Chapter 2 - THE NAME THAT SILENCED THE ROOM
I had spent six months running from a man who believed he had the right to control every detail of my life.
The last thing I needed was another powerful stranger asking questions about my family.
I tightened my grip on my phone.
“I need to go.”
Mr. Ricci stepped aside immediately.
“Of course.”
That surprised me.
I had expected him to insist.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and placed a business card on the table.
“My name is Alessandro Ricci. If you ever want answers, call me.”
I looked at the card but didn't take it.
“What answers?”
He hesitated.
“About your grandmother.”
My chest tightened.
“She just died.”
“I know.”
“Then please don't turn her into some kind of mystery.”
He lowered his gaze.
“You're right. I'm sorry.”
I left before he could say anything else.
Outside, the January wind struck my face like a slap.
I walked three blocks before realizing I was crying.
Nonna Giulia was gone.
The woman who taught me how to make gnocchi by hand.
Who told me that burnt garlic was a tragedy but burnt bread could always become breadcrumbs.
Who called every Sunday, no matter how exhausted she was.
Gone.
I leaned against a brick wall and called the hospice nurse back.
Her name was Francesca.
She had cared for my grandmother for almost a year.
“I'm sorry, Sophia,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes.
“Was she alone?”
“No. I was holding her hand.”
That broke me.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then Francesca said something strange.
“She left a letter for you.”
I wiped my face.
“A letter?”
“She asked me to send it only after she passed.”
“Why?”
Francesca hesitated.
“She said you would understand when you read it.”
Back at Bellissimo, Alessandro Ricci remained seated long after his associates had departed.
His security chief, Luca Ferraro, stood near the door.
“Boss?”
Alessandro stared at the untouched scotch.
“Giulia Bellandi.”
Luca frowned.
“You know her?”
“My mother did.”
“From Italy?”
Alessandro nodded.
“Thirty years ago.”
He reached for his phone.
“Get me the records from the Ravello estate.”
Luca hesitated.
“Those files were sealed after your father's death.”
“I know.”
“Your uncle won't like it.”
Alessandro looked up.
“Then don't tell my uncle.”
I reached my Queens apartment shortly after midnight.
A brown envelope lay beneath my door.
There was no return address.
My name was written across the front in elegant blue ink.
Inside was a single photograph.
My grandmother stood beside a younger woman holding a baby.
The younger woman had dark hair and green eyes.
She looked familiar.
Too familiar.
I turned the photograph over.
Written on the back were four words.
FORGIVE ME, MY DAUGHTER.
My hands began trembling.
May you like
Because the handwriting belonged to my grandmother.
And the baby in the photograph was me.
