Chapter 2 - The Secret Rose Bennett Buried
I called Mom from the restaurant kitchen.
She answered on the third ring.
“Sweetheart?”
“Mom, do you know Joseph Salvini?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Not hesitation.
Silence.
That told me everything.
“Mom?”
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“Is he there?”
I looked through the kitchen window.
Joseph stood in the dining room while his men questioned the stranger who had taken my photograph.
“Yes.”
Mom inhaled sharply.
“Come home.”
“First tell me who he is.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Did you know him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love him?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Mom, he thinks I might be his daughter.”
The line went completely quiet.
“Mom?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Come home, Audrey.”
Twenty minutes later, Joseph’s black SUV stopped outside our modest house.
I had refused to tell him the address.
Then Mom surprised me.
“Bring him.”
So I did.
Joseph stood on the sidewalk staring at the house.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No.”
At least he was honest.
I opened the door.
“Mom?”
She appeared at the end of the hallway.
Joseph stopped breathing.
Rose Bennett was forty-three now.
There were faint lines beside her eyes and a few strands of silver in her dark hair.
But for several seconds, neither of them moved.
“Rose,” Joseph whispered.
Mom crossed her arms.
“Joseph.”
Twenty years collapsed into one word.
Joseph stepped forward.
“Why?”
Mom looked at me.
“Audrey, sit down.”
“I’m not five.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t protect me from a conversation about my own life.”
Joseph glanced at her.
“She gets that from you.”
Mom almost smiled.
Almost.
We sat in the living room.
Joseph’s men remained outside.
Mom looked at the constellation around his wrist.
“You kept it.”
“I kept everything.”
“Joseph—”
“Why did you tell me our baby died?”
Her face tightened.
“Because people were trying to kill you.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“It became my decision when one of them followed me home.”
Joseph went still.
Mom continued.
“I was pregnant. Twenty-two years old. Terrified. Your enemies knew about me.”
“You should have told me.”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Your uncle Dominic happened.”
Joseph’s expression hardened.
Mom looked at me.
“He came to see me while Joseph was out of town.”
“What did he say?” Joseph asked.
“He said your family would never accept me. He said if I stayed, eventually somebody would use the baby against you.”
Joseph’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“Dominic knew you were pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He showed me photographs.”
Joseph frowned.
“Of what?”
“Me leaving work. Me visiting my doctor. My apartment.”
My stomach twisted.
“He said those photographs came from your enemies.”
Joseph said nothing.
“He told me the only way to keep the baby alive was to disappear.”
“So you lied.”
“I survived.”
“You told me my child was dead.”
Mom’s eyes filled, but her voice remained steady.
“And my child lived.”
That ended the argument.
Joseph looked at me.
Twenty years of anger seemed to drain from his face.
“Did Dominic know where you went?”
“I don’t know.”
Joseph stood.
“Is he alive?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed.
“Joseph.”
“I asked a question.”
“Yes.”
Joseph pulled out his phone.
I stood too.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“No what?”
“No disappearing into some mafia revenge movie because you’re angry.”
One corner of his mouth twitched.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You look like you want to.”
“I’m discovering my daughter gives orders.”
“Potential daughter.”
His expression softened.
“Fair.”
Mom looked between us.
“There’s something else.”
Joseph turned.
“What?”
She walked to a cabinet and removed a small envelope.
Inside was a hospital bracelet.
My hospital bracelet.
She handed it to him.
Joseph read the date.
October seventeenth.
Then the name.
BABY GIRL BENNETT.
His thumb trembled.
Mom spoke quietly.
“I never stopped loving you, Joseph.”
He looked up.
“Then why didn’t you come back?”
“Because once Audrey was born, I had more to lose than you.”
Before Joseph could answer, headlights swept across our living room.
A car stopped outside.
His expression changed instantly.
He moved toward the window.
One of his men entered without knocking.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We’re being watched.”
Joseph turned to Mom.
“How many people know where you live?”
“Friends. Neighbors.”
“No. From my old life.”
“Nobody.”
His lieutenant held up his phone.
“Someone does now.”
On the screen was a photograph posted anonymously online.
It showed Joseph and me leaving the Golden Crown.
The caption contained five words.
May you like
SALVINI FINALLY FOUND HIS DAUGHTER.
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