Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Dominic did not take Mia to his penthouse.
Sister Teresa refused.
Dominic argued.
Sister Teresa won.
Mia returned to St. Cecilia under round-the-clock protection while lawyers, family court representatives, social workers, and one deeply unimpressed nun explained to Dominic Moretti that biological fatherhood did not allow him to simply remove an eight-year-old child from the only home she remembered.
Dominic hated every minute.
But Mia watched.
So he behaved.
Mostly.
On the third evening, Dominic sat at a child-sized table in the visiting room helping Mia build a cardboard bridge for school.
He was terrible at glue.
Mia informed him repeatedly.
"That's too much."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
"I run construction companies."
"You don't build them."
Dominic looked at her.
She looked back.
Sister Teresa walked past the doorway, smiling.
Dominic reached for another popsicle stick.
Mia suddenly said, "My mom's name was Elena, right?"
His hand stopped.
"Yes."
"Did she die?"
Dominic looked at her carefully.
"I don't know."
"You said she disappeared."
"She did."
"That's not the same as dying."
"No."
Mia pressed one wooden stick into the glue.
"Then maybe she's alive."
The hope in her voice was small.
Terrifying.
Dominic had learned in three days that hope was something adults handed children carelessly and children paid for later.
"I looked for her for years."
"Maybe you looked in the wrong place."
Dominic stared.
Mia shrugged.
"I hid in the laundry closet once and Sister Agnes searched everywhere except the laundry closet."
From the doorway, Sister Agnes called, "Because children are not supposed to hide in industrial laundry closets."
Mia whispered, "See?"
Dominic almost smiled.
His phone vibrated.
Nico.
Dominic stepped into the hallway.
"What?"
"We found the woman who dropped Mia off."
Dominic's entire body went still.
"Anna Rossi?"
"Not Anna Rossi."
"Who?"
"Angela Russo. Former nurse. Worked at Mount Sinai until nine years ago."
"Where?"
"New Jersey."
"Alive?"
A pause.
"Yes."
Dominic closed his eyes.
"I'll be there in an hour."
Mia appeared beside him.
"No."
Dominic looked down.
She had clearly heard.
"You stay here."
"She knows my mother."
"Maybe."
"I want to go."
"No."
Mia crossed her arms.
Dominic recognized the expression.
Elena.
Absolutely Elena.
"That's not negotiable."
"What does negotiable mean?"
"It means no."
"Then say no."
"Mia."
"Promise."
His chest tightened.
"What?"
"You promised you wouldn't disappear."
"I'm coming back."
"You said forty-eight hours before and then men came."
Dominic had no answer.
Sister Teresa appeared.
"Take her."
Dominic turned.
"Absolutely not."
Sister Teresa lowered her voice.
"She has spent five years waiting for answers. You do not get to decide she is too fragile for the truth simply because you are afraid of it."
Dominic stared at her.
Mia stared at him.
Thirty minutes later, they were heading toward New Jersey.
Angela Russo lived above a laundromat in Hoboken.
No guards.
No wealth.
No sign that she had once carried the daughter of Dominic Moretti through a storm.
She opened the door and saw him.
Her face collapsed.
"Oh, God."
Dominic stepped forward.
"Angela?"
Then she saw Mia.
One hand flew to her mouth.
The child hid slightly behind Dominic.
Angela began to cry.
"She looks like Elena."
Mia whispered, "You brought me to St. Cecilia."
Angela nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For leaving you."
Mia stared at her.
Angela opened the door wider.
"Come in."
The apartment was warm and crowded with plants.
Dominic remained standing.
Mia sat.
Angela took a chair opposite her.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Then Dominic said, "Tell me everything."
Angela looked at Mia.
"Some of it isn't pretty."
"Tell me anyway."
Angela folded her hands.
"Elena found out she was pregnant about two months after she left you."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"Why did she leave?"
"Because Marco Bellini told her you ordered her killed."
Silence.
Mia looked at Dominic.
He did not move.
Angela continued.
