Chapter 2 - The House Where Sofia’s Ghost Still Lived
Dante Moretti’s home did not look like the headquarters of a criminal empire.
That bothered me more than if it had.
I expected iron gates shaped like knives.
Men with machine guns.
Maybe a moat full of lawyers.
Instead, the Moretti residence sat behind a line of trees in Westchester, all pale stone, warm windows, and understated wealth.
Nothing screamed danger.
Everything whispered it.
The SUV passed two security checkpoints before reaching the main house.
I counted cameras automatically.
Then realized I had started behaving like somebody who expected bullets.
That was new.
Leo had fallen asleep again against me.
His tiny face rested beneath my collarbone.
Every time I looked at him, something pulled inside my chest.
Aunt.
The word still felt unreal.
I did not know if Gianni had told the truth.
I did not know whether Mr. Orelio’s letter was genuine.
I did not know whether the woman in that photograph was actually my twin sister.
But my body already reacted to Leo like losing him would matter.
That frightened me.
Dante sat across from us in the dark vehicle.
He barely looked away.
Not at me.
At Leo.
“You can take him.”
I hated how defensive I sounded.
Dante’s eyes lifted.
“I know.”
“You keep staring.”
“I’m checking whether he’s breathing.”
“He is.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
The vehicle stopped.
Dante opened the door.
“Stay close.”
“I’m not your employee.”
“No.”
“Then don’t order me.”
He looked toward the dark driveway.
“Someone fired at you tonight.”
“That doesn’t make you my boss.”
“No.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“It makes me the person with thirty armed professionals between you and whoever fired.”
I hated good arguments.
“Fine.”
Inside, the house felt lived in.
That surprised me.
Children’s toys near the staircase.
A knitted blanket on the sofa.
A framed photograph slightly crooked on the entry table.
I stopped.
Sofia.
This time she was holding Leo.
He looked newborn.
Her hair was pulled back.
She was tired.
Happy.
Alive.
My stomach twisted.
Dante followed my gaze.
“That was three days before she died.”
“I’m sorry.”
He said nothing.
His grief lived in silence.
A woman hurried downstairs.
Maybe mid-thirties.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
Beautiful in a dangerous way.
She stopped when she saw me.
Her face changed exactly the way Dante’s had in the restaurant.
“No.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Camila.”
She stared at me.
“No.”
I shifted Leo higher.
“This is becoming repetitive.”
Camila looked toward her brother.
“Who is she?”
“Elina Valdez.”
“Why does she have Leo?”
“He reached for her.”
Camila looked horrified.
“What?”
“He calmed down.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
Camila crossed the room.
She stopped inches from me.
For one terrifying second, I thought she might touch my face.
She didn’t.
“You look like Sofia.”
“I’ve been informed.”
“You sound nothing like her.”
“Great. Something is mine.”
Her eyes softened unexpectedly.
“I’m sorry.”
That disarmed me.
“Thank you.”
She looked at Leo.
“He hates strangers.”
“Another popular fact.”
Camila looked at Dante.
“What happened?”
He handed her the letter.
She read it.
By the final paragraph, her face had become hard.
“Father.”
Dante nodded.
I looked between them.
“What about him?”
Neither answered.
“Guys?”
Camila folded the letter.
“Our father and Mr. Orelio hated each other.”
“Why?”
“He never told us.”
Dante looked toward Sofia’s photograph.
“Maybe this is why.”
I tightened my hold on Leo.
“Where is your father?”
“Dead,” Dante said.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“That’s convenient.”
Camila gave me a strange look.
“You really say whatever you think.”
“Poverty doesn’t provide media training.”
To my surprise, she laughed.
Dante’s mouth twitched.
Then a man appeared at the end of the hall.
Older.
Gray suit.
Silver hair.
He walked with the confidence of someone who belonged everywhere.
“Dante.”
His eyes moved toward me.
He stopped.
The softness vanished from his expression.
“Sofia?”
Dante stepped between us immediately.
“No.”
The man stared.
“Who is she?”
“Elina Valdez.”
Something changed in his face.
Recognition.
Not resemblance.
Name.
I saw it.
“You know me.”
“No.”
“That was too fast.”
Dante’s gaze sharpened.
“Uncle Carlo.”
There it was.
Another Moretti.
Of course.
Carlo looked toward the letter in Camila’s hand.
Then toward me.
“You should not be here.”
Dante became still.
“Why?”
Carlo realized the mistake.
Too late.
