Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Elina forgot she was holding the baby.
For several seconds, she forgot everything.
The dining room.
The bodyguards.
The man watching her.
Even the ache in her feet.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the photograph behind the bar.
The woman in it looked older than Elina.
Maybe thirty.
Elegant black dress.
Pearl earrings.
Dark hair falling over one shoulder.
But the resemblance was impossible to ignore.
Same oval face.
Same heavy lashes.
Same small curve at the corner of the mouth.
And the dimple.
Elina had always hated that dimple.
Her mother used to press a finger into it when Elina was little and say, That’s where God forgot to finish smoothing you out.
The woman in the photograph had the same one.
The baby made a soft sound against Elina’s neck.
That brought her back.
She looked at the mafia boss.
His expression had changed.
Not surprise anymore.
Recognition.
“What?” Elina whispered.
He stood.
Slowly.
The chair slid behind him.
“Where did you see that picture?”
Elina stared.
“I work here.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She looked toward the photograph again.
“It’s been there for years.”
The bartender, Marco, suddenly became very interested in polishing a glass.
The boss noticed.
“Marco.”
The bartender froze.
“Yes, Mr. Romano?”
Romano.
Elina had heard the name whispered before.
Everyone in Brooklyn had.
Luca Romano.
Thirty-eight.
Shipping.
Construction.
Restaurants.
Nightclubs.
And a dozen things nobody put into tax filings.
Luca pointed toward the photograph.
“Why is Sofia’s picture still hanging there?”
Marco swallowed.
“Mr. Orelio never took it down.”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“Who is Sofia?” Elina asked.
Nobody answered.
The baby shifted in her arms and placed one palm against her cheek.
Luca saw it.
Something painful crossed his face.
Then he looked at Elina again.
“How old are you?”
She frowned.
“Twenty-six.”
“When’s your birthday?”
The question felt wrong.
Too personal.
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
Her spine stiffened.
Fear was one thing.
Being ordered around was another.
“June nineteenth.”
Luca went completely still.
One of the men behind him muttered something under his breath in Italian.
Luca turned sharply.
“Not a word.”
Elina’s pulse quickened.
“What is happening?”
He looked at her.
“Who raised you?”
“My mother.”
“Name.”
“Maria Valdez.”
“Your father?”
“I never knew him.”
“When did your mother die?”
That stunned her.
“How do you know she’s dead?”
Luca did not answer.
Elina’s grip tightened around the baby.
“Give me my son.”
The softness in his voice surprised her.
She handed the boy back reluctantly.
The baby immediately protested.
His face crumpled.
“No,” Elina whispered instinctively.
Luca tried to settle him.
The child twisted in his arms, reaching toward her.
“Gabriel.”
The baby cried louder.
That was his name.
Gabriel.
Luca murmured something against his hair.
It didn’t work.
Elina stepped closer.
“Can I?”
Luca hesitated.
Then allowed her to touch the baby’s back.
Gabriel stopped crying almost instantly.
The room noticed.
Luca noticed more.
His eyes locked onto Elina’s hand.
There was no explaining that reaction away anymore.
Elina looked at him.
“You said only his mother could calm him.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Silence.
Elina already knew the answer before he spoke.
“Dead.”
The word fell between them.
“I’m sorry.”
Luca looked toward the photograph.
“That’s her.”
Elina felt cold.
“The woman?”
“Yes.”
“Sofia?”
“Sofia Romano.”
Her gaze snapped back to the image.
“You’re telling me your wife looked like me?”
“No.”
Luca’s answer came too quickly.
Elina frowned.
“No?”
He stepped closer.
“You look like her.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“It isn’t.”
Something in the way he said it made her skin prickle.
“Explain.”
Before he could, the restaurant owner appeared from the kitchen.
Gianni Orelio was sixty-eight, round through the middle, permanently smelling like garlic and cigar smoke.
“Elina.”
He looked horrified to see her standing beside Luca.
Then he saw the photograph.
His face drained.
Luca turned.
“You knew?”
Gianni’s lips parted.
“Knew what?”
“Don’t insult me.”
Nobody in the room moved.
Gianni looked at Elina.
Then at Luca.
“Oh, God.”
Elina’s heart started pounding.
“What do you know?”
Gianni shook his head.
“Nothing.”
She almost laughed.
“You just said ‘oh, God.’”
“Elina—”
“Who is Sofia?”
Gianni closed his eyes.
Luca’s voice became dangerous.
“Answer her.”
Gianni looked suddenly old.
“She used to come here.”
Elina pointed at the photograph.
“I figured that out.”
“With her family.”
“What family?”
Gianni hesitated.
Luca said:
“Gianni.”
The warning was quiet.
Gianni exhaled.
“The DeSantis family.”
One of Luca’s bodyguards shifted.
Elina noticed.
“Who are they?”
Nobody answered.
“That bad?”
Gianni rubbed his forehead.
“Sofia DeSantis was born into a family that had history with Luca’s.”
Elina looked between them.
“History meaning what?”
