The Sister Who Died Twice
Chapter 04 - The Sister Who Died Twice
Lucia did not run.
That was the first thing I noticed.
She stepped inside my room as if we were old friends continuing a private conversation, closed the door without a sound, and turned the lock with two fingers. Then she took my duffel from the floor and pushed it behind the bed with her shoe.
“Do not speak,” she said.
The knock came five seconds later.
Three soft taps.
I could see the shadow beneath the door.
“Housekeeping,” a man said.
Room 409 had not seen housekeeping since the last mayoral administration.
Lucia lifted one finger to her lips and pointed toward the bathroom.
I went in, hating how quickly fear made me obedient.
The bathroom smelled of bleach and old pipes. Through the gap between the door and frame, I saw Lucia remove her gloves, lay them on the table, and open the door only a crack.
“Yes?”
The man outside kept his voice polite. “Maintenance. We had a complaint about heat.”
“I did not call.”
“We are checking the line.”
“How diligent.”
A pause.
“Ma’am, is there another guest in the room?”
Lucia smiled. I could hear it. “If there were, I would be less annoyed by your interruption.”
The silence that followed had teeth.
Then the man said, “Apologies.”
Footsteps retreated.
Lucia waited until the stairwell door closed before she turned toward the bathroom. “He is still on the landing.”
“How do you know?” I whispered.
“Because he wants us to think he left.”
She picked up the envelope again and handed it to me.
Inside were three hundred dollars, a train ticket, and a photograph.
The picture showed two young women sitting on a dock at night. One I recognized as Valentina Marino, Nico’s sister. The other woman had her face turned toward the camera, laughing so hard her eyes were closed.
She looked like me.
Not exactly. But enough to make my throat tighten.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Daniela Reyes,” Lucia said. “Valentina’s driver. Her friend. Some said more than friend, but people say many things when a woman refuses to explain herself.”
I stared at the photograph.
“She looks—”
“Like your mother’s side?”
The room tilted.
I looked up. “What do you know about my mother?”
“Only that her maiden name was Reyes. Only that she left New York before Valentina died. Only that three months ago Rafe began looking into you after he saw a photograph on Nico’s desk.”
My hands tightened around the picture.
“My mother died when I was seventeen.”
“I am sorry.”
“Do not be sorry. Explain.”
For the first time, Lucia looked less certain.
“Valentina was investigating shipments moving through Nico’s legitimate companies. She believed Rafe was using family routes without Nico’s knowledge. Daniela helped her. Then there was an explosion. Valentina disappeared. Daniela vanished. Everyone who knew anything was told to mourn and keep quiet.”
“You said Valentina didn’t die.”
“She died later.” Lucia looked toward the window. “At least, that is what I believe.”
“You believe?”
“I saw her once after the funeral.”
I sat slowly on the bed.
“She was alive?”
“Yes. Terrified. Pregnant.”
The word moved through the room like a match touching gas.
I shook my head. “No.”
“I did not say what you think.”
“You are implying enough.”
“I am saying Rafe has been looking for a child he believes Valentina hid before she died. He thought that child might be connected to you.”
“That is impossible.”
“Many impossible things become possible when powerful men control paperwork.”
My laugh came out wrong. “I am not Nico’s niece, if that is where this is going.”
“No. You are twenty-nine. The child would be twenty-five.”
My heart, already tired, stumbled.
“My sister,” I said before I could stop myself.
Lucia’s eyes sharpened.
“You have a sister?”
“Half sister. Mia. My mother had her after she left New York. Different father. She disappeared last year.”
Lucia went pale.
Outside the door, the floor creaked.
The man had not left.
Lucia reached into her purse and removed a second phone, small and old-fashioned.
“Call Nico,” she said.
“No.”
“This is larger than your heartbreak.”
“My heartbreak is not small.”
Her face softened, but her voice did not. “No. But your sister may still be alive.”
Before I could answer, my new prepaid phone lit up on the bed.
Unknown number.
A text appeared.
May you like
WE HAVE MIA.
And beneath it came a photograph that made the room disappear.