I shifted Leo to my other side.
“That is exactly what people say before explaining a family conspiracy.”
Carlo’s expression tightened.
“Elina—”
“How do you know my name?”
Dante stepped closer.
“Answer her.”
Carlo looked at him.
“Not tonight.”
Dante’s voice dropped.
“That was not a request.”
For the first time, I saw what everyone else saw when they looked at Dante.
Something dark.
Controlled.
Not loud.
That made it worse.
Carlo exhaled.
“I knew Lucia.”
My skin prickled.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Biological mother?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“How?”
“She worked for your father,” Carlo told Dante.
Dante frowned.
“My father never mentioned her.”
“He had reasons.”
“Which were?”
Carlo looked toward me.
“Lucia Orelio was an accountant.”
I laughed softly.
“Very dramatic.”
“Not that kind.”
He continued.
“She handled private financial structures for several families.”
“Money laundering?”
Carlo did not answer.
Good enough.
“She discovered Antonio was diverting funds.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“My father stole from the organization?”
“Your father did many things you never knew.”
Camila crossed her arms.
“And Lucia?”
“Threatened to expose him.”
I stared.
“Then what?”
Carlo hesitated.
Dante’s voice turned colder.
“Tell her.”
“Antonio became involved with her.”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
Dante looked at Carlo.
“Involved how?”
Carlo looked toward Sofia’s photograph.
“Sofia and Elina were Antonio’s daughters.”
Everything stopped.
I stared at Dante.
His expression went blank.
“No.”
Carlo continued.
“Lucia had twins.”
Dante’s face changed.
“My father…”
He looked at Sofia’s photograph.
“My wife was my half-sister?”
“No.”
Carlo shook his head quickly.
“Antonio was not Sofia’s biological father.”
Dante stared.
“Then what are you saying?”
Carlo looked frustrated.
“I’m saying Antonio believed they might be his daughters.”
I almost laughed from shock.
“This family desperately needs diagrams.”
Camila whispered, “Carlo.”
He exhaled.
“Lucia was already pregnant when Antonio began seeing her.”
“Who was the father?” I asked.
Carlo looked at me.
“Gabriel Santoro.”
Dante went very still.
I had heard the name.
Even I knew Santoro.
Old mafia dynasty.
Nearly destroyed twenty-five years ago in a war against the Morettis.
Dante whispered, “Lucia was with Santoro?”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why Orelio hated him.”
“Yes.”
Carlo continued.
“When the twins were born, Antonio became obsessed with the possibility one or both were his.”
I looked down at Leo.
“This is insane.”
“He ordered blood tests.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“Results?”
“Gabriel Santoro was the father.”
I exhaled.
Sofia and I were not Dante’s sisters.
Wonderful.
The bar was underground.
“But Antonio refused to believe it.”
Camila frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Lucia tried to leave.”
Carlo’s eyes darkened.
“Antonio wanted control.”
Dante looked disgusted.
“He took Sofia?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“Gabriel Santoro was killed.”
I stopped breathing.
“By?”
Carlo looked toward Dante.
“Antonio.”
Silence.
Dante’s jaw clenched.
“Why?”
“Jealousy. Business. Pride.”
Carlo looked older suddenly.
“Pick one.”
I looked at Sofia’s photograph.
My sister’s father.
My father.
Killed before I could know him.
“Lucia ran.”
“Yes.”
“With us?”
“She tried.”
Carlo sat.
“For three days, she hid at Orelio’s restaurant.”
I looked around the luxurious house.
“The restaurant?”
“There used to be apartments upstairs.”
Of course.
Mr. Orelio protected his daughter.
“Antonio found them?”
“His men did.”
My hands went cold.
“Then why did we survive?”
Carlo looked at me.
“Because two men disobeyed Antonio.”
“Who?”
“One was me.”
Dante stared.
“You?”
Carlo nodded.
“The other was Tomas Valdez.”
My breath stopped.
“My father.”
“Your adoptive father.”
I remembered Tomas only through photographs.
He died when I was twelve.
A construction accident.
My mother Carla raised me alone after.
Carlo continued.
“Tomas worked as a driver for Antonio.”
I looked down.
Nothing in my childhood suggested that.
“Tomas took you.”
“Why me?”
“Because Lucia handed you to him.”
My throat tightened.
“What about Sofia?”
“Lucia kept her.”
“Why split us?”
“Because one baby was easier to hide than two.”
I felt sick.
Carlo’s voice softened.
