Chapter 5 - THE BROTHER WHO MAY HAVE SURVIVED
There are truths you spend your life wanting.
There are others you would pay anything not to receive.
Anthony may have survived.
Those four words should have felt like resurrection.
Instead, they felt like a threat.
Because if my brother made it off that boat nine years ago, then one of two things was true.
He had chosen to stay away.
Or someone had made the choice for him.
I carried Renee back upstairs before discussing another word.
She was sleepy enough not to resist.
“Was that man bad?” she asked as I tucked her in again.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Grandpa doesn’t like when I talk about him.”
“When did you first see him?”
She thought carefully.
“At Grandma’s birthday.”
“That was in March.”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“In the little room by the garage.”
My parents’ mudroom.
“What was he doing?”
“Talking to Grandpa.”
“Did Grandpa call him Frank?”
“No.”
“What did he call him?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, searching memory.
“Mr. Bell.”
Bellomo.
Mr. Bell.
A child-safe abbreviation.
“Did he ever give you anything?”
Renee’s eyes opened.
Then she looked guilty.
That expression immediately scared me.
“What?”
“Grandma said not to tell.”
I sat beside her.
“You are never in trouble for telling me the truth.”
“She said it was a secret game.”
“What did he give you?”
Renee slid out of bed.
Before I could stop her, she crossed to the toy chest and dug beneath a pile of stuffed animals.
She returned holding a small wooden bird.
It was carved by hand, painted blue, one wing slightly crooked.
I knew it.
Anthony used to carve those birds.
Badly.
He started after breaking his wrist skiing at sixteen and continued whenever he was bored. Our mother still had three in a glass cabinet.
I took it from Renee with numb fingers.
“Who gave you this?”
“Mr. Bell.”
“What did he say?”
“He said somebody made it for me before I was born.”
The room disappeared around me.
I turned the bird over.
Anthony always carved his initials beneath the tail.
A.D.
They were there.
Beside them was a date.
Eight months before Renee was born.
I sat very still.
Renee climbed back onto the bed.
“Is it bad?”
“No.”
My voice barely worked.
“It’s beautiful.”
“He said my daddy made it.”
I looked at her.
She looked back with complete innocence.
“Which daddy?” she asked.
That question nearly broke me.
I placed the bird on the nightstand and took both her hands.
“You can have more than one person who loved you.”
“Like you and Mommy Julia?”
I swallowed.
Julia had died before I adopted Renee, but Renee knew her from photographs and from stories I told.
“Yes.”
“Did the other daddy love me?”
“I think he did very much.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
She considered that.
Then she leaned forward and hugged me.
“You’re still my daddy.”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
Children sometimes give mercy without understanding how badly adults need it.
When I returned downstairs, I carried the wooden bird.
Margaret recognized it immediately.
“Eleanor had a photograph of Anthony carving those.”
I set it beside the map.
“Frank gave this to Renee months ago.”
Nico stared at the initials.
“If Frank wanted you to know Anthony survived, why not tell you directly?”
“Because Frank is either scared,” Ethan said, “or manipulating us.”
“Probably both,” I replied.
Gabriel entered from the hallway with his phone in hand.
“We found Dominic.”
“Where?”
“Not where he expected.”
“What does that mean?”
“His car was abandoned near Rosemont. We traced a rideshare pickup from a hotel two blocks away. He checked into a room under his wife’s maiden name.”
“Is he still there?”
“Yes.”
“Bring him.”
Gabriel hesitated.
“Here?”
I glanced toward the ceiling.
“No. The old office on Kinzie.”
The Kinzie office belonged to a logistics company we no longer used. It was secure, private, and most importantly, nowhere near my daughter.
I looked at Nico.
“You stay here.”
He frowned.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Michael—”
“If my parents have been lying for nine years, I don’t know how far this reaches. Someone stays with Renee whom I trust completely.”
Nico’s expression changed.
He understood what I was really saying.
At that moment, my circle of complete trust contained approximately three people.
“Fine,” he said.
I turned to Gabriel.
“You’re with me.”
Ethan closed his laptop.
“So am I.”
“You’re a lawyer.”
“Yes. You’re suddenly interested in doing things legally, remember?”
Despite everything, I smiled once.
“Bring your coat.”
We reached Kinzie Street shortly after one in the morning.
Dominic sat in a metal chair inside a conference room that had not hosted an actual conference in years.
He looked terrible.
His expensive Christmas suit was wrinkled. His hair had fallen across his forehead. One side of his face was swollen.
I looked at Gabriel.
“I said alive.”
“He resisted.”
Dominic glared at him.
“He threw me into a minibar.”
Gabriel shrugged.
“It was nearby.”
I sat across from my cousin.
Ethan remained standing.
“Why did you intercept the courier?”
Dominic laughed nervously.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
I waited.
He looked at Ethan.
“Am I being charged with something?”
Ethan said, “I’m not the government.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Answer him.”
Dominic looked back at me.
“Uncle Vincent asked me to.”
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“How did he know a package was coming?”
“He got a call.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try harder.”
“I swear. Some lawyer’s office, maybe. He said documents were being delivered that could cause problems.”
“And Frank?”
Dominic’s face changed.
“You know about Frank.”
“I’m looking at footage of you sitting beside a dead man.”
“He’s not dead.”
“I noticed.”
Dominic rubbed his mouth.
“He’s been around for years.”
Ethan and I exchanged a look.
“How many?”
“Seven, maybe eight.”
I stared at him.
“You knew?”
“I saw him twice before last year. I thought Uncle Vincent had some reason.”
“And you never mentioned it.”
Dominic laughed weakly.
“You weren’t exactly encouraging questions about Anthony.”
That was true.