Luca answered.
“Blood.”
Simple.
Cold.
She swallowed.
“And she married you?”
“Yes.”
“Against their wishes?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Elina looked at the photograph.
“When did she die?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“In childbirth?”
Luca’s eyes flicked toward Gabriel.
“No.”
Elina’s stomach tightened.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
He said it without expression.
But his hand around Gabriel’s back tightened.
Elina knew grief when she saw it.
Maria Valdez had died five years earlier after a stroke.
Elina had been the one to identify her.
Some losses lived in the body forever.
She looked back at the photograph.
“Why do I look like her?”
Gianni whispered:
“Elina…”
She turned.
“What?”
He stared at her face.
“Your mother used to work here too.”
Elina stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Years ago.”
“She never told me.”
“I know.”
“You knew Maria?”
Gianni nodded.
“How?”
“She waited tables.”
Elina looked around the restaurant she had worked in for two years.
Her mother had stood in the same room.
Carried the same plates.
Maybe complained about the same broken air-conditioning in August.
And never mentioned it.
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
Elina’s knees suddenly felt weak.
Luca noticed.
He pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She remained standing out of spite.
Luca almost looked impressed.
Gianni continued:
“Maria left Brooklyn when she was pregnant.”
Elina froze.
“With me?”
“Yes.”
Her voice became smaller.
“Why?”
Gianni looked at Luca.
That made Elina angry.
“Stop looking at him before you answer me.”
Gianni’s eyes returned to hers.
“There was trouble.”
“What trouble?”
“Between the DeSantis family and the Romanos.”
Elina laughed once.
Unbelieving.
“My mother was from Puerto Rico. She worked housekeeping, diners, laundromats. She had nothing to do with mafia families.”
Gianni said nothing.
Which meant she was wrong.
Her heart started beating harder.
“What are you saying?”
Luca looked at Gianni.
“Tell her.”
Gianni whispered:
“Maria Valdez was not the name she was born with.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Elina stared at him.
“No.”
“She changed it.”
“No.”
“Elina—”
“No.”
She stepped back.
Gabriel immediately reached toward her again.
His small cry cracked through the silence.
Luca watched her.
“What was her name?” Elina asked.
Gianni’s mouth trembled.
He looked toward Sofia’s photograph.
Then back at Elina.
“Marina DeSantis.”
Elina stopped.
Luca’s face went blank.
One of the bodyguards whispered:
“Madonna.”
Elina looked from man to man.
“Who?”
Luca was the one who answered.
“Sofia’s mother had a younger sister.”
He stared directly at Elina.
“Marina.”
The world went silent again.
Elina looked at the photograph.
Then at Luca.
Then at Gabriel.
Her voice barely worked.
“You’re saying my mother was Sofia’s aunt?”
“Yes.”
Elina shook her head.
“That would make Sofia…”
“Your cousin.”
Her stomach dropped.
Gabriel reached for her.
Again.
The room suddenly made horrible sense.
Not completely.
But enough.
He wasn’t reacting to some mystical stranger.
He was seeing a face his infant brain remembered.
A face shaped like his mother’s.
Luca looked almost relieved by the explanation.
For half a second.
Then Gianni whispered:
“No.”
Everyone turned.
The old restaurant owner had gone gray.
Luca frowned.
“What?”
Gianni stared at Elina.
“That’s not why the baby reacted.”
Elina felt cold.
“What do you mean?”
Gianni took one step backward.
Like he regretted having spoken.
Luca moved toward him.
“Finish it.”
Gianni’s eyes filled with fear.
“Marina wasn’t Sofia’s aunt.”
Luca’s expression changed.
“What?”
Gianni swallowed.
“She was her mother.”
Nobody breathed.
Elina stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
Gianni shook his head.
“Sofia was born when Marina was sixteen.”
Luca went still.
“Her family raised Sofia as her sister?”
Gianni nodded.
“To avoid scandal.”
Elina’s legs nearly failed.
If Marina was Sofia’s mother…
And Marina was also Elina’s mother…
Then—
Luca said it first.
“Sofia was your half sister.”
Gabriel made a soft sound.
Elina looked down at him.
Her nephew.
Her dead sister’s son.
A sister she never knew existed.
Tears burned her eyes.
“No.”
She stepped backward.
“I need to leave.”
Luca moved instinctively.
“Elina.”
“Don’t.”
She pointed at him.
“I don’t know you.”
Then at Gianni.
“And apparently I didn’t know my mother.”
She grabbed her coat.
Gianni called after her.
“Elina, wait.”
She stopped at the door.
He looked terrified.
“There’s something else.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Of course there is.”
Gianni looked at Luca.
Then at the men around him.
“We shouldn’t talk here.”
Luca’s face changed.
“Why?”
Gianni lowered his voice.
“Because if the DeSantis family learns Marina’s second daughter is alive…”
Elina’s blood went cold.
“What?”
Gianni stared at her.
May you like
“They’ll come for you.”
And before anyone could answer, the restaurant lights went out.
