Chapter 6 - ELENA’S SECRET
Norah did not sleep.
She sat in the guest bedroom with her phone in her hand, staring at a photograph she had not opened in years.
Elena Gallagher.
Her grandmother.
Young.
Beautiful.
Standing outside a Brooklyn grocery store beside Salvatore Moretti.
Norah zoomed in.
The man looked barely twenty-five.
No wheelchair.
No white hair.
No cruelty carved into his face.
His hand rested lightly behind Elena’s back.
She was smiling.
Norah had never seen her grandmother smile like that in any other photograph.
A knock came at the door.
Dominic.
Norah hesitated before opening it.
He remained in the hallway.
Deliberately.
As if distance mattered now.
“Frank checked public records.”
Norah’s stomach tightened.
“And?”
“Elena Bellini married Patrick Gallagher in 1968.”
“I knew that.”
“She had one child.”
Norah whispered, “My father.”
“Yes.”
“Born?”
“1969.”
Norah calculated.
Salvatore had known Elena before then.
Her mouth became dry.
Dominic continued.
“Your father’s birth certificate lists Patrick Gallagher.”
“But?”
“But there’s no hospital record matching the certificate.”
Norah looked away.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“You think Salvatore might be my grandfather.”
“I don’t know.”
“That would make—”
“No.”
Dominic answered quickly.
She looked at him.
He understood immediately what she meant.
“If Salvatore were your grandfather, you and I would not be biologically related.”
Norah stared.
Dominic’s mother was unrelated to Elena. Salvatore would be Dominic’s father and Norah’s possible grandfather, technically making Dominic her father’s half-brother.
Which absolutely did not improve the situation.
Dominic rubbed a hand over his face.
“This conversation is getting worse.”
“Much worse.”
“We need facts.”
Norah nodded.
“My grandmother kept a storage box.”
“Where?”
“My aunt has it in Queens.”
The estate was technically still locked down.
Dominic drove anyway.
No convoy.
No black SUVs.
Just one dark sedan and Frank several cars behind them.
Norah sat in the passenger seat.
For nearly forty minutes neither spoke.
Finally Dominic said, “For what it’s worth, I’m hoping Victor lied.”
Norah looked out the window.
“For investigative reasons?”
He glanced at her.
“For several reasons.”
Heat touched her face.
She hated it.
“This is not the time.”
“I’m aware.”
“Good.”
“Doesn’t make it untrue.”
Norah looked at him.
Dominic kept his eyes on the road.
For a dangerous man, he had an unexpectedly vulnerable profile.
She turned away.
Her aunt Kathleen lived in a narrow house in Queens and had absolutely no idea who Dominic Moretti was.
That lasted approximately thirty seconds.
Then she recognized him from television.
“You’re that crime man.”
Dominic blinked.
Norah almost choked.
“Aunt Kathleen.”
“What? He is.”
Dominic extended his hand politely.
“Dominic Moretti.”
“I know.”
Kathleen refused his hand.
“Norah, why is a suspected mobster standing on my welcome mat?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It usually is when there are mobsters.”
Dominic glanced at Norah.
“Your family is direct.”
“You have no idea.”
The storage box was in the basement.
Inside were photographs, recipes, church cards, immigration papers, and approximately thirty unopened letters tied with blue ribbon.
All addressed to Elena Bellini.
All from Salvatore.
Norah sat on the basement floor.
The oldest letter was dated 1967.
Elena,
I did what you asked. I walked away from Carlo. I swear to you. Meet me Thursday. We can leave.
The next:
You never came.
Another:
I know you are afraid.
Another:
Please tell me if the baby is mine.
Norah stopped breathing.
Dominic sat several feet away.
He did not move closer.
The final letter was dated 1972.
Elena,
Victor says you married and want nothing from me.
If that is true, I will respect it.
But if he is lying, find me.
Please.
Norah stared at the signature.
Salvatore.
Aunt Kathleen had gone upstairs.
The basement felt unnaturally quiet.
Norah whispered, “Victor intercepted them.”
“Maybe.”
“My grandmother never got these.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re unopened.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Norah.”
She looked at him.
“There’s another envelope.”
It was hidden beneath the letters.
Not Salvatore’s handwriting.
Elena’s.
The envelope said:
For my son, Daniel, after I’m gone.
Daniel was Norah’s father.
He had died in a construction accident twelve years earlier.
Norah opened the letter.
Her grandmother’s words were shaky but clear.
Daniel,
Patrick Gallagher was your father in every way that mattered.
He held you when you were sick.
He taught you to ride a bicycle.
He worked two jobs to pay for your school.
Never forget that.
But there is another truth.
Salvatore Moretti gave you life.
Norah covered her mouth.
Dominic stood and walked away several steps.
She continued reading.
Salvatore was not yet the man the newspapers later described. He was young, frightened, proud, and already surrounded by dangerous people.
When I became pregnant, I asked him to leave them.
He agreed.
Then a man named Victor came to me.
He told me Salvatore had chosen the family over us.
He threatened my unborn baby.
Patrick helped me disappear.
Years later I learned Salvatore had written.
By then Daniel was five.
I made the hardest decision of my life.
I did not return.
Not because I hated Salvatore.
Because Patrick was your father, and Salvatore’s world was still dangerous.
Norah’s eyes blurred.
At the bottom:
If Salvatore is still alive when this reaches you, tell him this:
I forgave him long ago.
And tell him Daniel grew into a good man.
That will matter more to him than anything.
Norah folded the letter.
Dominic remained turned away.
She whispered his name.
He faced her.
“It’s true.”
He nodded once.
“My father is your half-brother.”
“Yes.”
Dominic laughed weakly.
“Which makes me…”
“Your uncle.”
The word landed like a grenade.
They stared at each other.
Then Norah suddenly began laughing.
She could not help it.
Dominic looked horrified.
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s completely horrible.”
“Norah.”
“You were flirting with your niece.”
“I did not know you were my niece.”
“That sentence made it worse.”
Dominic stared at her for two seconds.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed too.
Not because anything was actually funny.
Because sometimes the human body chose laughter when the alternative was screaming.
Eventually silence returned.
Norah wiped her eyes.
“This ends whatever was happening.”
Dominic’s smile faded.
“Yes.”
Neither sounded pleased.
They returned to the mansion after midnight.
Salvatore was awake.
Norah sat beside him.
She showed him Elena’s letter.
He read slowly.
By the time he reached the final line, tears ran openly down his face.
Norah touched his hand.
“She forgave you.”
Salvatore closed his eye.
“And Daniel was good.”
His fingers tightened around hers.
“He was my father.”
Salvatore looked at her.
Norah swallowed.
“And you were his biological father.”
One blink.
She leaned closer.
“I’m your granddaughter.”
Salvatore began to shake.
Norah instinctively hugged him.
For several seconds the feared patriarch of the Moretti family simply cried against the shoulder of a hospice nurse who had entered his house for money.
Dominic watched from the doorway.
His own eyes were wet.
Then Frank appeared behind him.
“Dominic.”
Something in his voice changed the room.
“What?”
“We found Dr. Pierce.”
“Where?”
Frank swallowed.
“Dead.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
Norah looked toward Salvatore.
Frank continued.
“And there’s something else.”
He held out a phone.
“Pierce left a scheduled email.”
Dominic opened it.
One sentence appeared on the screen.
If I die, Victor Rizzo is not working alone.
Below it was a photograph.
Norah’s stomach turned.
The second person standing beside Victor was someone inside the house.
May you like
Someone Dominic trusted completely.
Frank.
