Chapter 7
The resemblance was not perfect. His jaw was stronger. His hair was lighter. But his eyes were mine.
The same slightly uneven brows.
The same narrow crease beside the left eye.
The same shape of the mouth.
“My father’s name was Michael Rossi,” I said.
Victor’s voice was careful. “Did you ever meet him?”
“No.”
“Did Elena have photographs of him?”
“She said he left before I was born.”
“Did she tell you anything else?”
“That he wasn’t ready to be a father.”
Victor looked down at the photograph.
“Daniel would have been.”
“You didn’t know him.”
“I knew him better than I knew myself.”
I felt as though the floor had shifted beneath the house.
“No.”
“Hannah—”
“No.”
Lily stirred behind me.
I lowered my voice.
“You do not get to show me one old photograph and rewrite my life.”
“I’m telling you what I know.”
“You said my mother died because of you. Then you said your sister disappeared. Now you’re suggesting a dead man was my father.”
“I’m not suggesting it.”
His certainty frightened me more than his reputation ever had.
I picked up the photograph.
On the back, written in faded blue ink, were four names.
Victor. Sofia. Elena. Daniel.
Below them was a date.
Nearly twenty-five years ago.
Seven months before I was born.
My fingers went cold.
“What happened that night?” I asked.
Victor sat across from me.
For several moments, he said nothing.
May you like
Then he began.
“When we were young, our families were connected through business. Not the kind people imagine when they hear my name. At least, not at first. Shipping companies. Restaurants. Property. Daniel’s father handled legal affairs for several families, including mine.”
