Page 99 of The Devil's Den

“There’s no easy way to say this…” As I try to get the words out, a sob slips out.

“No!” Dora cries, slapping a hand to her mouth.

“They killed her, didn’t they? Those fucking Bianchis, they killed my baby?” Her mom’s emotions slice through her words as she looks straight into my eyes, waiting for me to confirm it.

“I’m so sorry.” An ache clogs my throat. “But she’s gone.”

“No!” Dora cries, jumping to her feet. “I won’t accept that!”

“My poor baby,” her mom snivels. I let them take all the time they need, my tears leaking along with theirs. There’s a heavy wave of mourning crawling up every wall.

Matteo holds me, and I know he feels it too. She mattered to him. He loved her. But we can’t tell them he shot her. It’s something we’ll take to our graves.

“Did she suffer?” Alison’s mom asks.

“No.” Matteo’s voice is forceful, and she nods, as though that small sliver of information brings her peace.

“Do you know where they put her body?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t,” I tell her. “But we want you to know we loved her.” I look up at Matteo. “Both of us.”

“You’re her, aren’t you? Aida?” The mother swipes under her eyes. “She talked about you all the time.”

My heart warms to know she had. That just like she meant a lot to me, I meant the same to her. “I am. Your daughter saved me. Every day.”

“She was a hero to us,” Matteo adds. “We’ll never forget her.”

“She loved you,” Dora says in a teary tone. “You were like a daughter to her.”

“And she was every bit the mother to me.” I blink back tears, my chin trembling.

“We have something for you.” Dora stands, swiping at her eyes, as more tears come. “Years ago, she had us hide something for her, something that she said belonged to your mother.”

“What?” My pulse jumps.

“Oh my, I forgot all about that,” her mom whispers. “Go get it, honey. I’ll tell her the story.”

Dora nods as she passes her mother, going up the stairs. We all sit quietly, not sure what to say to a woman who just found out her daughter died.

“When Alison first met your mother, she gave Alison a handbag. She told her to keep it safe just in case. Alison brought it here and told us to hide it. And to this day, it’s been here, waiting for you.”

Hope grows in my heart, like a root taking shape, nourished by the thought that maybe in that bag is more of my mom, something that’ll give me more of the shreds of who she was.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m grateful you kept it.”

“Of course we did, child. Alison would kill us if we hadn’t.” She laughs dolefully. “The way she spoke about you…” Her eyes shimmer as she stares past me as though recollections find her deep in her mind. “She’d tell me how smart you were.” Her gaze lands to me again. “That you were the sweetest child, so polite, even with that deranged criminal who kept you locked away in that house.” Her eyes go to Matteo. “Did you live there too? And I use that term loosely.”

“Yes,” he says.

“Oh goodness.” She shakes her head, her gray brows tucking tight. “She never talked about anyone else in that house, but I always suspected something else was going on. I know she was scared. She probably would never have told me about Aida either, but when she gave us the bag, she broke down.” She settles further against the sofa. “The way she poured her heart out when she told me what he was doing. The kinds of evil that family was capable of… I can’t even think about it.” Her bottom lip quivers. “I’m gonna miss her.”

“Me too,” I breathe. “If it brings you any comfort, I want you to know the Bianchis, they’re all dead now.”

“Good.” And the glare that fits her face doesn’t seem to quite suit her.

“Here it is.” Dora returns with a simple black satchel. “This was your mom’s.” She hands it to me.

My fingers run past the soft material, so well kept, like it’s been treasured. How could I ever repay Ms. Greco for this? I hope wherever she is, she realizes what a gift she has bestowed upon me. I fumble with the button, the room silent as I drag up the flap, and gradually, I reach a hand inside, finding a notepad, a pen, and a stack of… “Photos,” I practically cry, when I retrieve them.

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