Chapter 4 - THE DAUGHTER WHO NEVER DIED
Salvatore Gallo arrived at Dante's penthouse shortly after two in the morning.
He entered without his cane.
For a moment, Nora barely recognized him.
Without the silver handle beneath his palm, he looked older.
More vulnerable.
Dante handed him the hospital bracelet.
Salvatore read it.
Then read it again.
His lips moved silently.
“Nora Agata Gallo.”
He lowered himself into a chair.
“Where?”
Nora sat opposite him.
“In my grandfather's belongings.”
Salvatore looked up.
“Pietro raised you?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“As long as I remember.”
“Did he ever tell you who your mother was?”
“He said she died giving birth.”
Salvatore closed his eyes.
Dante stood near the window.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Salvatore whispered:
“Agata didn't die in childbirth.”
Nora leaned forward.
“What happened to her?”
The old man opened his eyes.
“She disappeared.”
Twenty-six years earlier, Agata Gallo had fallen in love with a young accountant named Daniel Rossi.
Daniel was intelligent, kind, and completely unsuited to the violent world surrounding the Gallo family.
Salvatore opposed the relationship.
Agata refused to end it.
They married secretly.
When Salvatore discovered the marriage, he threatened to cut Agata off financially.
She laughed in his face.
“She was like you,” Salvatore told Nora.
Nora frowned.
“How?”
“Stubborn.”
Dante almost smiled.
Salvatore continued.
“Agata was pregnant when she left Chicago. She told me she wanted her child raised somewhere safe.”
His voice weakened.
“I thought she'd come back.”
Instead, a letter arrived.
Agata had supposedly died in a hospital in Pennsylvania.
Her baby had not survived.
Daniel Rossi disappeared soon afterward.
Pietro sent the letter.
Salvatore had believed it.
Or perhaps, Nora thought, he had wanted to believe it.
“Why didn't you investigate?” she asked.
Salvatore looked down.
“I did.”
“And?”
“The hospital confirmed the deaths.”
Nora held up the bracelet.
“Then somebody lied.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Salvatore stared at the floor.
“I don't know.”
Dante stepped forward.
“We need the hospital records.”
Salvatore nodded.
“And Pietro's financial history.”
Nora looked between them.
“Wait.”
Both men turned.
“You don't get to investigate my life without telling me what you're doing.”
Dante nodded.
“Agreed.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“Nora, if you're my granddaughter—”
“Then you can start by respecting me.”
The old man fell silent.
Dante looked away to hide a smile.
Later, Nora stood beside the windows.
The city glittered beneath her.
Dante approached.
“You handled him well.”
She laughed without humor.
“I nearly fainted.”
“You didn't.”
“That doesn't mean I wasn't scared.”
He stood beside her.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Dante said:
“My sister used to argue with him like that.”
Nora looked at him.
“Did you love her?”
His expression changed.
“More than anyone.”
“Then why did she leave?”
Dante stared toward the river.
“Because I was seventeen and too frightened of my father to help her.”
Nora saw the guilt in his face.
It was old.
Deep.
And familiar.
Behind them, Salvatore's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then stood.
Dante turned.
“What?”
Salvatore looked at Nora.
“The hospital records were destroyed in a fire.”
Nora felt cold.
“When?”
May you like
Salvatore swallowed.
“Yesterday.”