“She planned to reunite you.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
He looked away.
Dante already knew.
“She died.”
Carlo nodded.
“Antonio found her.”
My voice shook.
“He killed my mother?”
Carlo’s silence answered.
I stood too fast.
Leo stirred.
Dante moved closer but did not touch me.
Good.
I could not handle touch.
“My whole life…”
My voice cracked.
“My entire life was built on a lie.”
Carlo looked ashamed.
“Tomas and Carla loved you.”
“I know.”
“That part was real.”
“I know.”
I hated that tears came.
“They never told me.”
“They were afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Antonio.”
Dante looked toward the ceiling.
“My father died three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t they tell her then?”
Carlo said nothing.
I looked at him.
“They were dead by then.”
He nodded.
The injustice of it punched through me.
My parents had carried a secret to their graves because rich violent men decided what truths poor people were allowed to know.
Leo woke and made a small unhappy sound.
I held him closer.
Instantly calm.
Dante watched.
His face changed.
“Sofia knew.”
Carlo looked at him.
“Probably.”
“No.”
Dante crossed toward the fireplace.
“She definitely knew.”
He looked at me.
“Two weeks before she died, she asked whether I believed children inherited their parents’ sins.”
My heart pounded.
“What did you say?”
“That sins were choices.”
Dante swallowed.
“She cried.”
Camila whispered, “She never told me.”
“Me either.”
Dante turned toward Carlo.
“How did Sofia find out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who told her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she confront you?”
“No.”
Dante’s voice sharpened.
“Then somebody else knew.”
Carlo went still.
I saw it.
“Who?”
He looked toward the staircase.
“Dante.”
“Who?”
Carlo lowered his voice.
“Your mother.”
Dante’s face changed.
“My mother died fifteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“She never met Sofia.”
Carlo looked at him.
“That’s what you were told.”
My head hurt.
“Can somebody in this family please stay dead or alive consistently?”
Camila nearly laughed.
Dante did not.
Carlo continued.
“Your mother knew Lucia before Antonio did.”
“How?”
“They went to school together.”
Dante stared.
“She knew about the twins?”
“Yes.”
“And said nothing?”
“She tried.”
Carlo looked toward the floor.
“Antonio sent her away.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“Mother’s breakdown.”
“It wasn’t a breakdown.”
“What?”
“He had her committed.”
Camila whispered, “No.”
Carlo nodded.
Dante looked ready to destroy the room.
“He told us she was ill.”
“She was terrified.”
I watched Dante absorb the idea that his father had lied about nearly everything.
Maybe this was why he and I understood each other before we even liked each other.
We were both realizing our childhoods had been edited by powerful men.
Carlo stood.
“There are records.”
“Where?” Dante demanded.
“Orelio kept copies.”
I remembered the letter.
“Sofia said she came to him.”
Carlo nodded.
“She probably found them.”
Dante’s voice went flat.
“And someone killed her.”
No one answered.
Leo began chewing the edge of my apron.
I looked down.
“You’re handling this better than the adults.”
Dante almost smiled.
Camila touched the back of a chair.
“We need proof.”
“Yes,” Dante said.
“DNA first,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“I’m not reorganizing my family tree based on stories from a man who kept secrets for thirty years.”
Carlo accepted that.
Dante nodded.
“I’ll arrange it.”
“No Moretti doctor.”
He looked at me.
“Fine.”
“Independent lab.”
“Fine.”
“And I get my own copy.”
“Obviously.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
Camila smiled.
“You’re good for him.”
Dante looked offended.
“It has been two hours.”
“Exactly.”
The DNA samples were collected privately that night.
Mine.
Leo’s.
A hairbrush belonging to Sofia preserved in Dante’s bedroom.
That part nearly broke me.
Dante brought it out himself.
Dark strands caught between the bristles.
My possible twin sister.
Dead.
Reduced to photographs, memories, and hair in a brush.
I could not look at him.
He could not look at me.
The results would take twenty-four hours.
Until then, I was given a guest room.
I hated the word given.
I hated the security man outside.
I hated the borrowed pajamas Camila handed me.
I hated that Leo screamed when a nanny tried taking him.
Eventually Dante appeared at the doorway.
“He needs sleep.”
“So do I.”
“I know.”
Leo reached for me again.
Dante closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“This.”
He gestured vaguely.
Everything.
I sighed.
“Give him here.”
Dante passed him over.
Leo tucked against me.
Instantly relaxed.
Dante sat in a chair near the window.