I hated him for saying it anyway.
“What did Frank do yesterday?”
“He told me where the courier would arrive. We took the envelope. Uncle Vincent wanted it brought to the house.”
“Why?”
Dominic hesitated.
I leaned forward.
“Think carefully about whether protecting my father is worth what happens if I decide you’re lying.”
Ethan gave me a look.
I ignored him.
Dominic swallowed.
“Because Frank wanted you to see it.”
I sat back.
There it was.
“Explain.”
“Uncle Vincent wanted the package destroyed. Frank said no.”
“Why would Dad listen to him?”
“He didn’t at first. They argued.”
“About what?”
“I was outside the car.”
“What did you hear?”
Dominic looked toward the black window.
“Frank said, ‘You’ve punished that girl enough.’”
My fingers tightened on the edge of the table.
“What did my father say?”
“He said, ‘She was never supposed to come back into this family.’”
I felt Ethan shift behind me.
“And then?”
“Frank said if you didn’t get the letter by Christmas night, he would bring you everything himself.”
“What is everything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Frank?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at him.
Dominic raised both hands.
“I swear to God.”
“Don’t involve God. He’s had a long evening.”
Dominic looked almost offended.
“Frank got out of the car near Oak Park. He said he’d contact Uncle Vincent later.”
“Why was the letter brought to my parents’ house instead of mine?”
“Compromise. Uncle Vincent thought he could get to it first. Frank said you had to be close enough to find it.”
“So Dad opened it.”
“Yes.”
“And left it on my desk.”
Dominic nodded.
“Frank made him promise.”
I laughed once.
“A promise. That’s reassuring.”
Then Dominic said something that erased the humor.
“Frank has something on him.”
“On my father?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it is, Uncle Vincent is scared of it.”
I stood.
Dominic looked relieved too soon.
“Did you know Renee might be Anthony’s daughter?”
His face answered before his mouth.
I sat back down.
“How long?”
“A few years.”
My vision narrowed.
“How many people knew?”
“Michael—”
“How many?”
“Not many.”
“Names.”
“Uncle Vincent. Aunt Carmen. Sal. Frank. Me.”
“Paula?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
Dominic hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Father Mancini.”
The name stunned me.
Father Thomas Mancini had baptized every DeLuca child for three generations. He had officiated Anthony’s funeral.
He had also signed one of the character references supporting my adoption of Renee.
“Why would a priest know?”
Dominic looked miserable.
“Because Anthony gave him something before he died.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Mancini now?”
“St. Catherine’s.”
I checked the time.
1:42 a.m.
Ethan rubbed his eyes.
“You are not waking an eighty-year-old priest at two in the morning.”
“I absolutely am.”
“He may shoot you.”
“He’s a priest.”
“He’s a DeLuca priest.”
Fair point.
St. Catherine’s sat in Bridgeport between an elementary school and a row of narrow brick homes with Christmas lights glowing in front windows.
Father Mancini answered the rectory door in flannel pajamas under a wool coat.
He saw me.
Then he saw Gabriel.
Then Ethan.
“I knew I should have retired to Florida.”
“Father.”
“Michael.”
“We need to talk.”
“At two fourteen on Christmas morning?”
“Yes.”
He studied my face.
Then he sighed.
“Anthony?”
I stared at him.
That was enough.
He led us into a small office smelling of coffee and old books.
“I wondered how long Vincent could keep the dead buried,” he said.
“Is Anthony dead?”
Father Mancini sat behind his desk.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he survive the boat?”
“Yes.”
The room became silent.
I gripped the back of a chair.
“You’re certain?”
“I saw him afterward.”
My legs went cold.
“When?”
“Two nights after the accident.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
I stared at him.
“My brother came to this church after everyone thought he was dead, and you never told me?”
“He made me swear.”
“I was his brother.”
“He was afraid you would try to help him.”
“Of course I would.”
“That was why he couldn’t tell you.”
I took a step forward.
Father Mancini’s expression did not change.
“He believed Vincent had men watching you.”
“He was right.”
“He also believed someone close to you had betrayed him.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t know.”
“What did he give you?”
The priest looked at the crucifix on his wall.
“A key.”
“To what?”
“A bank box in Milwaukee.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
He looked at me.
“Allison Sanders.”
My heart stopped.
“You saw her too?”
“Yes.”
“After Anthony’s death?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Father Mancini’s face grew sad.
“Michael, Allison Sanders is alive.”
I could barely hear my own voice.
“Where?”
“I don’t know now.”
“But you did.”
“For a while.”
“Why didn’t she take Renee?”
His eyes lowered.
“She tried.”
The anger rose so quickly that I nearly missed the next words.
“Vincent stopped her.”
I leaned over the desk.
“How?”
Father Mancini looked older than he had when he opened the door.
“He made her believe the baby had died.”
I did not understand the sentence at first.
Then I did.
The priest continued.
“Renee was born under another name. After delivery, Allison was sedated because of complications. When she woke, she was told her daughter had not survived.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Michael—”
“No.”
“She spent years believing it.”
“And Renee?”
“Placed through an emergency foster arrangement under falsified records.”
The walls seemed to move.
“Who arranged it?”
Father Mancini did not answer.
He did not need to.
My father had not merely hidden Anthony’s child.
He had stolen her from her mother.
And then, by some impossible accident of fate, I had brought her back into the family he had tried to erase her from.
Father Mancini opened his desk drawer and removed an old envelope.
“Anthony left one more thing.”
He handed it to me.
My name was written across the front.
MICHAEL — IF SHE EVER FINDS HER WAY BACK TO YOU.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
May you like
And the first line read:
Mike, if you are reading this, then Dad failed to keep my daughter from you.
