Chapter 12 - The Nun Who Remembered My Father
St. Agnes sat on a hill outside Providence.
Gray stone.
Bare winter trees.
No cameras at the entrance.
No reporters.
For the first time in days, the world seemed quiet.
Sister Catherine was ninety-one and approximately five feet tall.
She stared at Vincent for ten seconds.
Then slapped his hand.
Not hard.
He looked shocked.
I almost laughed.
“That was for becoming too much like your father.”
Vincent rubbed his knuckles.
“I’m receiving a great deal of family feedback lately.”
She looked at me.
Then began crying.
“Oh.”
Just that.
She touched my cheek.
“Elena’s girl.”
This time I let her.
She knew me.
Not me exactly.
But something of me.
We sat in a small parlor.
Sister Catherine brought a wooden box.
Inside was my original birth certificate.
Mother:
Elena Vittoria Moretti.
Father:
Dominic Anthony DeMarco.
Witness:
Catherine Bell.
And a second witness.
Carlo DeMarco.
Vincent swore quietly.
“Carlo was here?”
“Yes.”
Sister Catherine looked disgusted.
“He cried more than the baby.”
I smiled despite everything.
“What happened after?”
“Elena was terrified.”
“Of Renato?”
“Of everyone.”
“Did my grandfather know?”
“Eventually.”
“Who helped her escape?”
Sister Catherine looked at Vincent.
“Your mother.”
Vincent frowned.
“My mother died before Nora was born.”
“Yes.”
“Then how?”
“Plans.”
Vittoria had known she was dying.
She created the trust.
Prepared accounts.
Made arrangements with the convent.
Left instructions for Rosa.
For Carlo.
For anyone willing to protect Elena.
My grandmother had built an escape route before there was a need to use it.
Then Sister Catherine handed me another envelope.
Vittoria’s handwriting.
FOR ELENA’S CHILD.
Inside was the original trust amendment.
Eleanor’s entire case.
Renato’s seventy-two-hour attack collapsed in a single piece of paper.
I exhaled.
“We have it.”
Sister Catherine did not smile.
“No.”
“What?”
“You have the money.”
She looked at Vincent.
“You do not have the truth.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Who opened the gate?”
The old nun was silent for a long time.
Then:
“Your father.”
Vincent went still.
“Salvatore?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“He did not know men were coming to kill Elena.”
“What did he think?”
“That Renato wanted to speak to her.”
Vincent looked sick.
“Renato told Salvatore that Elena had copies of documents that could send him to prison.”
“Were there?”
“Yes.”
“So my father opened the gate to save himself.”
Sister Catherine nodded.
“He realized too late what Renato intended.”
My mother’s warning made sense.
Salvatore had not ordered her death.
But he had enabled it.
Then spent the rest of his life trying to undo one cowardly decision.
Vincent stared at his hands.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew Elena survived.”
“Yes.”
“And he let me worship him.”
Sister Catherine’s voice sharpened.
“Children often confuse loving a parent with knowing one.”
Nobody spoke.
I thought about my mother.
All her lies.
All her love.
Maybe they could exist together.
Sister Catherine looked at me.
“Your father was different.”
I lifted my eyes.
“Tell me.”
“Dominic came here three days before his death.”
“What did he say?”
“He wanted to marry Elena.”
A smile.
“He had two cheap rings.”
“Cheap?”
“Very.”
I laughed.
Tears followed.
“He said they would buy better ones when they stopped running.”
The wedding ring in my mother’s sewing box.
Not expensive.
Not glamorous.
Perfect.
Sister Catherine took my hand.
“Your father knew he might die.”
I stopped breathing.
“He left something.”
Another envelope.
Dominic’s handwriting.
For my daughter.
My hands shook so badly Vincent opened it for me.
Inside:
If you are a girl, Elena wants Nora.
I covered my mouth.
If you are a boy, I’m fighting for Anthony.
A tear fell onto the page.
Whoever you are, none of this began with you. Never let anyone convince you that you must inherit our hatred simply because you inherited our names.
I read that sentence twice.
Then a third time.
At the bottom:
Carlo knows where I put the evidence.
Vincent looked at me.
“Carlo.”
I called him immediately.
He answered.
“Nora?”
“Where did my father put the evidence?”
Silence.
Then:
“You found Catherine.”
“Yes.”
Carlo exhaled.
“Come back to New York.”
“Tell me now.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because there is something else you need to know first.”
“What?”
Another silence.
May you like
Then Carlo said:
“Vivian is not my daughter.”
