Chapter 2 - Antonio Russo Did Not Trust Anyone
By the time Antonio entered Bellarosa that afternoon, Sophie had already hidden the photograph beneath a folded napkin.
She had no idea why she did it.
Maybe because the moment Maria mentioned Antonio's daughter, something in her expression had warned Sophie that the truth was dangerous.
Maybe because Antonio Russo was the kind of man people lowered their voices around.
Or maybe because the strange photograph felt too personal to expose without knowing why Maria had handed it to her.
Antonio approached the table.
“Mama.”
Maria smiled.
“You're early.”
“I had a meeting nearby.”
His gaze moved immediately to Sophie.
She stood.
“Good afternoon.”
He nodded.
Then his eyes shifted to the napkin covering the envelope.
“What are you hiding?”
Sophie swallowed.
“Nothing.”
Maria interrupted.
“Antonio, sit down.”
He did.
But he never stopped watching Sophie.
“You're here early.”
“My shift started thirty minutes ago.”
“You came before that.”
She hesitated.
“To see your mother.”
His expression tightened.
“You've been meeting my mother outside work?”
Maria rolled her eyes.
“I invited her.”
Antonio's shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Why?”
“Because I like her.”
Maria laughed.
“She tolerates me.”
“I think you're the one tolerating her.”
Sophie tried not to smile.
Antonio did.
Barely.
It was such a small change that Sophie almost missed it.
He looked younger when he smiled.
Less dangerous.
More tired.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“What?”
His expression changed.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Do not touch anything until I arrive.”
He stood.
Maria frowned.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You're lying.”
“I'm handling it.”
He kissed her forehead and turned toward the door.
Then he looked back at Sophie.
“Stay with her.”
Sophie blinked.
“I have a job.”
“You'll have another one if Marco complains.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It wasn't.”
“Good.”
Antonio stared at her for a moment.
“You're difficult.”
“So I've been told.”
He almost smiled again.
Then he left.
Sophie looked at Maria.
“Does he always give orders like that?”
Maria sighed.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Someone broke into my house.”
Sophie went still.
“What?”
“Nothing was stolen.”
“Then what did they want?”
Maria looked toward the door.
“Something they couldn't find.”
Sophie remembered the photograph.
“Your granddaughter?”
Maria's face changed.
Antonio's daughter.
The little girl.
“She isn't my granddaughter.”
Sophie frowned.
“You said—”
“I said Antonio believed she was his daughter.”
Maria lowered her voice.
“That's not the same thing.”
Sophie felt cold.
“What happened to her?”
“Twenty years ago, Antonio's wife disappeared.”
“He was married?”
“Very young.”
Maria looked down.
“She took the baby.”
“Where?”
“No one knows.”
“Did Antonio search?”
“For years.”
“Then why does he believe his daughter is alive?”
Maria's hand trembled.
“Because I received letters.”
“From the girl?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Maria looked at Sophie.
“Her mother.”
Before Sophie could ask another question, the restaurant kitchen door slammed.
Marco shouted.
“Sophie!”
She hurried back to work.
But her mind stayed at Table Seven.
That evening, Antonio returned.
This time he was alone.
He sat at the bar while Sophie prepared drinks.
“You've been asking my mother questions.”
Sophie nearly dropped the glass.
“She offered information.”
“She doesn't offer information.”
“She offered me a photograph.”
Antonio's eyes sharpened.
“What photograph?”
Sophie hesitated.
Maria had told her not to show him.
But she had not said why.
“I can't.”
His gaze became cold.
“Why?”
“Because your mother asked me not to.”
Silence.
Antonio leaned toward her.
“Do you know how many people have lied to me?”
“No.”
“Enough that I stopped believing explanations.”
Sophie placed the glass down.
“I don't lie.”
“Everyone lies.”
“Then why did you ask me?”
He looked at her.
“Because you're different.”
The words surprised them both.
He looked away first.
“Where is the photograph?”
“With me.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
Sophie expected anger.
Instead, he asked, “Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
It was so honest that he almost laughed.
“Good.”
“But I'm not afraid enough to do something stupid.”
“What would count as stupid?”
“Trusting you without knowing why.”
Antonio went quiet.
Then he said, “Smart.”
It was the first compliment anyone had given Sophie that night.
At midnight, Antonio drove her home.
She refused twice.
He insisted once.
“You'll take the car.”
“I can walk.”
“It's late.”
“I walked yesterday.”
“And I'm telling you not tonight.”
She looked at him.
“Do you always get your way?”
“Yes.”
“That's irritating.”
“I know.”
The ride was silent until Antonio spoke.
“My mother likes you.”
“She likes most people.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“She doesn't.”
Sophie looked out the window.
“Your mother is kind.”
“She sees things other people don't.”
“Like what?”
“You.”
Sophie laughed nervously.
“I'm not that interesting.”
Antonio looked at her.
“You're more interesting than you think.”
He stopped outside her apartment.
Sophie opened the door.
“Goodnight.”
“Sophie.”
She turned.
Antonio removed a small black card from his wallet.
“Call me if anything happens.”
She took it.
“What could happen?”
His face became serious.
“I don't know yet.”
She stepped out.
He watched until she entered the building.
Then his phone rang.
Luca.
“We found the man.”
“Who?”
“His name is Victor Hale.”
Antonio's hand tightened around the steering wheel.
“Hale?”
“Former security contractor. Worked for the Bellarosa ownership group until eight months ago.”
Antonio's eyes narrowed.
“Why was he watching my mother?”
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
Luca paused.
“And Antonio?”
“What?”
“He has been asking about Sophie too.”
Antonio's expression hardened.
“Why?”
“We're checking.”
Antonio ended the call.
Across town, Sophie unlocked her apartment.
She removed the photograph from her bag.
She stared at the little girl.
Something about the child's face bothered her.
The eyes.
The smile.
The slight dimple in her left cheek.
Sophie had seen that face before.
Not in a photograph.
In a mirror.
She immediately rejected the thought.
Impossible.
She was Sophie Bennett.
Twenty-seven years old.
Born in Queens.
Raised by her grandmother.
Her parents had died when she was twelve.
She had no connection to the Russo family.
At least, that was what she'd always believed.
Then she turned the photograph over.
The writing on the back had changed.
She was certain she had read it correctly earlier.
He never found her.
Now there was another sentence beneath it.
Ask the nurse about Saint Vincent's.
Sophie dropped the photograph.
Saint Vincent's.
The hospital where her mother had worked.
May you like
The hospital where Sophie had been born.
For the first time, she wondered whether her entire childhood had been built on a lie.
