Chapter 1
“How long has this been happening?”
Sofia looked down at our joined hands.
Her skin was raw from hot water and detergent. Tiny red cracks marked her knuckles.
She said nothing.
That frightened me more than Delia’s face.
“Sofia.”
Lily clung to her skirt.
My wife finally whispered:
“Three months.”
Everything inside me became still.
Three months.
Delia started talking immediately.
“She’s exaggerating.”
I turned my head.
She stopped.
Good.
I looked back at Sofia.
“Three months of what?”
Her throat moved.
“Kitchen work.”
“What else?”
Silence.
Lily answered.
“Aunt Delia makes Mommy eat after everybody.”
Sofia closed her eyes.
My daughter continued because children have no instinct for protecting adult lies.
“Sometimes Mommy doesn’t eat.”
I looked at Delia.
She stared at the floor.
Marcus pushed himself upright under the overturned pastry cart.
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
I almost smiled.
“Then tell me what it looks like.”
He said nothing.
Sofia finally pulled one hand from mine.
Not rejection.
Fear.
“She told me not to make trouble.”
“Why?”
Her eyes went toward Lily.
There.
I understood before she spoke.
Delia had not controlled Sofia through pain.
She had controlled her through our daughter.
“What did she threaten?”
Sofia started crying.
“She said if I embarrassed her in front of the family, Lily would stop being treated as Montoro.”
The room went silent.
I looked at my sister.
That was not something Delia had invented alone.
Montoro bloodline recognition was an old family obsession.
Who counted.
Who inherited standing.
Who attended inner gatherings.
Who got protected.
My daughter was three.
And apparently someone had convinced Sofia that all of it could be taken from Lily if she resisted.
I looked at Delia.
“Who gave you authority over my daughter’s name?”
Her face changed.
Then Marcus spoke.
“No one.”
Too fast.
I turned toward him.
“Wrong answer.”
May you like
Because somebody had.
And judging by Delia’s fear, that somebody still believed they had power inside my family.
