Chapter 3 - THE SECRET OF THE FIRST SON
The heavy silence in the study was broken only by Katie’s ragged breathing.
Antonio stared at the yellowed birth certificate in the girl’s trembling hand. The air in the room felt thick, almost impossible to breathe.
“Read it,” Antonio commanded, his voice devoid of all emotion.
I stepped forward, taking the brittle paper from Katie because her hands were shaking too badly. I looked down at the faded typewriter ink from forty-six years ago.
“Mother: Eleanor Lombardi,” I read aloud, my voice echoing in the quiet study.
I swallowed hard, my eyes tracing the line below it.
“Father: Vincent Romano.”
Antonio staggered backward as if he’d been physically struck.
Vincent Romano.
He was the former head of the most ruthless rival mafia family in New York. A man who had waged a bloody, decade-long war against the Carusos before he was finally gunned down in the streets thirty years ago.
“No,” Antonio whispered, looking at his mother. “That’s impossible.”
Eleanor stood leaning heavily on her wooden cane. Tears spilled from her cloudy eyes, tracing the deep wrinkles of her face.
“It’s true, Antonio,” she wept, the secret of a lifetime finally breaking her. “Before I met your father, I was forced into an arranged engagement with Vincent. He was a monster. When I became pregnant, I ran away.”
She reached a trembling hand toward her son.
“Your father, Henry, found me,” she cried. “He hid me. He married me. He put his name on Daniel’s birth certificate and raised him as his own to protect him from the Romanos.”
I covered my mouth in shock.
Henry Caruso hadn't betrayed his wife. He had saved her. And he had kept the secret to his grave to protect a son that wasn't even his blood.
“Daniel found out,” Katie whispered from the sofa, wiping her green eyes. “Victoria told me Daniel discovered the truth seven years ago. That’s why he fought with your father. That’s why he left.”
Antonio’s jaw tightened with lethal realization.
“Daniel can’t inherit the Caruso estate if he isn't a Caruso,” Antonio said, the pieces of the sinister puzzle finally snapping together. “He has no legal claim. No blood claim. That’s why he needed Victoria to forge a new will.”
“And they needed me,” Katie sobbed. “Because as Henry’s biological daughter, my DNA could legitimize the transfer if the mafia commission ever questioned it. Victoria was going to use me as a puppet, then dispose of me.”
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the study burst open.
Carlo ran into the room, his face pale, holding a ringing cell phone.
“Boss,” the massive security chief gasped. “It’s Victoria. She’s calling your private line.”
Antonio snatched the phone, pressing it to his ear.
“Where is the boy, Victoria?” Antonio snarled, the mafia boss fully unleashing the terrifying aura that ruled the city.
Victoria’s cruel, high-pitched laugh echoed through the speaker.
“Oh, Antonio. Always trying to play the hero,” she taunted. “Daniel and I have the little brat. He’s perfectly safe. For now.”
“If you touch one hair on that child's head, there isn't a hole deep enough for you to hide in,” Antonio promised.
“I don't want the child,” Victoria sneered. “I want the estate. I want the company. And I want the humiliation of what you did to me tonight paid back in blood. Bring the wooden box and the signed will to the old Caruso bakery in Brooklyn. Come alone.”
“You think I’m walking into a trap for a girl I just met?” Antonio bluffed coldly.
“Oh, I know you will,” Victoria purred. “Because I didn't just take Katie’s son.”
My blood ran cold.
“What are you talking about?” Antonio demanded.
“Ask your little maid, Grace, to check her phone,” Victoria whispered.
My phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
With shaking hands, I pulled it out. There was a picture message from an unknown number.
I opened it, and the world completely dropped out from beneath my feet.
It was a photograph of a hospital bed.
The bed was empty. The IV line was ripped out, dripping fluid onto the linoleum floor.
And lying on the sterile white pillow was a simple silver cross necklace.
May you like
My mother’s necklace.
“She took my mother,” I screamed, dropping the phone onto the Persian rug. “Antonio, she took my mother!”