"Marco showed her photographs. A car outside her apartment. Men watching her. He said your enemies knew about her and you had decided she was a liability."
Dominic's voice turned cold.
"She believed him?"
"He had been your closest friend for years. Why wouldn't she?"
Dominic looked away.
Angela's eyes filled.
"She ran. Changed names. Stayed with me."
"Why didn't she call me?"
"She tried."
Dominic turned back.
"What?"
"Three times. Every time, someone answered your private line and told her not to call again."
Marco.
Dominic felt physically sick.
Angela continued.
"After Mia was born, Elena kept moving. She was terrified. Then, when Mia was almost three, Elena got sick."
Mia's fingers curled in her lap.
"What kind of sick?"
Angela looked at her gently.
"Cancer."
Mia looked down.
Dominic closed his eyes.
No bullet had ever hurt this much.
"She died?"
Angela nodded.
"She fought for almost two years."
Dominic sat down.
He could not remain standing.
"Where?"
"Philadelphia."
"You were with her?"
"At the end."
"Did she..."
His voice failed.
He tried again.
"Did she say anything?"
Angela wiped her face.
"She talked about you every day."
Dominic stared at the floor.
"She wanted Mia to go to you. But she was afraid Marco would intercept her."
"So you took her to St. Cecilia."
"Elena had heard of Sister Teresa. She said if anything happened to me, leave Mia somewhere Marco wouldn't connect to her."
Mia whispered, "Why didn't you stay?"
Angela looked devastated.
"Because two days after Elena died, men came to my apartment."
Dominic looked up sharply.
"I knew they were looking for Mia. I thought if I disappeared too, they'd follow me instead."
"Did they?"
"For six years."
Dominic went still.
"Where are they now?"
Angela looked toward the window.
"I don't know."
A car alarm sounded below.
Nico, standing near the door, touched his earpiece.
Then froze.
"Boss."
Dominic heard it too.
Tires.
Fast.
Multiple engines.
Nico drew his weapon.
"Down!"
The apartment windows shattered.
Dominic threw himself over Mia.
Glass exploded across the floor.
Angela screamed.
Nico fired through the broken window.
Mia clung to Dominic's shirt.
"What's happening?"
Dominic kept one arm around her.
"Stay down."
Another burst hit the wall.
Then sirens rose in the distance.
The shooters fled.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Dominic looked down.
Mia's face was pressed against his chest.
He touched the back of her head.
No blood.
No injury.
He exhaled.
Then Angela made a strange sound.
Dominic turned.
She was on the floor.
Blood spread beneath her shoulder.
Mia saw.
"Angela!"
Dominic reached her.
The wound was high, near the collarbone.
"Pressure."
Nico dropped beside him.
Dominic pressed a towel to the wound.
Angela grabbed Dominic's wrist.
"Marco."
"I know."
"No."
Her breathing came sharp.
"You don't."
Dominic leaned closer.
Angela's fingers tightened.
"He didn't only hide Mia."
"What?"
"He was working with the Rosses before Elena ever left."
Dominic froze.
"How do you know?"
"Elena found something."
"What?"
Angela gasped.
"A ledger."
Dominic's face hardened.
"Where?"
Angela looked at Mia.
"The photograph."
Dominic turned.
Mia clutched the picture beneath her sweater.
"The back," Angela whispered.
"Open the back."
Mia frowned.
"It's paper."
"No."
Angela shook her head.
"Elena sealed something inside the cardboard backing."
Dominic took the photograph carefully.
For the first time, Mia let him.
He turned it over.
Along the edge was a faint seam.
Nico produced a pocketknife.
Dominic slowly opened the backing.
Inside was a tiny folded strip of paper.
Numbers.
Dates.
Initials.
Payments.
M.B.
Rossi family.
Dock routes.
Union accounts.
Twenty years of betrayal condensed into handwriting small enough to hide behind a photograph.
Dominic looked at the woman he had called a brother's friend.
Then at his daughter.
Marco had not just taken Elena.
May you like
He had taken eight years from Mia.
And if Dominic had anything to say about it, he would not take another hour.
