Chapter 2 - My Mother’s Name Changed Everything
I had spent most of my life believing my mother came from nowhere.
That was the version my father preferred.
Evelyn Ashford had supposedly been a scholarship student from Pennsylvania who met Edmund at a charity dinner, married into wealth, and died after a sudden aneurysm seventeen years later.
No grandparents.
No siblings.
No childhood friends.
Whenever I asked questions, my father said her family was dead.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
Now Nico Ferrara was staring at me as though the word Romano had opened a grave.
“Who were the Romanos?” I asked.
No one answered immediately.
That told me enough.
Nico turned to Sal.
“Call Sofia.”
Sal was already moving.
My father tried to stand.
Nico pointed at him.
“You stay.”
“I brought you information.”
“You brought me a woman as payment this morning and tried to retrieve her tonight. Your usefulness is not what you think it is.”
Edmund looked at me.
“Nora, we need to leave.”
“No.”
“You don’t know these people.”
I almost laughed.
“I know you.”
That hurt him.
Good.
For years he had convinced me I was weak because I avoided conflict.
That night, standing beside a mafia boss in a borrowed robe, I realized avoidance had been survival.
Not weakness.
The difference mattered.
Nico led us into his study.
My father sat under guard.
I remained near the fireplace.
Nico offered me a chair.
I took it because my legs were shaking.
“Tell me everything you know about your mother,” he said.
“Not much.”
“What was her maiden name?”
“Romano.”
“You’re certain?”
“I found a photograph after she died. On the back, someone wrote Evelyn Romano, age nineteen.”
“Where is it?”
“My father took it.”
Nico looked at Edmund.
Edmund’s face tightened.
“Where?”
“I destroyed it.”
My chest hurt.
“You told me I imagined seeing it.”
“You were grieving.”
“You called me unstable.”
“You were.”
Nico rose.
I spoke quickly.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Not because my father deserved protection.
Because I needed answers more than vengeance.
I looked at Edmund.
“Who was she?”
He stared at the floor.
“My wife.”
“Before you.”
Silence.
“Who was she before you?”
His mouth tightened.
Nico leaned against the desk.
“If I have to ask, you’re going to hate the method.”
Edmund looked up.
“Her father was Carlo Romano.”
Sal returned to the room at that exact moment.
He heard the name.
Stopped.
Nico’s face became unreadable.
“Carlo Romano died twenty-eight years ago.”
My father nodded.
“Who was he?” I asked.
Nico looked at me.
“A boss.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Brooklyn. Queens. Parts of Long Island.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
“My grandfather was mafia?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
My father laughed bitterly.
“You married one today. Apparently family tradition survived.”
Nico crossed the room so fast Edmund barely had time to flinch.
I stood.
“Nico.”
He stopped before hitting him.
That was the first time I said his name without fear.
His eyes shifted toward me.
Something changed between us.
Small.
But real.
I looked at my father.
“Keep talking.”
Carlo Romano had led one of New York’s most powerful families.
He had three children.
Two sons.
One daughter.
Evelyn.
My mother.
When Carlo was murdered, the Romano organization fractured.
His oldest son died three weeks later.
The younger son disappeared.
Evelyn was twenty.
She vanished from public life.
Within two years, she married Edmund Ashford.
“You knew exactly who she was,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Did you marry her for money?”
My father’s expression changed.
For once, the answer seemed to hurt him.
“No.”
I almost laughed.
“Do not insult her memory by pretending you loved her.”
“I did love her.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
My father had used love as justification before.
I did not accept it easily.
“What happened?”
He looked older suddenly.
“I met Evelyn before I had anything. Before Ashford Capital. Before the mansion.”
“You came from money.”
“Not enough.”
That sounded like him.
Never enough.
“She was hiding,” he continued. “The Romano family was collapsing. There were people looking for her.”
“Why?”
“She inherited something.”
Nico looked sharply at him.
“What?”
Edmund hesitated.
Nico’s patience ended.
“What did Evelyn inherit?”
“Control.”
“Of what?”
“A financial network her father built.”
Sal exhaled.
Nico said, “The Romano reserve.”
My father closed his eyes.
That meant something to everyone but me.
“What is that?”
Nico answered.
“Carlo Romano was old-fashioned about cash but brilliant about legitimate assets. Property. Shipping. Construction. Private investments. People assumed most of it disappeared after he died.”
“It didn’t,” Edmund said.
I stared at him.
“Where is it?”
He looked at me.
“Technically?”
My stomach dropped.
“Yours.”
No one spoke.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Estimate.”
He swallowed.
“Maybe one hundred fifty million.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because my brain rejected the number.
“Stop.”
“Nora—”
“Twenty minutes ago, you said twenty-six million.”
“That’s the Ashford trust.”
“What is this?”
“Separate.”
I stood.
The room tilted.
Nico moved toward me.
I raised a hand.
“I’m fine.”
I was not.
But I did not want anyone touching me.
Not yet.
“My mother had one hundred fifty million dollars and stayed married to you while you—”
I could not finish.
While you hurt me.
While you controlled everything.
While you told us we needed you.
My father looked away.
“She couldn’t access it.”
“Why?”
“Carlo built protections into the trust. Evelyn received income but not principal until certain conditions were satisfied.”
“What conditions?”
“Her twenty-eighth birthday.”
I frowned.
“She died at thirty-seven.”
“Yes.”
“Then she could access it.”
