Chapter 5 - The Woman Called Lucia
For several seconds, Luca could not speak.
Isabella had never seen a powerful man look so small.
He touched the photograph with one finger.
"Six months."
Grant nodded.
"The date could be false."
"No."
Luca stared at the woman.
"That’s her."
"After twenty-one years?"
"I know my mother."
His voice broke slightly on the last word.
He turned away.
Isabella pretended not to notice.
Grant gave them everything he had on Margaret Hayes.
Her Social Security number.
Old addresses.
Employment records.
A daughter who had died young.
A nephew in Maine.
Nothing current.
The postcard’s church was harder.
No name appeared on the image.
But Isabella noticed a small tiled sign near the door.
The letters were blurred.
She zoomed in with her phone.
"S-A-N-T-A..."
Grant leaned closer.
"Could be Italy."
Luca shook his head.
"My mother never returned."
"You thought she was dead."
Fair point.
Enzo arrived before sunset.
The moment he saw the photograph, he sank into a chair.
"You knew," Luca said.
"No."
"Look at me."
Enzo did.
Tears filled the old man’s eyes.
"I swear on my children."
Luca believed him.
So did Isabella.
Enzo studied the church picture.
"I’ve seen that place."
"Where?"
He squinted.
"Not Italy."
He snapped his fingers.
"Rhode Island."
Grant frowned.
"There’s a fishing village near Narragansett. Big Italian community. Church of Santa Maria del Mare."
Within ten minutes, Isabella found photographs online.
Same blue tiles.
Same stone steps.
Luca was already reaching for his coat.
Grant stopped him.
"If Elena is alive, there is a reason she stayed hidden."
"I’m still going."
"Then don’t arrive with six cars and armed men."
Luca almost smiled.
"Two cars?"
"One."
They left at dawn.
Only Luca and Isabella.
Enzo remained with Grant and the ledger.
The three-hour drive was mostly silent.
Halfway there, Isabella asked, "What will you say?"
"I don’t know."
"That must be new for you."
"It is."
She looked out the window.
"My grandmother lied to me my entire life."
"Mine too, apparently."
"Your mother."
"Yes."
"How do you feel?"
Luca considered.
"Angry."
"Only angry?"
"No."
He gripped the steering wheel.
"I spent twenty-one years visiting an empty grave. I talked to a piece of marble on her birthday."
Isabella looked at him.
"Maybe she thought disappearing protected you."
"That doesn’t make it hurt less."
"No."
He glanced at her.
"You’re unusually reasonable for someone who insulted me in a restaurant."
"You were interrupting my shift."
"Clearly unforgivable."
She smiled despite herself.
The church stood above a gray-blue stretch of Atlantic.
They parked across the street.
An elderly priest sweeping leaves noticed them.
"Luca Moretti?" he asked.
Luca stopped.
Isabella’s heart jumped.
"You know me?"
"She said you might come someday."
The priest rested both hands on the broom.
"You’re late."
Luca’s face tightened.
"Where is she?"
"Not here."
"Then where?"
"First, she asked me to make sure you came with Rosa Romano."
Luca looked at Isabella.
"Rosa isn’t here."
The priest studied her.
"But you are."
He smiled faintly.
"Isabella."
Her skin prickled.
"You know my name too."
"I know the names Elena prayed for."
They followed him into a small office.
He introduced himself as Father Michael Caruso.
"Elena came here fifteen years ago," he said.
"Fifteen?" Luca asked. "Where was she before that?"
"Recovering."
"From what?"
"Poisoning. Trauma. Fear."
"Who brought her?"
"A nurse named Margaret Hayes."
Isabella leaned forward.
"Margaret is alive?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Father Michael shook his head.
"She moves often."
Luca stood.
"I am done with secrets."
The priest did not flinch.
"Then stop behaving like a man people must hide from."
The words landed hard.
Luca stared.
Father Michael continued.
"Your mother was terrified of what you had become after Carlo died."
"I was twenty-seven."
"You were already running his organization."
Luca’s jaw tightened.
"Did she ever contact me?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Dominic Ferraro convinced her you knew about Antonio Romano’s murder."
Luca went still.
"What?"
"He told her you approved the threats against Rosa’s family."
"That’s a lie."
"I know."
"Did she?"
"Eventually."
Father Michael opened a drawer.
He placed a small recorder on the desk.
"Your mother discovered the truth twelve years ago."
Luca stared at it.
"Why didn’t she come home?"
"Because Dominic also told her Isabella had been killed."
Isabella felt sick.
"What?"
"He showed her a newspaper clipping about another young woman named Isabella Romano who died in Queens."
"That’s insane."
"It worked."
Luca looked toward the window.
"Dominic kept her isolated with lies."
"At first. Later shame did the rest."
"Shame?"
"Elena believed returning would destroy you."
"Why?"
Father Michael took a slow breath.
"Because there is one more secret."
Of course there was.
Isabella almost laughed.
"What secret?"
The priest looked at Luca.
"Your father was not Carlo Moretti."
Silence.
Luca sat again.
"What did you say?"
"Elena told me Carlo could not have children."
Luca’s face emptied.
"That’s impossible."
"She became pregnant before their wedding."
"With whom?"
Father Michael looked at Isabella.
Then back at Luca.
"A man from Rosa’s side of the family."
Luca stood so quickly the chair fell.
"No."
Isabella’s heart pounded.
"Who?"
The priest raised his hands.
"I don’t know. Elena never told me his name."
"You just said—"
"She said only that he was someone Carlo later had killed."
Luca stared at Isabella.
Antonio Romano had been killed.
Isabella’s grandfather.
"No," she whispered.
Father Michael understood.
"No. Elena was clear it was not Antonio."
Luca exhaled.
"Then who?"
"Someone named Matteo."
Isabella knew that name.
Her grandmother kept one photograph hidden in a drawer.
A young man in a Navy uniform.
"My grandmother had a brother."
Father Michael looked at her.
"Matteo Romano?"
"Yes."
Luca sat again.
If true, Rosa was not merely his aunt by marriage or distant relation.
She was his biological aunt.
Isabella was blood.
Closer than either had imagined.
"Where is my mother?" Luca asked.
Father Michael looked toward the chapel.
"She left three days ago."
Luca’s patience snapped.
"Where?"
"She received a letter."
"From whom?"
"Dominic."
Isabella’s stomach dropped.
"What did it say?"
"That Rosa was dying."
"She isn’t."
"I know."
Luca moved for the door.
Father Michael stopped him.
"There’s more."
He handed Isabella an envelope.
"Elena left this for you."
"For me?"
"She said if you came with Luca, you would know what to do."
Isabella opened it.
Inside was a bus ticket stub.
Brooklyn.
Yesterday.
And a handwritten address.
She recognized the street.
It was three blocks from Rosa’s house.
Luca was already dialing.
No answer.
He called again.
Still nothing.
Then Isabella’s phone rang.
Rosa.
She answered immediately.
"Nonna?"
Only breathing.
Then Dominic’s voice.
"Bring the ledger."
Isabella’s blood ran cold.
"Where is my grandmother?"
"She’s safe."
"Let me speak to her."
A woman cried out in the background.
Not Rosa.
Older.
Luca heard it.
His face changed.
Dominic continued.
"Bring the ledger to Bellaforte at midnight."
"Why there?"
"Because that is where all of this began."
The line went dead.
Luca stared at Isabella.
"That wasn’t Rosa."
"No."
May you like
His voice dropped.
"It was my mother."
