Chapter 3
My father’s face stared up from the photograph like a ghost invited to my wedding.
I had buried Antonio De Luca ten years earlier.
A powerful man.
A feared man.
A man with secrets even I had never managed to open.
Portia’s face told me she had opened one long ago.
Vivian whispered, “Why is Mom with your father?”
I unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was elegant.
Firm.
Alonzo, if this reaches you, then Portia has failed to keep the truth buried.
My pulse slowed.
Danger makes my body quiet.
The letter continued.
The girl named Maisie is not an orphaned cousin. She is blood. Your blood. Your father’s last protected grandchild.
Maisie whimpered behind me.
I turned.
She looked terrified.
“My blood?” I whispered.
Cedric sat down hard.
Vivian stared at her mother.
“What did Grandma mean?”
Portia shook her head.
“She was senile.”
I read the next line aloud.
Portia arranged the death of Maisie’s mother and hid the child inside the household as charity, so no one would question her existence.
Flora gasped.
Maisie began crying.
I knelt immediately.
“Maisie, look at me.”
She tried.
“Did anyone tell you who your mother was?”
She shook her head.
“Miss Portia says nobody wanted me.”
I stood.
The room blurred red.
Portia said, “That child lies.”
May you like
I lifted the photograph.
“No. Your dead mother is talking now.”
