Chapter 3
Serena tried to take the rabbit.
Lucia pulled back.
“No.”
“Sweetheart,” Serena said, voice shaking. “What picture?”
“The secret one.”
I crouched again, keeping my voice low.
“Lucia, may I look?”
She studied me with those large serious eyes.
“You won’t hurt Bunny?”
“No.”
“You won’t keep him?”
“No.”
“You have to say promise.”
“I promise.”
She hesitated.
Then handed me the rabbit.
It was lighter than I expected.
Old cloth.
Thin stuffing.
The kind of toy loved past beauty.
My fingers moved over the seam at the belly.
There.
A stitch newer than the rest.
Serena covered her mouth.
“I never knew.”
Rosalia whispered, “Give me a small knife.”
Marco handed her one from his pocket.
Of course he had one.
Rosalia carefully cut the thread.
Inside the rabbit was a folded photograph wrapped in wax paper.
My hands shook before I even opened it.
The photo was old.
Creased.
Faded.
A woman stood on a Brooklyn stoop holding a little girl with dark curls and a gap-toothed smile.
The girl held the rabbit.
On the back, in handwriting I knew from birthday cards buried in a locked drawer, were three words.
Sofia lives. Trust no Conti.
My father’s handwriting.
I sat down.
Not because I wanted to.
Because my legs stopped being loyal.
Marco whispered, “Madonna.”
Rosalia began to cry.
Serena looked from the photo to me.
“What does this mean?”
“It means my sister may not have died.”
Lucia climbed into Serena’s lap.
“Is that good?”
I looked at the child.
“It should be.”
But my father had written trust no Conti.
My father.
Antonio Conti.
The man who taught me blood was loyalty and loyalty was obedience.
If Sofia lived, then he had lied.
If he lied, then every grave in my memory could be a door.
I turned the photograph over again.
There was a second line, faint, almost rubbed away.
Vitale debt paid.
Marco saw it too.
His face changed.
“What?” I asked.
“Vitale debt,” he said. “There were rumors.”
“What rumors?”
He glanced at Serena and Lucia.
“Not here.”
Serena stood immediately.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“If this concerns my dead husband, I stay.”
Marco said, “Serena—”
She cut him off.
“I have scrubbed blood from marble in houses like this since I was sixteen. Do not protect my ears after dragging my child into your secrets.”
Lucia whispered, “Mommy is mad.”
“She should be,” I said.
Serena looked surprised by that.
I turned to Marco.
“Talk.”
He exhaled.
“After the explosion, people said your father made peace with Salvatore Vitale by giving him something. No one knew what.”
Rosalia sat heavily in a chair.
“I knew,” she whispered.
Every eye turned to her.
Marco froze.
“Ma?”
Rosalia looked at me with tears on her lined face.
“Your mother begged me to keep quiet.”
My voice went cold.
“My mother knew?”
“She knew Sofia lived.”
I could hear my own pulse.
“Where is my mother?”
Rosalia lowered her eyes.
“Convent outside Palermo. But before she left, she told me if the rabbit ever returned, the debt had come due.”
My mother had left New York when I was twenty.
She said grief had hollowed her out.
She kissed my forehead and abandoned the Conti world for God.
I had believed that too.
So many beliefs were beginning to look like carefully arranged furniture in a burning room.
“What debt?” I asked.
Rosalia looked at Serena.
“Salvatore Vitale’s son died because of your father. A child. An accident in the war. Salvatore demanded blood for blood.”
Serena’s face went white.
“No.”
I understood before Rosalia finished.
“My father gave him Sofia.”
Lucia whimpered.
Serena covered her ears.
“No. No, Matteo was not—”
Rosalia whispered, “Matteo Vitale may have been raised as your sister’s son.”
The room tilted.
If Matteo was Sofia’s son, then Lucia was my sister’s granddaughter.
No.
Not possible.
The ages twisted in my head.
Sofia would have been twenty-nine when Lucia was born.
Matteo had been older than Serena by several years.
Maybe adopted.
Maybe another lie.
Too many graves.
Too many names.
I stood.
“Find Matteo’s birth records.”
Marco nodded.
“And my mother.”
Rosalia crossed herself.
“She will not come easily.”
“Then she can come unwillingly.”
Serena stepped in front of me.
“No.”
I stared at her.
She trembled but did not move.
“I don’t care about your mother or your wars. I care about Lucia. If this puts her in danger, we leave.”
“You won’t be safer outside my estate.”
“I wasn’t safe inside it this morning.”
That hit.
Because she was right.
My house had fear built into the walls.
Her daughter had seen it and challenged me before I did.
I looked down at Lucia.
She hugged the rabbit.
I looked back at Serena.
“You and Lucia move to the family wing tonight.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t—”
“If you say suggestion, I will take my daughter and walk out.”
Marco laughed once under his breath.
I glared at him.
Serena lifted her chin.
“I am not your prisoner.”
“No,” I said carefully. “You are under my protection.”
“That sounds like the same thing in expensive clothes.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“Then tell me what protection looks like.”
She blinked.
No one asked people in my house that.
Finally, she said, “A room with a lock only I control. My phone. My daughter with me. No guards inside the door. And answers.”
I nodded.
“Done.”
Lucia looked between us.
“Now say thank you.”
Serena closed her eyes.
I sighed.
“Thank you, Lucia.”
May you like
She smiled.
“You’re learning.”
