Chapter 14 - What Angelo Took From the Fire
The records from October 1961 arrived two days later.
A fire had destroyed a Romano family residence in upstate New York.
The official report listed four occupants.
Salvatore Romano.
His wife Evelyn.
Their sons Angelo and Michael.
One fatality.
Michael Romano, age eight.
Angelo had been six.
Dominic stared at the document.
"If Michael died, Gabriel can't be Angelo's older brother."
Margaret read the report.
"Unless Michael didn't die."
Samuel had located a newspaper archive.
The child's body had never been formally identified.
The fire had been severe.
A family ring was found beside the remains.
Identification was assumed.
Then Samuel found another record.
Three months after the fire, Salvatore Romano quietly transferred a large amount of money to a private children's home in Massachusetts.
Payments continued for twelve years.
Dominic stared at them.
"Why?"
Margaret whispered, "A child."
They traced the home.
Closed in 1987.
Archived records remained at a church facility.
Dominic traveled there with Margaret.
Inside a box labeled 1961 admissions they found a handwritten intake card.
Boy.
Approximately eight years old.
Burn injuries to left arm.
No legal surname provided.
First name: Gabriel.
Margaret sat down.
Dominic read it again.
"Gabriel."
An attached note named the sponsor.
Salvatore Romano.
His grandfather.
Dominic felt sick.
"They changed Michael's name."
Margaret shook her head.
"Why would Salvatore hide his own son?"
Another document answered part of it.
Psychological assessment.
The child repeatedly claimed his younger brother had caused the fire.
Angelo.
Dominic's hands tightened.
The assessment stated there was no evidence supporting the accusation.
But Salvatore had separated the boys permanently.
Michael became Gabriel.
Angelo was told Michael had died.
Or perhaps Angelo knew.
Margaret remembered her husband's recording.
I made a mistake thirty-eight years ago. I thought burying the truth would protect my wife and son.
Dominic calculated.
Thirty-eight years earlier was not the childhood fire.
Something else happened later.
Something Angelo himself had done.
The church archivist brought them one final box.
"These were correspondence files."
Inside was a letter written by Gabriel at age twenty-six.
Addressed to Angelo.
You kept everything.
The name.
The company.
Father.
Now you have a wife and a son while I live with the life you left me.
One day you will understand what it is to watch another man live inside the future that should have been yours.
Margaret covered her mouth.
Dominic read the next page.
Angelo's response.
I did not cause the fire.
I did not ask Father to send you away.
But I will not allow you near Margaret or Dominic again.
Whatever you believe I owe you, take it from me.
Leave them outside this.
Dominic looked up.
"Gabriel knew about me."
Margaret whispered, "For decades."
The final correspondence was dated thirty-eight years earlier.
Exactly the period Angelo mentioned.
It contained one sentence from Gabriel.
Then give me what Father left me.
Angelo's reply included a bank transfer.
Large enough to make Gabriel independently wealthy.
But Gabriel had apparently wanted more than money.
At the bottom Angelo wrote:
This is the last payment. If you threaten my family again, I will expose what happened in Boston.
Dominic stared at the words.
"What happened in Boston?"
Margaret shook her head.
Another secret.
That evening they returned to New York.
Emma ran into Margaret's arms.
For several minutes, nobody spoke about Gabriel.
They ate dinner.
Emma dropped peas onto the floor.
Margaret laughed.
Dominic watched his mother and daughter.
This was what Lucian and Valeria had almost taken from him.
Not money.
This.
Ordinary peace.
After Emma slept, Dominic joined Margaret in the lounge.
The broken wine display had been removed.
The champagne trolley was gone.
Workers would repair the room.
Margaret placed the old handbag on the table.
"I've been thinking."
"About what?"
"Replacing this thing."
Dominic smiled.
"Dad would haunt you."
"He would."
She ran her fingers across the worn leather.
"Maybe I'll repair it instead."
Dominic looked at the damaged bottom seam.
Then remembered the metal case.
"Did Dad hide anything else?"
"Not that I know."
He examined the base.
One section seemed thicker than the others.
Margaret frowned.
"I thought we opened that."
"We opened one layer."
Dominic reached inside.
His fingers touched another stitched edge.
He looked at Margaret.
"There's more."
They stared at each other.
Dominic carefully cut one thread.
Then another.
A second hidden pocket opened.
Inside was a small envelope.
On the front, Angelo had written:
For Margaret only.
Margaret stopped breathing.
Dominic handed it to her.
She opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Angelo.
Much younger.
Standing beside Gabriel.
And between them stood a woman Margaret had never seen.
She held a newborn baby.
On the back was written:
Boston, 1988.
Margaret looked at Dominic.
"You were born in 1987."
Dominic felt cold.
"Who's the baby?"
Margaret turned the photograph over again.
May you like
Beneath the date was one name.
Elena.
