Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE STUDY
The silence in the ballroom was absolute.
Thirty people stood perfectly still, their champagne glasses frozen in mid-air. Beatrice's hand was still resting on my arm, but her grip had tightened until it bruised. She couldn't hear the words her husband had just spoken, but she could read the devastation on his face.
Gabriel reacted first.
He stepped directly between his father and me. He didn't look like a host anymore; he looked like a predator assessing a threat.
"Clear the room," Gabriel said. His voice wasn't a shout. It was a low, lethal command.
Tony, the lieutenant who had laughed earlier, immediately began ushering the bewildered, murmuring guests toward the foyer. Within two minutes, the massive ballroom was empty except for Gabriel, Vincenzo, Beatrice, and me.
My heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird in my chest.
"What did you just say?" Gabriel demanded, glaring at his father.
Vincenzo ignored his son. The ruthless mafia boss who had ruled the New York underworld for decades looked like a broken old man. He ignored his fallen gold cane, staring at me with hollow, haunted eyes.
"Maria Rossi," Vincenzo whispered, his heavy accent cracking. "From the village of Corleone. She had green eyes. Just like yours."
"My mother's maiden name was Rossi," I said, my voice trembling. "But she died of pneumonia when I was seven. In a hospital in Queens."
"She didn't die of pneumonia," Vincenzo rasped, taking a ragged breath. "She died because of me."
Beatrice stepped forward, her hands moving frantically.
What is he saying? Gabriel, tell me!
I raised my shaking hands to translate, but Gabriel gently caught my wrists. His touch was warm, grounding me in a room that felt like it was spinning out of control.
"Don't," Gabriel said softly to me. Then he turned to his mother and signed, slowly and carefully: Father knows Chloe’s mother. We need to talk privately.
Beatrice’s eyes widened.
"My study," Vincenzo said, turning heavily. He didn't wait for his cane. He walked with a pronounced limp toward a set of heavy mahogany doors at the far end of the ballroom.
Gabriel kept his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. I wanted to run. I wanted to get into my rusted Honda and drive until my tank was empty. But the ghost of the mother I barely remembered was calling to me from inside that room.
The study smelled of old leather and cigar smoke. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls. Vincenzo walked behind a massive oak desk, unlocked the bottom drawer with a small brass key, and pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal.
He opened it to the very first page.
Tucked inside was a faded black-and-white photograph. He slid it across the desk toward me.
I looked down.
It was a picture of two young people standing in front of a stone church in Sicily. The man was a much younger Vincenzo, looking sharp and dangerous.
The woman beside him was my mother, Maria. She looked exactly as I remembered her—beautiful, radiant, and smiling.
But it wasn't her smile that made my stomach twist into a knot.
It was the silver necklace resting against her collarbone in the photograph.
A heavy, distinct silver pendant shaped like a starburst, with a small sapphire in the center.
I reached up, my fingers brushing against my own collarbone.
"She wore it every day," Vincenzo whispered, watching my reaction. "I gave it to her the day I asked her to marry me."
Gabriel went completely rigid next to me. "Marry you? You were engaged to her mother?"
"We were young," Vincenzo said, sinking heavily into his leather chair. "Before I met your mother, Beatrice. Maria was my first love. But the Rossi family was allied with a rival syndicate. When the war broke out in our village, I was ordered to eliminate the Rossi bloodline to prove my loyalty to the Costellos."
Tears blurred my vision. "You killed my mother's family?"
"I was supposed to kill her, too," Vincenzo said, his voice breaking. "But I couldn't. I hid her in the cargo hold of a ship bound for New York. I gave her money. I gave her that necklace. And I told her to run, to change her name, and never look back."
"You said you killed her," I choked out, gripping the edge of the desk to keep from falling. "In the ballroom, you said you killed her."
"I did," Vincenzo said, his dark eyes filling with tears. "Twelve years ago, my enemies in Sicily found out I let her live. They tracked her down in New York. They wanted to punish me. I tried to get back here to save her, but I was too late. They burned her apartment. They told me she died in the fire."
My mind scrambled to make sense of the timeline.
"My mother didn't die in a fire," I said, my voice rising in panic. "She died in a hospital! I was there! I held her hand!"
Vincenzo frowned, genuine confusion crossing his scarred face. "That's impossible. My men found the ashes. The police report..."
"The police report was a lie," a new voice said from the doorway.
We all turned.
Tony, Gabriel's trusted lieutenant, stood in the threshold. He wasn't holding a tray of champagne anymore.
May you like
He was holding a suppressed pistol, and it was pointed directly at Gabriel’s chest.
"She didn't die in a fire, Vincenzo," Tony said, a cold, ugly smile spreading across his face. "She died because I poisoned her IV drip at the hospital. And I made sure your son's little deaf friend met a similar fate two years ago."
