Chapter 5 - The Truth About Miguel Alvarez
Sophia was asleep when Maria carried her downstairs.
Around her neck was a small silver chain.
Maria touched it.
“Miguel gave this to her three days before he died.”
Hanging from it was a tiny key.
Marco stared.
“He hid it in plain sight.”
Maria looked at him.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you take it?”
“Because I wasn't stealing something her father gave her without knowing exactly what it was.”
I looked at Marco.
That answer mattered.
By midnight, we found the lock.
Miguel had rented a safe-deposit box under his mother’s maiden name.
Inside were account records, photographs, and a flash drive.
Enough evidence to expose Carlo’s entire scheme.
But one item mattered more to Maria.
A letter.
She opened it with shaking hands.
Marco turned away.
I did too.
She read silently.
Then began crying.
“What did he say?” Marco asked softly.
Maria wiped her face.
“He knew he might not come home.”
She looked at Marco.
“He wrote that if anything happened, I should trust you.”
Marco's expression broke.
Maria continued.
“He said you were the only man he knew who would protect Sophia even if it cost you everything.”
Marco looked down.
“He was my friend.”
Maria stepped toward him.
“You protected us.”
“I should've protected him.”
“You couldn't.”
“I should've.”
She touched his hand.
“Marco.”
He finally looked at her.
“You kept my daughter alive.”
Silence.
Then a small voice came from behind us.
“Why is Mama crying?”
Sophia stood in the doorway rubbing her eyes.
Maria immediately knelt.
“Come here.”
Sophia ran into her arms.
“Are you sad?”
“A little.”
“Because Daddy?”
Maria nodded.
Sophia thought.
Then she hugged her.
“Daddy says crying is okay.”
Maria froze.
“He used to say that,” she whispered.
Sophia looked at Marco.
“Are you sad too?”
Marco cleared his throat.
“No.”
“You look sad.”
“I’m Italian. We look dramatic.”
I almost laughed.
Sophia walked to him.
She held out her arms.
Marco stared.
“What?”
“Hug.”
Marco looked helplessly at me.
I shrugged.
“You're on your own.”
He crouched.
Sophia wrapped her arms around his neck.
Marco closed his eyes.
Maria watched him.
This time she didn't look away.
My phone rang.
Carlo.
I answered.
“Nephew.”
“Uncle.”
“I hear you've been asking questions.”
“I have.”
“About Miguel Alvarez?”
I looked around the room.
Maria.
Sophia.
Marco.
A dead man's letter.
“Yes.”
Carlo sighed.
“You're making a mistake.”
“Come tell me yourself.”
Silence.
Then:
“Tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Dominic—”
“Tonight.”
Another pause.
“Fine.”
He hung up.
Marco stood.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get Maria and Sophia somewhere safe.”
Maria shook her head.
“Not again.”
“This time you don't get a vote.”
Sophia looked at me.
“Are you mad?”
I crouched.
“A little.”
“At me?”
“No.”
“Are we still friends?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
Then she held up the purple crayon she'd apparently stolen from my study.
“I finished your table picture.”
I looked at the crayon.
“Sophia.”
“What?”
“That table cost twelve thousand dollars.”
She gasped.
“That’s too much.”
Marco burst out laughing.
Even Maria smiled.
And for one brief moment, the room felt almost normal.
Then headlights swept across the windows.
Marco's smile vanished.
May you like
A black car stopped outside.
Carlo had arrived.
