Chapter 5 - SOFIA AT THE GATE
Sofia weighed almost nothing.
That was the first thing I noticed when I lifted her from the frozen driveway.
Eleven years old should have felt heavier.
Instead she folded against me like a coat somebody had forgotten outside.
Her bare feet were red from the cold.
Her dark hair stuck to her cheeks.
“Sarah?”
“I’m here.”
“You’re really Sarah?”
“Yes.”
She gripped my sleeve harder.
“Mom said you have yellow curtains.”
The words hit me strangely.
My old apartment had yellow curtains.
Cheap ones.
I had bought them after Michael died because the living room felt too gray.
“How does your mother know that?”
Sofia’s teeth chattered.
“She saw pictures.”
Marco reached us.
“Inside. Now.”
I did not argue.
The gates closed behind us.
Security swept the road.
The van was already gone.
Mrs. Alvarez met us in the foyer with blankets.
Lily stood halfway up the staircase clutching Bunny.
I stopped.
“Sofia.”
Her eyes moved past me.
She saw Lily.
Something crossed her face.
Recognition.
Not because they had met.
Because she had seen her before.
“That’s her.”
My stomach tightened.
Lily looked confused.
“Who?”
Sofia whispered, “Lily.”
Lily hugged Bunny tighter.
“How you know me?”
I wanted to stop the conversation.
I did not know how without frightening both children more.
Sofia looked at me.
“They had pictures.”
The foyer went silent.
Marco’s expression hardened.
“What pictures?”
“Her school. The swing place. Grocery store.”
I closed my eyes.
Nora at the playground.
The man near the south road.
They had not been investigating whether Lily existed.
They had been building a file.
Mrs. Alvarez moved toward Lily immediately.
“Come with me, cariño.”
Lily resisted.
“Mommy?”
I crossed to her and crouched.
“Baby, Sofia had a scary night. I need to help her.”
Lily looked at Sofia.
Then held out Bunny.
“Need him?”
I almost cried.
Sofia stared at the rabbit.
Slowly, she shook her head.
“I’m okay.”
Lily frowned.
“No you not.”
Children.
No politeness where truth would do.
Sofia’s face crumpled.
She began to cry.
Not loudly.
That was worse.
Lily walked down the last two steps and put Bunny into Sofia’s hands anyway.
“You can borrow.”
Sofia held the rabbit as though someone had handed her oxygen.
Mrs. Alvarez took Lily upstairs.
I watched until they disappeared.
Then I turned to Marco.
“Where is Dante?”
“Twenty minutes out.”
“Tell him Sofia is here.”
“He knows.”
I looked at Sofia.
“Can we examine her?”
A female medic was already entering from the east hall.
I hated that I was becoming grateful for a house prepared for emergencies.
The medic checked Sofia in a guest room.
No serious injuries.
Mild dehydration.
Bruised wrist.
Small cut on one knee.
Cold, exhausted, terrified.
But alive.
I sat beside her bed.
Marco remained near the door.
The medic left.
Sofia still held Bunny.
“Where is your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you see her last?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Where?”
“Apartment.”
“What city?”
She hesitated.
“Mom says don’t tell addresses.”
“That’s smart.”
I looked at Marco.
He took the hint and stepped farther away.
I lowered my voice.
“You do not have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
Sofia studied me.
“Mom said you’d say that.”
My chest tightened.
“What else did she say?”
“That you get mad when scared.”
Marco coughed.
I looked at him.
He looked innocent.
Sofia continued.
“And you make grilled cheese wrong.”
I stared.
“How do I make grilled cheese wrong?”
“You use mayonnaise outside.”
“That is the correct way.”
“She says butter.”
I almost laughed.
Nora Caruso, a woman I had believed might be my dead husband’s secret lover, apparently had culinary opinions about me.
Life was offensive.
Sofia’s expression softened a little.
“She liked you.”
“Your mom knew me?”
“She knew about you.”
“From Michael?”
Sofia nodded.
“What did he tell her?”
“That you were good.”
My throat closed.
I looked away.
Sofia continued.
“He said you should not know where we were.”
That hurt.
“Why?”
“Because Mr. Vincent watched families.”
I looked at Marco.
His face hardened.
“Sofia,” I said carefully, “do you know who Vincent is?”
She nodded.
“Mom’s uncle.”
“Did you meet him?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Long time ago.”
“What happened?”
She looked at Bunny’s bent ear.
“He asked who my daddy was.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What did your mother say?”
“She said dead.”
“Did he ask his name?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Sofia looked at me.
“Michael.”
I closed my eyes.
The false story.
Michael as Sofia’s father.
“Was Michael your father?”
“No.”
She answered immediately.
No hesitation.
“Did you know him?”
“A little.”
“How?”
“He came sometimes when I was small.”
“What did you call him?”
“Uncle Mike.”
My eyes burned.
Michael.
Uncle Mike.
Not father.
Not lover.
Protector.
The betrayal inside me shifted shape.
Still painful.
But different.
“Do you know who your father was?”
Sofia nodded.
Then looked toward Marco.
I understood.
“Could you give us a minute?”
Marco hesitated.
“Door stays open.”
“Fine.”