My father went silent.
Nico understood before I did.
“You changed the trust.”
Edmund said nothing.
“You forged something.”
Still nothing.
My chest tightened.
“What did you do?”
My father whispered, “I convinced her to restructure it.”
“Convinced?”
Nico’s voice became dangerous.
Edmund looked at me.
“Your mother was afraid.”
“Of whom?”
“The people who wanted the Romano assets.”
“So you offered protection.”
“Yes.”
“And took control.”
“Yes.”
There it was.
My father had always called himself a protector.
Even while becoming the danger.
“What happened when she wanted out?”
Silence.
Nico looked at him.
“Nora asked you a question.”
My father’s face changed.
And suddenly I knew.
Before he answered.
Before anyone moved.
I knew.
“My mother didn’t die from an aneurysm.”
Edmund stood.
“Nora—”
I stepped back.
“You lied.”
“She was sick.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You lie when you say nothing.”
His face crumpled.
I had never seen my father cry.
Not at my mother’s funeral.
Not when his own father died.
Not when my engagement at twenty-three collapsed after he threatened the man I loved.
Now his eyes filled.
“She was leaving me.”
The room went silent.
“She found someone who could help her recover control of the trust.”
“Who?”
“Her brother.”
The missing Romano son.
“My uncle is alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“He was alive then.”
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother died eleven years ago.
“He contacted her. She planned to take you and leave.”
My hands shook.
“Then what?”
Edmund looked at the floor.
“She died.”
Nico’s voice became almost inaudible.
“How?”
“I told you. Aneurysm.”
Nico turned to Sal.
“Get Dr. Leone.”
My father stiffened.
“Why?”
“We’re exhuming Evelyn Ashford.”
“No.”
That single word exposed him.
Everyone heard it.
My father realized immediately.
Too late.
Nico smiled without warmth.
“Interesting.”
“You can’t.”
“She’s buried on Ashford property?”
“Yes.”
“My wife owns part of that property through her trust.”
My father glared at me.
“She does not consent.”
I looked at him.
“Yes, I do.”
His face changed.
“Nora.”
“I want to know how my mother died.”
“You’ll destroy everything.”
“Then maybe everything deserves to be destroyed.”
He stood.
A guard pushed him back into the chair.
My father looked suddenly desperate.
“You think Ferrara is saving you?”
I went still.
“He married you to punish me.”
“I know.”
“He ordered you upstairs.”
I felt Nico’s attention sharpen.
“He intended to use you.”
Nico said nothing.
Because it was true.
At least at first.
Edmund laughed.
“He is not different from me.”
The statement landed.
I looked at Nico.
His face tightened.
He did not defend himself.
That mattered.
Finally, he said, “I was wrong.”
My father scoffed.
Nico kept his eyes on me.
“I married you for revenge.”
Every word hurt, even though I already knew.
“I intended to make Edmund understand what it felt like to lose control over someone he considered his.”
I swallowed.
“That made me a weapon.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“And tonight?”
His jaw worked.
“I gave you an order I had no right to give.”
Silence.
“I will never give you that kind of order again.”
I looked at him.
“You expect me to believe you changed because you saw scars?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because the scars proved I was about to become part of the same cruelty I claimed I was avenging.”
My father laughed.
“Very noble.”
Nico turned.
“Be quiet.”
Then he looked at me again.
“You do not owe me trust.”
That sentence reached somewhere deep.
Men in my life had always demanded trust before earning it.
My father.
My former fiancé.
Doctors my father paid.
Teachers he influenced.
Nico did something none of them had done.
He acknowledged the debt belonged to him.
My phone rang.
Everyone looked at it.
I had no idea how it remained in my robe pocket.
Unknown number.
Nico held out his hand.
I shook my head.
“I’ll answer.”
He nodded.
Choice again.
I put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
Older.
Calm.
“Nora Romano.”
My skin went cold.
“No one calls me that.”
“Your mother did.”
I could not breathe.
Nico moved closer.
“Who is this?”
The man ignored the question.
“Is Edmund with you?”
I looked at my father.
His face had gone completely white.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Who are you?”
A pause.
Then:
“Your uncle.”
My knees weakened.
Nico caught the chair before I fell against it.
“You’re alive?”
“For now.”
My father whispered, “Hang up.”
I looked at him.
The man on the phone heard.
“Edmund still frightened of ghosts?”
My father stood.
“Give me the phone.”
Nico’s men moved.
I backed away.
“Why did you call him about me?”
“I didn’t.”
Silence.
“What?”
“I did not order Marco Ferrara’s attack.”
Nico’s head lifted.
“Then who did?”
The man sighed.
“That is why you need to leave the Ferrara house tonight.”
Nico took one step closer to the phone.
“Tell him he can speak to me directly.”
My uncle laughed softly.
“I know who Nico Ferrara is.”
Nico’s expression hardened.
The man continued.
“And if my niece is standing near him, tell her to ask Nico one question.”
“What?”
“Ask him why his father was in the car the night Carlo Romano died.”
Nico froze.
Not metaphorically.
His entire body stopped.
I looked at him.
“What is he talking about?”
The phone disconnected.
My father closed his eyes.
I stared at Nico.
He said nothing.
“Nico.”
Still nothing.
“Nico, why was your father there when my grandfather was murdered?”
May you like
His face changed.
For the first time since I met him, the ruthless Nico Ferrara looked afraid of an answer.
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