Chapter 3 - The Uncle Who Smiled Too Easily
Sofia Rossi was unlike every rumor I'd heard about the family.
She wore a cream-colored coat, carried no visible security, and looked like the sort of woman who could organize a charity gala rather than a criminal empire.
But Gabriel trusted her enough to let her enter.
That mattered.
"Marco found out you spoke Sicilian to our father," Sofia said.
"And?"
"He wants to meet you."
"No."
Gabriel answered before I could.
Sofia nodded.
"That's exactly what I told him you'd say."
She sat at the table.
"My father has been searching for Cosenza's ledger since 1994."
"Why?"
"Because whoever owns it controls the Rossi family's secrets."
"Does Marco want it?"
"Everyone wants it."
Gabriel stared at her.
"You never told me about the ledger."
"I didn't know where it was."
"Do you now?"
Sofia looked at me.
"I think Tessa does."
I almost laughed.
"I've never seen a ledger."
"Maybe not."
She touched the recipe box.
"Maybe your mother has."
My mother looked away.
I felt betrayed.
"Mom?"
She whispered:
"I don't remember."
Gabriel sat beside her.
"Mrs. Marino, nobody is asking you to confess to something you don't know."
My mother studied him.
"Your father used to say that too."
Gabriel flinched.
"You knew him well."
"I knew him before he became Don Salvatore."
That sentence silenced the room.
My mother finally told us the rest.
Daniel Marino had been hired to manage accounts for Salvatore's legitimate businesses.
Cosenza had discovered that Marco was secretly diverting money through shell companies.
Daniel found evidence.
He planned to expose it.
Then he disappeared.
My mother had been pregnant with me.
Salvatore allegedly warned her to keep quiet.
But Cosenza secretly protected her.
"He gave me this bracelet," she said.
"Why?"
"To remind me that not everyone in the Rossi family wanted me dead."
I looked at Gabriel.
"Who?"
"My father," he said.
I stared.
"What?"
"He may have protected your mother."
"But my mother said he threatened her."
"Because he had to make Marco believe she was afraid."
A new thought hit me.
"Then who killed my father?"
Nobody answered.
Sofia's eyes filled with tears.
"I have a theory."
"What?"
"Marco."
Gabriel stood.
"We're not accusing him without proof."
Sofia nodded.
"Exactly."
Three hours later, Gabriel took me to an old Rossi-owned townhouse on the Upper West Side.
Marco was waiting.
He was fifty-eight, silver-haired, elegantly dressed, and smiling.
Too much.
"Miss Marino."
He extended a hand.
I didn't take it.
His smile stayed.
"I understand you speak Sicilian."
"Sometimes."
"Interesting."
He poured wine.
I declined.
He laughed.
"My brother always liked people with attitude."
"What do you want?"
"The truth."
I almost smiled.
"That's what everyone says when they want something else."
Marco's smile disappeared.
Gabriel stepped closer.
"My sister told me you knew my father."
"Everyone knew your father."
"She meant before."
Marco looked at me.
"Your mother was beautiful."
My skin crawled.
"Don't talk about my mother."
"She was young."
"Don't."
He raised both hands.
"My apologies."
Then his gaze fell to my bracelet.
"Where did you get that?"
"My father."
His expression changed.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
"Daniel gave it to you?"
"Yes."
Marco stood.
"Your father stole many things."
"What did he steal?"
He leaned closer.
"The truth."
Gabriel stepped between us.
"That's enough."
Marco looked at his nephew.
"You've become sentimental."
Gabriel's voice turned cold.
"And you've become careless."
Silence.
Marco smiled again.
"You should be careful, Gabriel. Families are complicated."
We left.
In the car, I asked:
"Did you see his face when he looked at my bracelet?"
"Yes."
"He knows what it means."
"I think he does."
That evening, Gabriel received an anonymous text.
A photograph appeared.
My mother standing outside the hospital.
Taken that morning.
Under it were four words:
STOP DIGGING.
Gabriel showed me.
I stared at the screen.
"I'm not afraid."
He looked at me.
"I am."
"Of Marco?"
"Of what happens if he's not the worst person involved."
That night, somebody broke into my apartment.
Nothing was stolen.
The recipe box remained.
The photograph remained.
May you like
But one thing was gone.
My mother's bracelet.
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