Chapter 3 - THE NAME BURIED IN SICILY
Sophia Brooks had been born Sofia Bellandi.
At least, that was the name on the first birth certificate she remembered seeing.
Her grandmother called her Fia.
Her mother had called her stella mia.
My star.
But her mother disappeared when Sophia was five.
And her grandmother never explained why.
They lived in a small town outside Palermo until Sophia turned twelve.
Then one night, her grandmother woke her.
“Pack one bag.”
Sophia remembered the urgency.
The trembling hands.
The way her grandmother kept looking toward the windows.
They left Sicily before sunrise.
Three months later, they were living in Queens.
New names.
New documents.
A new life.
Her grandmother became Elena Brooks.
Sofia became Sophia.
And the past became something they never discussed.
Seven years ago, her grandmother died.
Before her death, she gave Sophia a small silver pendant.
A bird.
Its wings curved around a tiny blue stone.
“Never sell it,” she whispered.
Sophia promised.
Then her grandmother said something stranger.
“If a man named Duca ever asks about the song, don't trust the first story he tells you.”
Sophia had never forgotten those words.
Now she sat in her tiny apartment, holding the pendant.
Alejandro Duca.
The name from her grandmother's warning.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She stared.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke.
“Miss Brooks.”
Silas.
Her stomach tightened.
“What do you want?”
“Mr. Duca would like to speak with you.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Miss Brooks—”
“Tell him no.”
She ended the call.
Then turned off her phone.
Outside, a car slowed beneath her window.
Sophia moved toward the curtain.
A black sedan.
Dark windows.
She stepped back.
May you like
And whispered the words her grandmother had taught her.
“Not again.”
