Chapter 8 - THE SISTER WHO DIDN’T EXIST
Victor said Sofia had no sister.
Mrs. Bellini insisted she did.
For ten minutes, they argued in the library while I sat on the sofa wondering whether everyone in wealthy criminal families kept secret relatives hidden in closets.
“Sofia was an only child,” Victor said.
Mrs. Bellini shook her head.
“That is what her father told everyone.”
“Why?”
“Because Isabella embarrassed him.”
“How?”
“She fell in love with someone he hated.”
Victor’s expression hardened.
“Who?”
Mrs. Bellini looked toward Leo.
The boy sat across the room drawing.
She lowered her voice.
“Mateo Salazar.”
Silence.
Victor turned slowly.
“The same Mateo Salazar Adrian met three weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
Dominic swore under his breath.
I stared at Mrs. Bellini.
“How do you know this?”
“I worked for Sofia’s family before she married.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“You never told me.”
“Sofia asked me not to.”
Everyone seemed to have promises to Sofia.
Even dead, the woman still controlled half the room.
“What happened to Isabella?” I asked.
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“A year before the wedding.”
Victor stood.
“And nobody investigated?”
“Her father told people she went to Europe.”
“Did she?”
Mrs. Bellini shook her head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Sofia received letters.”
Victor’s face became dangerous.
“What letters?”
“I never read them.”
“Where are they?”
Mrs. Bellini hesitated.
Then looked upstairs.
“Sofia’s room.”
Victor went still.
Nobody entered Sofia’s rooms.
Everyone knew that.
The second floor west wing had been closed since her death.
Even I had never cleaned it.
Victor held the only key.
He stood in silence for nearly a minute.
Then removed it from his pocket.
“Come.”
He looked at me.
“Me?”
“You asked for the truth.”
The hallway outside Sofia’s suite smelled faintly of cedar.
Victor unlocked the door.
The room beyond looked untouched.
A cream robe hung over a chair.
Perfume bottles sat on a dressing table.
A book remained open beside the bed.
It was not a bedroom.
It was a moment preserved.
Victor stopped inside the doorway.
I suddenly felt guilty.
“We don’t have to do this.”
“Yes.”
His voice was rough.
“We do.”
Mrs. Bellini walked to a writing desk.
She pressed beneath one drawer.
A hidden compartment released.
Inside were letters tied with blue ribbon.
Victor stared at her.
“You knew?”
“Sofia showed me.”
He picked up the bundle.
The first letters were old.
Isabella wrote about loving Mateo.
About their father threatening to disown her.
About Sofia secretly sending money.
Then the tone changed.
Isabella became frightened.
She believed someone in the Romano family was planning to use the war with Salazar to consolidate power.
One letter contained a sentence underlined twice.
Victor is not the danger. Someone beside him wants him angry enough to burn Chicago down.
Victor read it again.
“Who?”
No name.
Another letter.
If anything happens to me, do not trust what Father says.
Then nothing.
The final envelope was not from Isabella.
It was from Sofia.
Addressed to me.
My blood went cold.
“Elise Carter.”
Victor handed it over.
The envelope had never been opened.
My fingers shook.
Inside was one page.
Elise,
You do not know me well, but you saved my son outside Mercy Hospital.
I wanted to thank you in person. Victor would have tried to pay you, and I suspected you would hate that.
I laughed nervously.
She knew me too well.
I continued.
There is something about you that stayed with me. You ran toward a frightened child before you knew who he belonged to. I pray I never have a reason to ask that courage of you again.
If this letter reaches you, then perhaps I was wrong.
I lowered the page.
Victor looked shattered.
“Why didn’t she send it?”
Mrs. Bellini whispered, “I don’t know.”
Then I noticed something.
“There’s writing beneath the signature.”
Faint pencil.
Three numbers.
11-4-19.
Victor frowned.
“A date?”
Dominic shook his head.
“Sofia died in 2024.”
I turned the page.
Under the light, another mark appeared.
“Maybe a code.”
Victor took the letter.
“Eleven-four-nineteen.”
Mrs. Bellini gasped.
“What?”
She walked to Sofia’s bookcase.
Counted eleven books across.
Then four shelves down.
She pulled the nineteenth book.
A small key fell to the carpet.
Victor stared.
“What does it open?”
Mrs. Bellini shook her head.
Dominic found the answer twenty minutes later.
A locked drawer inside Sofia’s dressing room.
Victor inserted the key.
Inside was a small digital recorder.
A photograph.
And a DNA test.
Victor picked up the report.
His eyes scanned the page.
Then stopped.
His face changed so dramatically that I stood despite the pain.
“What?”
He did not answer.
I took the paper.
PATERNITY PROBABILITY: 99.99%.
Tested father: Mateo Salazar.
Tested child—
I stopped breathing.
Leo Romano.
My hand flew to my mouth.
“No.”
Victor stood motionless.
“That’s impossible.”
Dominic grabbed the report.
Mrs. Bellini whispered a prayer.
I looked at Victor.
“Victor…”
His eyes were empty.
“Leo is not my son?”
Before anyone could answer, a small voice came from the doorway.
“Daddy?”
We all turned.
Leo stood there.
He had followed us upstairs.
His face was pale.
His eyes were fixed on Victor.
“What does that mean?”
Victor crossed the room instantly.
He dropped to his knees.
“Nothing.”
“But she said I’m not your son.”
Victor took Leo’s face between his hands.
“Look at me.”
Leo’s eyes filled.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“But the paper—”
“I don’t care what any paper says.”
“Did Mama lie?”
Victor’s face tightened.
I knew that question hurt more than any bullet could have.
He pulled Leo against his chest.
“You are my son.”
Leo buried his face against him.
“Always?”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Always.”
I looked down at the DNA test again.
Something felt wrong.
The paper.
The date.
I read the laboratory name.
Then remembered something from Caleb’s hospital paperwork.
My heart skipped.
“Victor.”
He looked at me over Leo’s shoulder.
“This lab closed four years ago.”
Dominic frowned.
“You sure?”
“My physical therapy program used them for genetic screenings. They shut down after a fraud investigation.”
Victor stood slowly.
I held up the test.
“This could be fake.”
His eyes changed.
Hope.
Then suspicion.
Dominic examined the page.
“We’ll run our own test.”
Victor nodded.
“No one tells Salazar.”
Too late.
A phone rang.
Not ours.
Sofia’s old phone.
Sitting in the locked drawer.
We all stared at it.
The screen lit for the first time in two years.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
Victor answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a woman’s voice whispered through the speaker.
“Victor?”
His face went white.
Because even I recognized the voice from old family videos.
May you like
Sofia Romano.
His dead wife.
