Chapter 4 - A Door That Locked
Luca reached our floor before I could decide whether to scream.
He took one look through the doorway and guided us toward the stairs.
“Did you touch anything?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I’m calling the police.”
He nodded.
“Do it.”
That surprised me enough to make me look at him.
“Mr. Falcone won’t like it?”
“Your apartment was broken into. Your daughter was threatened. Make the call.”
Two officers arrived. They photographed the lock and the note, asked about anyone who might want to frighten me, and took down Vittorio’s name.
I gave it without lowering my voice.
By the time we finished, Sophia was crying from exhaustion.
Dante arrived while I was packing a bag under an officer’s supervision.
He stood in my tiny kitchen, too large for the room, staring at the note on the refrigerator.
“Did my brother give you money?”
“He offered.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
Dante looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t sell my daughter’s silence.”
He lowered his eyes.
I had expected anger. I didn’t know what to do with shame.
“You’ll stay at the estate tonight,” he said.
“No.”
“Rosa—”
“I won’t trade one place I’m scared for another.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then he nodded.
“The guesthouse has its own entrance. Mrs. Bell can stay with you. Luca outside, if you want him. You keep your phone, your keys, and your car service account. You can leave whenever you choose.”
“You don’t tell me who I can call.”
“No.”
“You don’t question Sophia without me.”
“No.”
“And nobody touches her.”
His expression changed.
“On that, we agree.”
The officer standing by the kitchen door watched him carefully.
So did I.
At the estate, Mrs. Bell made up a bed in the guesthouse. Sophia fell asleep before I could take off her socks.
Dante stayed on the porch.
I stepped outside and closed the door.
“Tell me what this is.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then find out.”
He nodded once.
Before leaving, he looked through the window at Sophia asleep beneath a yellow blanket.
“Carmela wanted children,” he said.
I waited.
“I kept telling her there would be time.”
He walked away before I could answer.
At four the next morning, I woke to Sophia whispering.
She was sitting up in bed, facing the dark window.
“Okay,” she said softly.
I turned on the lamp.
“Who are you talking to?”
Sophia rubbed her eyes.
“The lady.”
May you like
“What did she say?”
“She says Mister has the wrong brother.”