He stepped into the hall.
I moved closer.
“You can tell me only if you want.”
Sofia whispered, “Mom says his name gets people killed.”
Every adult in this story had decided names were weapons.
I hated that children had learned it too.
“What was his name?”
Sofia looked at me.
“Gabriel.”
“Gabriel what?”
Her fingers tightened around Bunny.
“Marchetti.”
I stopped breathing.
No.
That could not—
“Marchetti?”
She nodded.
I stood so fast the chair scraped.
Marco reentered.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“Sofia says her father was Gabriel Marchetti.”
Marco’s face drained.
He knew the name.
“Who is Gabriel?” I demanded.
Marco did not answer.
“Who?”
A voice came from the doorway.
“My uncle.”
Dante.
He stood there in a dark coat, frost on one shoulder, eyes fixed on Sofia.
I had never seen him look shocked.
Really shocked.
Not controlled surprise.
Not calculated concern.
This was different.
He looked as if the dead had walked into his house.
Sofia stared back.
Dante removed his coat slowly.
“My father had one younger brother,” he said.
“Gabriel.”
“What happened to him?”
“Disappeared twenty years ago.”
“Dead?”
“We assumed.”
Sofia whispered, “He died.”
Dante stepped into the room.
“How do you know?”
“Mom told me.”
“Did she know him?”
Sofia nodded.
Dante crouched several feet from the bed.
Not too close.
The same way he had crouched for Lily.
“What did your mother tell you about Gabriel?”
Sofia looked at me.
I nodded.
“She said he tried to stop Vincent.”
Dante went still.
“Stop him from what?”
“Taking the little boy.”
The room became silent.
Luca.
Dante’s brother.
Sofia’s father, Gabriel Marchetti, had known about the kidnapping.
Dante’s voice changed.
“Luca?”
Sofia nodded.
“Mom said Gabriel found out after.”
Dante’s eyes closed for one second.
“What happened to him?”
“Vincent said he betrayed family.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Vincent was not his family.”
Sofia looked confused.
“He said family anyway.”
Of course.
Men like Vincent used the word family the way other people used rope.
To bind.
To pull.
To hang things from.
Dante asked, “Why did Nora hide you?”
Sofia looked down.
“Because Gabriel left something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante stood.
Frustration moved through him.
I touched his arm.
He froze.
I realized it was the first time I had touched him voluntarily.
“Stop.”
His eyes moved to mine.
“She is eleven.”
He looked at Sofia.
Guilt immediately replaced urgency.
“I’m sorry.”
Sofia shrugged in the way children do when adults frighten them but they do not want to cause trouble.
That made me angry.
Not at Dante.
At every adult who had taught her to minimize fear.
I sat again.
“What did the men who took you ask?”
“Where Mom put the red book.”
Dante and Marco exchanged a look.
“What red book?” I asked.
Sofia shook her head.
“They asked where Michael hid it.”
My heart kicked.
“Did Michael have a red book?”
“I saw one once.”
“Where?”
“His truck.”
Dante stepped closer, then stopped himself.
“What kind of truck?”
“Blue.”
“Company?”
She shrugged.
I tried another way.
“When you saw it, how old were you?”
“Maybe four.”
Seven years ago.
Michael died five years ago.
He could have had the book.
“What was inside?”
“I didn’t read it.”
“Did your mom?”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
Sofia thought.
“She cried.”
I looked at Dante.
Another mother crying because of men and secrets.
“What happened to the book?”
“Uncle Mike took it.”
Michael.
“Where?”
Sofia shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then she looked at me.
“He said he knew a place nobody would search because it belonged to somebody who hated him.”
I frowned.
“Who hated Michael?”
Dante’s expression changed.
“I did.”
I stared.
“What?”
He looked toward the window.
“Michael and I argued two days before he died.”
“You never told me.”
“No.”
“About what?”
“He accused me of becoming my father.”
The words landed.
“What did you do?”
“I told him never to enter my house again.”
Sofia whispered, “Maybe he did.”
We both looked at her.
She pointed toward the floor.
“Mom said Michael hid things in enemy houses because friends check your pockets.”
Dante stared.
Then turned toward Marco.
“The old wing.”
Marco understood immediately.
“What old wing?”
Dante looked at me.
“The rooms my father sealed after Luca died.”
My skin chilled.
“Why would Michael hide evidence there?”
“Because he knew nobody entered them.”
Dante walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
His gaze moved back to Sofia.
“Do you know who brought you here tonight?”
She shook her head.
“Did you see his face?”
“No. Mask.”
“Anything else?”
Sofia thought.
“A ring.”
“What ring?”
“Black stone.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
Marco swore softly.
I looked between them.
“What?”
Dante answered.
“Vincent Caruso wears a black onyx ring.”
Sofia hugged Bunny.
“He told the driver not to hurt me.”
I stared.
“That does not make sense.”
Dante’s face went cold.
“It does if he wanted her delivered.”
“To us?”
“Yes.”
“Why kidnap a child just to bring her here?”
Dante looked toward the sealed west wing.
“Because he needed her to tell us where to look.”
May you like
The trap was not Sofia.
The trap was the truth waiting inside Dante’s own house.
