Chapter 3 - The Name Her Grandmother Buried
Sophia stopped breathing.
“My father?”
Antonio read the sentence again.
There was no mistake.
Sophia took the photograph from him.
Her hands shook.
“My father was Daniel Bennett.”
Antonio watched her.
“You're sure?”
“That’s what I've been told my entire life.”
“Did you know him?”
“He died before I was born.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Antonio's expression tightened.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That isn't nothing.”
He looked toward the security screen.
“Daniel Bennett.”
Antonio typed the name into his phone and sent a message.
Sophia crossed her arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out who he was.”
“He was my father.”
“That isn't what I meant.”
Within ten minutes, Antonio received a response.
He read it twice.
Then locked the screen.
Sophia's anger returned.
“What?”
“We should wait until my mother can explain.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sophia—”
“You brought me into this world. You don't get to decide when I learn the rules.”
Antonio stared at her.
Then handed her the phone.
Daniel Bennett had existed.
But according to the records Antonio's people found, Daniel Bennett had married Rebecca only eight months before Sophia was born.
The accident happened six weeks before the wedding.
Sophia frowned.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“No.”
“If he died six weeks before they married—”
“Then either the records are wrong…”
“Or Daniel Bennett wasn't my father.”
Antonio finished the thought.
Sophia sat down.
Her childhood rearranged itself in seconds.
Her mother's refusal to discuss Daniel.
Her grandmother's strange sadness whenever Sophia asked.
The missing photographs.
The silence.
Her phone rang.
Rebecca.
Sophia answered immediately.
“Mom.”
“Sophia? You called.”
“Who was my father?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
“Don't lie to me.”
Another silence.
Longer.
“Where are you?”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“I'm at Elena Rossi's house.”
Rebecca inhaled sharply.
That was the answer.
“You know her.”
“Sophia, leave.”
“What?”
“Leave that house right now.”
“Why?”
“Because Margaret spent twenty-six years making sure they never found out.”
Sophia looked at Antonio.
“They?”
Rebecca started crying.
“Your grandmother promised me this would stay buried.”
“Who is my father?”
“I can't do this on the phone.”
“Then come here.”
“No.”
“Mom!”
Rebecca hung up.
Sophia called back.
Nothing.
Again.
Voicemail.
Antonio had already summoned his driver.
“We'll go to her.”
Sophia looked at him.
“How do you know where she lives?”
He hesitated.
“You're unbelievable.”
“Right now, useful is more important than likable.”
Against her better judgment, Sophia agreed.
They reached Rebecca's apartment forty minutes later.
The door was unlocked.
“Mom?”
No answer.
The apartment was empty.
A suitcase was gone.
So were several framed photographs.
On the kitchen table lay an envelope.
SOPHIA.
Inside was a letter.
I wanted you to have a normal life.
Your grandmother wanted the same.
Daniel was a good man, but he wasn't your biological father.
Sophia's vision blurred.
Antonio stood silently behind her.
She continued.
Your real father belonged to a family Margaret believed could never give you peace.
She was probably right.
Please don't look for me.
And please don't ask Elena Rossi what happened on October 14.
Sophia lowered the letter.
“What happened October 14?”
Antonio had gone completely still.
“Antonio?”
“My father died October 14.”
Sophia looked at him.
“What year?”
He answered.
“Twenty-six years ago.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No.”
Antonio took a step backward.
“My father died three weeks before you were born.”
Sophia stared at him.
“You think your father was—”
“No.”
He said it too quickly.
“My father was married to my mother.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“He would never—”
Antonio stopped.
Because neither of them knew what a dead man would or would not have done.
Sophia sat.
“If your father was my father…”
Antonio immediately understood.
“We'd be siblings.”
The word hung between them.
Suddenly every lingering look, every strange moment of attraction between them felt horrifying.
Antonio stepped farther away.
“We don't assume anything.”
Sophia wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself.
“Easy for you to say.”
“No, it isn't.”
His voice softened.
For a second, neither spoke.
Then Antonio noticed something beneath Rebecca's table.
A photograph.
It had probably fallen when she packed.
He picked it up.
A younger Rebecca stood beside Margaret.
Beside them was Elena.
And beside Elena stood Antonio's father, Carlo Rossi.
Sophia felt sick.
But there was another man in the photograph.
Tall.
Blond.
Smiling.
His arm rested around Rebecca.
“Who is that?”
Antonio turned the photograph over.
Four names were written on the back.
Margaret Bennett.
Elena Rossi.
Carlo Rossi.
And—
Michael DeLuca.
Antonio's expression hardened.
“I know that name.”
“Who?”
“My father's closest friend.”
Sophia stared.
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
“Everyone connected to this story seems to be dead.”
“Not everyone.”
Antonio pointed to the security image on his phone.
The mysterious woman.
“We find her.”
They returned to the mansion after dark.
Elena was home from the hospital under strict medical supervision.
Sophia entered her bedroom.
“No more secrets.”
Elena looked at Antonio.
Then at Sophia.
“Close the door.”
Sophia did.
“Was Carlo Rossi my father?”
Elena's eyes widened.
“No.”
Sophia nearly collapsed with relief.
Antonio closed his eyes briefly.
“Then Michael DeLuca?”
Elena looked away.
“Your mother loved Michael.”
Sophia's voice trembled.
“Was he my father?”
“Yes.”
The answer came quietly.
Sophia sat beside the bed.
“Why hide that?”
Elena looked at Antonio.
“Because Michael wasn't merely Carlo's friend.”
She took Sophia's hand.
“He was supposed to inherit everything Carlo built.”
Antonio frowned.
“My father left everything to me.”
“After Michael died.”
Silence.
Elena continued.
“Michael wanted out. He wanted Rebecca. He wanted you. He planned to leave the organization and disappear.”
“What happened?”
“Someone discovered his plan.”
“And?”
Elena's eyes filled.
“Michael died the same night as Carlo.”
Sophia looked toward Antonio.
October 14.
The date Rebecca had warned her about.
“Accident?”
“No.”
Elena whispered the word.
“Betrayal.”
A knock interrupted them.
Antonio opened the door.
One of his security men handed him a folder.
“We found the woman from the footage.”
“Where?”
“She checked into a hotel under the name Teresa Vale.”
Elena gasped.
Antonio looked at his mother.
“You know her.”
Elena's face had gone white.
“She was Michael's sister.”
Sophia stood.
“My aunt?”
Elena nodded.
“And if Teresa has returned after twenty-six years…”
She gripped Sophia's hand.
“…then she believes the person who destroyed your father is still alive.”
Antonio's phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
Taken minutes earlier.
Teresa Vale stood outside the Rossi gates.
In her hand was a sealed envelope.
Written across it were five words:
May you like
SOPHIA DESERVES TO KNOW EVERYTHING.
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