Chapter 3
A knitted blanket.
Family photographs.
No weapons.
No guards.
A children’s cup stood beside the sink.
Pink.
My chest tightened.
Miriam pointed at the sofa.
“I am a retired pediatrician. Adrian Moretti is my nephew by marriage.”
Marco and I exchanged a glance.
“He called me yesterday,” she continued. “Said a woman and her little girl might need somewhere quiet for a night.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
The kidnapping had been planned before this morning.
“What did he tell you?”
“That there was a family dispute.”
“A family dispute.”
“I realized quickly that he had omitted a few details.”
“Where is Adrian?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who brought Elena?”
“Two men. Polite. Nervous. They left immediately.”
“Was she restrained?”
“No.”
“Hurt?”
“No.”
“Sofia?”
“No. Confused, mostly. Elena told her it was an unexpected sleepover.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Of course she had.
Even frightened, Elena had found a way to protect her daughter from understanding too much.
“Why didn’t Elena leave?”
“She tried.”
My eyes opened.
Miriam nodded toward the window.
“The doors weren’t locked. But Adrian told her something before she was brought here.”
“What?”
“If she returned to your house, Sofia would remain in danger.”
My jaw tightened.
“From Colombo?”
“She didn’t know.”
Footsteps sounded above us.
Everyone froze.
Then a sleepy voice drifted down the stairs.
“Miriam?”
My knees nearly gave way.
Sofia appeared at the top step.
Pink pajamas.
Tangled dark hair.
She held a blanket in one hand.
Her eyes found me.
For one second, she only stared.
Then her entire face changed.
“Dommy!”
She ran.
Miriam said, “Slowly, sweetheart,” but Sofia was already coming down the stairs.
I met her halfway.
She wrapped both arms around my neck.
I held her.
Carefully at first.
Then as tightly as I dared.
She smelled like soap and children’s shampoo.
Alive.
Warm.
Safe.
I buried my face in her hair.
“You found me,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“You took a long time.”
“I know.”
“I was waiting.”
“I know.”
She pulled back.
Her expression suddenly became worried.
“Miss Rose is lost.”
I reached into my coat.
Her mouth fell open.
“Miss Rose!”
I handed over the doll.
Sofia hugged it against her chest.
“She got wet.”
“So did I.”
She touched my cheek.
“You look tired.”
Marco made a sound that might have been a laugh.
I looked over Sofia’s shoulder.
Elena stood halfway down the staircase.
Barefoot.
Wearing borrowed clothes.
Her eyes met mine.
Relief crossed her face first.
Then something more complicated.
Fear.
Not fear of me physically.
Fear of what my arrival meant.
Of what would happen afterward.
I stood.
“Elena.”
She came down slowly.
“Sofia, sweetheart, go show Dr. Keller how Miss Rose came back.”
Sofia hurried toward Miriam.
Elena waited until the child was across the room.
Then she whispered, “Did anyone get hurt?”
“No.”
Her shoulders sagged.
“Red Hook?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You didn’t go?”
“I started to.”
She searched my face.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I learned they expected me to.”
Something in her eyes softened.
She looked toward Sofia.
“I was so afraid you would turn the city upside down.”
“I considered it.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
She blinked.
“For what?”
“For making that expectation reasonable.”
Elena stared at me for several seconds.
Then she did something unexpected.
She stepped forward and hugged me.
Not dramatically.
Not desperately.
Simply placing her arms around me as though she needed proof that the person standing there was real.
I held her.
My eyes closed.
For several seconds, there was no Colombo family, no territory, no betrayal, no business.
There was only a woman who had become important without permission and a little girl sitting on the carpet behind us trying to dry a rag doll with a dish towel.
Then Elena whispered against my shoulder.
“Adrian helped them.”
“I know.”
She drew back sharply.
“You know?”
“Niko told me.”
“There’s more.”
I felt something tighten in my stomach.
“What?”
Elena looked toward Sofia again.
“When Adrian came to the house yesterday, he asked me something strange.”
“What did he ask?”
“Whether you had ever told me about your brother.”
I stared at her.
“My brother?”
“You have a brother?”
“No.”
Elena shook her head.
“That’s what I thought.”
She reached into the pocket of the borrowed cardigan she wore.
“He gave me this.”
A folded photograph.
Old.
Creased.
I opened it.
My father stood outside a house I recognized from childhood.
He was much younger.
Beside him stood my mother.
And beside my mother was another boy.
Maybe sixteen.
Dark hair.
My father’s eyes.
On the back, someone had written three words.
Anthony Moretti, 1987.
Marco read over my shoulder.
“Who is Anthony?”
I could not answer.
Because I had never seen the photograph.
Never heard the name.
But below the name, in different handwriting, was another sentence.
Ask why Dominic was told he died.
The room seemed to grow suddenly smaller.
Elena watched me.
“Adrian said the kidnapping wasn’t really about money.”
I looked at her.
“What was it about?”
“He said someone was trying to force an old secret into the open.”
I stared once more at the unknown boy standing beside my parents.
May you like
And for the first time that night, finding Elena and Sofia did not feel like the end of the mystery.
It felt like the beginning.
