Chapter 2 - The Amendment
I had spent most of my adult life learning how to recognize lies.
Some men touched their faces.
Others looked toward doors.
My father became unusually still.
That night, Salvatore DeLuca looked like a statue.
Which meant whatever he was about to say scared him.
Renata had fallen asleep against my shoulder.
I carried her upstairs to the guest room that had supposedly been prepared for her.
That was another lie.
There were no toys.
No Christmas decorations.
No photographs.
Just a bed.
Meanwhile, Sofia and Emma’s rooms looked like department-store displays.
I laid Renata beneath the blankets and removed the blue ribbons from her hair.
She opened her eyes.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here.”
“Am I in trouble?”
The question hit harder than anything my parents had said.
“No.”
“Grandma said I shouldn’t complain.”
“You never have to earn a place in this family.”
She studied my face.
“Even if I’m not real?”
I felt something cold move through me.
“Who told you that?”
She looked away.
I already knew.
I kissed her forehead.
“You are my daughter. There is nothing more real to me than that.”
She finally closed her eyes.
When I returned downstairs, my father was waiting in the study.
So was my mother.
Paola had disappeared.
I placed the trust documents on the desk.
“Start talking.”
My mother crossed her arms.
“The amendment was irresponsible.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Your grandfather never imagined you would adopt someone.”
“The amendment literally says ‘lawful adoption.’”
Her mouth tightened.
My father looked exhausted.
“Mauricio, your grandfather changed that clause after your brother died.”
My older brother, Gabriel.
He had been dead for thirteen years.
A car accident outside Boston.
I had been twenty-seven.
Gabriel had been thirty-one.
He had been everything my father wanted in a son.
Traditional.
Obedient.
Prepared to continue the family bloodline.
I had been the difficult one.
“What does Gabriel have to do with Renata?”
My father stared at the fireplace.
“More than you know.”
My mother interrupted.
“Salvatore.”
He ignored her.
“Your grandfather began questioning everything after Gabriel died. He believed our family had become obsessed with blood.”
I almost laughed at the irony.
“He was right.”
My father continued.
“He changed the trust so that your first legal child would inherit control.”
“Why me?”
“Because after Gabriel’s death, you were his only remaining grandson carrying the DeLuca name.”
I looked toward my mother.
“So you challenged Renata’s adoption to keep her from controlling the trust.”
“I was protecting the family.”
“From a six-year-old?”
“From strangers.”
“She’s not a stranger.”
“She was born outside this family.”
My father closed his eyes.
That reaction was small.
But I caught it.
“You said the money wasn’t the reason.”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
My mother moved between us.
“This conversation ends now.”
I laughed quietly.
“You filed a legal challenge against my daughter without telling me. You humiliated her in front of the family. You made a six-year-old wash dishes on Christmas Eve because you wanted her to feel inferior.”
“I was teaching her where she stands.”
“That was your mistake.”
My mother stared at me.
“She stands with me.”
I picked up the papers.
“And beginning tonight, nobody in this family gets near her unless I allow it.”
“Mauricio—”
“That includes you.”
My mother’s face hardened.
For one brief second, the frightened woman disappeared and the Carmen DeLuca I had known all my life returned.
“You think your name frightens everyone.”
“No.”
I leaned closer.
“I think evidence frightens people who have something to hide.”
I left the study.
Before reaching the stairs, my father called my name.
I turned.
He stood alone now.
My mother had walked toward the dining room.
“There’s another letter,” he said.
“What?”
“Your grandfather wrote you a letter before he died.”
My grandfather had died nine years earlier.
“No one gave me a letter.”
“I know.”
“Where is it?”
My father looked toward the ceiling, as if he could somehow see through two floors into the attic.
“Carmen hid it.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because of what was inside.”
My phone rang.
Nathaniel Mercer.
The estate attorney.
I answered immediately.
“Mr. DeLuca,” he said. “I’m relieved you received the package.”
“I did.”
“Then you saw the challenge.”
“Yes.”
“There’s something else you should know.”
I walked into the empty library.
“Tell me.”
“Our forensic accountants traced the shell corporation that financed the challenge.”
“To my mother?”
“Partially.”
I waited.
“The authorization originated from an account belonging to your sister, Paola.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Paola’s daughters were next in line if Renata’s adoption disappeared.
“How much money?”
“Nearly four hundred thousand dollars in legal and investigative expenses.”
I looked back toward the Christmas tree.
Paola had spent almost half a million dollars trying to erase a child’s legal place in my family.
Nathaniel continued.
“And there’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Someone requested sealed birth records connected to Renata.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet. But Mauricio…”
He paused.
“When our investigator reviewed the request, he noticed something unusual.”
“What?”
“The hospital listed on Renata’s original birth certificate is St. Catherine’s Medical Center.”
I knew the name.
Everyone in my family did.
Gabriel died there.
I said nothing.
Nathaniel spoke carefully.
“Your brother spent considerable time at St. Catherine’s during the final year of his life.”
“That could mean nothing.”
“It could.”
“But you don’t think it does.”
“No.”
My father appeared in the library doorway.
His face told me he had heard enough.
Nathaniel continued.
“I need your permission to obtain the sealed supplemental records.”
“You have it.”
My father shook his head.
“Mauricio.”
I ignored him.
Nathaniel said, “There’s one more thing.”
I waited.
“The attorney who arranged Renata’s original guardianship six years ago was also your brother Gabriel’s personal attorney.”
The room went completely silent.
I looked at my father.
He looked away.
I ended the call.
Then I walked toward him.
“Tell me the truth.”
My father’s shoulders dropped.
“I promised your mother I never would.”
“Tonight you watched her call my daughter less than family.”
“I know.”
“You watched Renata wash dishes while the other girls opened presents.”
His eyes filled with shame.
“I know.”
I stepped closer.
“What was Gabriel’s connection to Renata?”
My father whispered something I almost didn’t hear.
“Her mother.”
“What about her?”
“Gabriel knew her.”
“How well?”
My father looked at me.
And suddenly I understood before he said the words.
Very well.
“No,” I whispered.
My father nodded.
“Her name was Elena.”
I knew the name.
Elena Moretti.
A young woman Gabriel had once wanted to marry.
My mother had forbidden it.
Elena disappeared from our lives shortly before Gabriel died.
My father swallowed.
“Renata was born seven months after Gabriel’s funeral.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
Then my father said the sentence that changed everything again.
“Mauricio, there is a very real possibility that the little girl sleeping upstairs isn’t merely your adopted daughter.”
May you like
His voice cracked.
“She may also be Gabriel’s biological child.”
