Chapter 3
I did not touch Luke at first.
I wanted to.
God help me, I wanted to pull him into my arms and apologize for every night he had gone hungry.
But he did not know me.
And I had learned too late that love without care can feel like another hand grabbing.
So I spoke gently.
“Luke, may I see your arm?”
He hesitated.
Grace nodded.
Only then did he lift his sleeve.
Bruises circled his wrist.
Finger marks.
Small.
Angry.
I looked at Milena.
“Did you touch him before the plate?”
She crossed her arms.
“He was reaching for food meant for family.”
Lucia made a broken sound.
“He is family.”
Milena turned on her.
“You don’t know that.”
I held up the birth record.
“I know enough.”
Carlo walked toward me.
“Angelo, think carefully. Anyone can forge paper.”
“Then we test it.”
His eyes flickered.
There it was.
Fear.
I handed the documents to Rocco.
“Call Dr. Vale. Tonight.”
Milena’s face paled more.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“No?”
“You will not let some street rumor humiliate me in my own home.”
“This is my home.”
The courtyard went silent again.
Milena had forgotten that.
Or maybe I had.
For years, after my father died, I let her sit at my table like a queen because she knew how to make grief quiet.
I let Carlo speak for her.
I let rumors replace questions.
I let Isabella become a betrayal because it hurt less than wondering why she never came back.
Now a boy stood in my courtyard with sauce on his shoes and hunger in his eyes.
And my old life was bleeding through the cracks.
I turned to Grace.
“How did he find you?”
“He found Isabella’s letters after she died. My name was in one. She told him I worked near the Torrisi family years ago.”
Luke looked down.
“I took a bus.”
“From where?”
“Newark.”
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
Fourteen.
I had missed fourteen birthdays.
Fourteen winters.
Fourteen chances to be his father.
I looked at Rocco.
“No one leaves.”
Carlo laughed.
“You can’t hold family hostage over a stray.”
I stepped close to him.
“Say that word again.”
May you like
He did not.
Smart man.
