.”
“He offered to pay my tuition.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“I refused.”
“That sounds like you.”
I threw a napkin at him.
For the first time in days, I laughed.
Then my phone rang.
Maria.
“Sophie, darling.”
“Hi.”
“Come for lunch.”
“I’m working.”
“Quit.”
“Maria.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“Antonio told me what Vincent said.”
I stopped.
“About Red Hook.”
“Yes.”
“Maria—”
“My son spent years becoming the man everyone expected him to be after Carlo died.”
I said nothing.
“He made choices I hated.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Constantly.”
That sounded plausible.
“But Sophie, remorse does not erase harm.”
I was surprised.
“You’re not defending him?”
“I love him. That means I refuse to lie about him.”
Something inside me shifted.
“He’s different now,” Maria continued. “Not innocent. Different.”
“How do I know?”
“You don’t.”
That answer again.
No comforting lies.
“You watch what he chooses next.”
After work, I did.
Antonio met Daniel and federal investigators.
He gave them business records connected to Vincent.
Some records exposed old Russo operations Antonio could easily have hidden.
“Those could cause problems for you,” Daniel warned.
Antonio nodded.
“Then they cause problems.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Because hiding the ugly parts is how we got here.”
Not an apology.
Something better.
A decision.
I stepped closer.
“What happened in Red Hook?”
“I pressured a man until everyone abandoned him. He lost his company. His marriage ended. He left New York.”
“Did you ever apologize?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Cowardice.”
The word surprised me.
“Find him.”
Antonio frowned.
“What?”
“If you regret it, find him.”
“And say what?”
“The truth.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“I will.”
That was the moment I began believing change might be real.
Not because Antonio told me he had changed.
Because he was willing to face people who remembered the version of him he wished to forget.
But before any of us could move forward, Vincent made his next move.
At 10:14 that night, the fire alarm at Bellarosa began screaming.
May you like
By the time firefighters arrived, smoke was pouring from the basement.
And the hidden office where Carlo Russo’s records had been found was burning.