“You can leave.”
“I know.”
“You’re still here.”
“Yes.”
I adjusted the baby.
“Why?”
He looked toward his son.
“Because if Sofia was your sister…”
He stopped.
I waited.
“She would have wanted me to protect you.”
I felt anger instantly.
“I don’t need another dead person assigning men to protect me.”
His eyes lifted.
Fair.
“And I especially don’t need you turning me into a replacement for your wife.”
Dante went completely still.
“I’m not.”
“You look at me and see her.”
“Sometimes.”
I appreciated the honesty even though it hurt.
“I can’t be her.”
“I know.”
“Leo might not.”
Dante’s face tightened.
“He’ll learn.”
“Will you?”
Silence.
That landed.
I almost apologized.
Then decided not to.
Dante looked toward the moonlit window.
“Sofia was not easy.”
I blinked.
“Good.”
He glanced at me.
“What?”
“I don’t want stories about a dead saint.”
A faint smile.
“She hated mornings.”
“I hate mornings.”
“She loved olives.”
“I hate olives.”
“Good.”
He relaxed slightly.
“She sang badly.”
“I sing beautifully.”
“I doubt that.”
“You barely know me.”
“I’ve heard you humming to Leo.”
I stared.
“When?”
“In the car.”
I hadn’t realized.
“What song?”
Dante’s expression changed.
“That’s why I was staring.”
Cold moved through me.
“What song?”
He whispered the melody.
My stomach dropped.
A lullaby my mother Carla used to sing.
One I had been humming unconsciously.
Dante said quietly, “Sofia sang the same one to Leo.”
I could not speak.
“How?”
“I asked her once.”
“What did she say?”
“That she remembered it from somewhere before she was old enough to know where.”
My eyes filled.
Lucia.
Our real mother.
She had sung it to both of us.
Before we were separated.
Leo curled closer.
I looked at him.
Then Dante.
For the first time, the impossible started feeling real.
My sister had existed.
She had grown up somewhere without me.
She had loved this child.
She had loved this man.
She had spent years missing a twin she could barely remember.
Just like some hidden part of me had apparently remembered her.
A knock interrupted us.
Camila entered holding a sealed envelope.
Her face looked strange.
“DNA lab expedited.”
Dante stood.
“That was fast.”
“I paid.”
I looked at her.
“With what?”
She shrugged.
“Moretti guilt.”
Fair.
I opened the results.
My hands shook.
Probability of full sibling relationship between Elina Valdez and Sofia Moretti:
99.9987%.
I stopped breathing.
Dante read over my shoulder.
Leo made a sleepy sound.
My eyes filled.
“Sofia was my sister.”
Dante’s voice softened.
“Yes.”
“My twin.”
“Yes.”
I cried.
Not delicately.
Not beautifully.
I cried for a woman I had never met.
For thirty years stolen.
For every birthday we had spent apart.
For every time I had looked in a mirror without knowing another face existed somewhere in the city.
Dante did not touch me until I leaned toward him first.
Then his arms closed around me carefully.
Leo between us.
For one brief moment, we were three people grieving the same woman from different sides.
Then Camila’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
“What?”
Dante released me.
Camila looked at him.
“Gianni’s missing.”
My stomach dropped.
“Missing?”
“The restaurant closed after the shooting.”
She swallowed.
“Security went back to get him.”
“And?”
“The kitchen was empty.”
Dante’s eyes hardened.
Camila continued.
“They found blood.”
I stood.
“Is he dead?”
“We don’t know.”
Dante reached for his phone.
Then mine rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Breathing.
Then a man’s voice.
“Congratulations, Elina.”
My skin went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You finally found your sister.”
Dante held out his hand for the phone.
I shook my head.
The voice continued.
“Too bad she didn’t live long enough to meet you.”
My heart pounded.
“What do you want?”
A soft laugh.
“The same thing Sofia refused to give me.”
“What?”
“The ledger.”
Dante went still.
I looked at him.
He knew the word.
The caller continued.
“And if you want Gianni alive, you’ll find it before midnight tomorrow.”
The line disconnected.
I stared at Dante.
“What ledger?”
He did not answer immediately.
I saw it.
Another secret.
“Dante.”
He closed his eyes.
Then looked at me.
“The ledger Sofia found shortly before she died.”
My entire body went cold.
“What was in it?”
“Every payment my father made to police, politicians, judges, rival crews…”
He swallowed.
May you like
“And the record of who ordered your mother killed.”
---
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