Chapter 3 - The Child In The Photograph
“Why is there a picture of you holding a newborn baby in my father’s watch?”
Roman’s question hung in the heavy air of the dining room.
Victoria stared at the tiny, crumpled photograph in Roman’s hand. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Answer him,” Gabriel demanded, stepping closer.
I strained to see the photograph from where I stood. It was old, the colors slightly faded. Victoria looked younger, her hair pulled back, cradling a baby wrapped in a hospital blanket.
“It’s a mistake,” Victoria stammered, backing away from the table. “That’s not me. It’s a cousin. My sister.”
“You don’t have a sister,” Samuel Grant said, adjusting his glasses. “I ran a full background check on you when Roman proposed. You are an only child.”
Teresa Bellini stood up, her frail hands gripping the edge of the embroidered tablecloth.
“Gabriel,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Is that…?”
Gabriel closed his eyes. The hardened mafia heir suddenly looked like a broken man.
“Yes, Mom,” Gabriel said softly. “That’s my daughter.”
The room erupted into gasps.
Roman staggered back a step. “You have a daughter? With her?”
“We had a daughter,” Victoria screamed, her poise finally shattering. “She died, Gabriel! You know she died!”
“Stop lying!” Gabriel roared, his voice shaking the crystal glasses on the table.
He turned to Roman. “Ten years ago, right after I was accused of stealing the company funds, Victoria told me she was pregnant. She said we needed to run. I wanted to stay and clear my name, but she panicked.”
Gabriel dragged a hand down his face.
“She gave birth prematurely in Chicago. A little girl. We named her Mia.”
Teresa let out a sob, pressing her hand over her mouth.
“Victoria told me Mia didn’t make it through the night,” Gabriel continued, his voice breaking. “I was entirely broken. I left the hospital. I left the city. I disappeared because I had nothing left to live for.”
Roman looked at his brother, the eleven years of hatred slowly melting into shock.
“But she didn’t die,” Gabriel said, staring daggers at Victoria. “Did she?”
Victoria’s eyes darted toward the door, like a trapped animal calculating an escape.
“I had to protect her!” Victoria cried out. “You were a wanted man, Gabriel! Your father was hunting you. The police were hunting you. What kind of life was that for a child?”
“So you faked her death?” Roman asked, disgusted. “You let my brother mourn a child who was still alive?”
“And then she came back here,” Carlo finally spoke, standing up from his chair. He straightened his tie, trying to regain control of the room. “She came to me two years ago. She said she had Gabriel’s child and needed financial security.”
Roman whipped his head toward his cousin. “You knew about the girl?”
“Of course I did,” Carlo sneered. “That’s why I signed that contract, Roman. Victoria threatened to take the Bellini heir to our rivals. I was protecting the bloodline.”
It was a brilliant, sick reversal. Carlo was trying to play the hero.
“If you were protecting the bloodline, where is the child?” Teresa demanded, her voice surprisingly strong.
Carlo hesitated.
Victoria looked down at the floor.
“Where is my daughter, Victoria?” Gabriel asked, stepping into her personal space.
Victoria let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Roman yelled.
“I put her in a private boarding school in Switzerland seven years ago,” Victoria confessed, tears ruining her expensive makeup. “But when I went to visit her last month… she was gone. The school had no record of her.”
The dining room plunged into chaos again. Guests were whispering frantically.
I took a step backward, intending to clear the serving cart out of the way.
As I moved, my foot bumped against a heavy leather briefcase tucked under Samuel Grant’s chair.
The latch popped open.
I looked down.
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Spilling out of the attorney’s briefcase was a child’s sketchbook, covered in bright crayon drawings.
And right on the top page, written in clumsy, childish handwriting, were the words: To Uncle Samuel.
