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“I was about to leave when a security guard pulled me aside. Old guy, been there forever. He told me if I wanted real answers, I needed to find a man named Linos who used to work there when we were brought in.” Her expression darkens. “But he made it clear these answers wouldn’t come cheap.”

The truth drops like a stone in my gut. “That’s why you started borrowing money?”

She nods, shame and defiance warring on her face. “I tracked down Linos. He was living in a run-down apartment across town, drinking himself to death on cheap vodka. It took several visits—and several payments—before he started talking.”

“What did he tell you?” I press, conscious of every passing minute that puts us at risk of discovery.

“He confirmed everything. We arrived at the orphanage in the middle of the night, carried by a woman who looked like she’d come straight from hell—or so he said. Our aunt Teresa. She left letters to be given to us when we turned eighteen, but they were ‘mysteriously lost.’” Her fingers curl into air quotes. “Except Linos took them. Kept them all these years as insurance, planning to use them to make some quick money later. When I asked what his plan was, he said he’d give them to the right people—whoever found him first.”

My mouth goes dry. “You have them? The letters?”

Chiara nods slowly. “They’re hidden. Safe. She says she loves us, our parents love us, but were betrayed, and she wants us to be at peace and happy. She escaped with us but knew they’d be hunting her, too.”

“And was she?—”

“Killed? No. I hired private investigators to trace her. She died of cancer years ago, but could never come to look for us; it would have risked all our identities.” Chiara’s eyes glisten in the moonlight. “But that’s not all, Aria. Teresa wrote that there are families still loyal to the DeLucas. People who would stand with us if they knew we were alive.”

“And that’s why you kept borrowing,” I whisper. “To find them.”

“I needed to know if we had allies before I told you any of this,” she explains. “I wanted to protect you, should I have been discovered.”

“So you let me marry Marco instead?” The words come out sharper than I intend.

Chiara winces, her voice low and heavy with regret. “I had a plan—to keep you safe and give us both a way out. I knew he’d marry you; there was no stopping it. But I also knew he’d offer you protection from D’Angelo while I was away. The marriage isn’t legal. It’s my name on the certificate, but I wasn’t actually there. That means it can be annulled. I needed the money and more time to uncover the truth about our parents. I know how dangerous Marco is, and I knew he wouldn’t like us trying to trick him. But I had to take that risk—I’ve already risked everything. I’m sorry I put you through this, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I knew you wouldn’t agree—it’s still a gamble. But I was halfway there and I couldn’t stop.”

“Chiara, you should have told me sooner. Maybe then I could have understood.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and for the first time since she returned to my life, I believe her. “But we need to focus on what matters now. I’ve reached out to some of the loyal families. They’re cautious, but willing to meet. I’ve used part of that money to uncover who killed our parents.”

I suck in some air, grip her hand. “Do we know?” My voice trembles. I want, so very desperately, the names responsible for giving us a life of such misery.

She shakes her head. “No one’s talking yet.”

“I want revenge. Chiara, do whatever it takes. Pay any price. Find those answers. They took everything from us.”

“Everything,” Chiara nods, eyes blazing with tears.

For a brief moment, we simply stand there—as sisters. I finally understand why she kept silent. Once again, I realize she carried all these secrets alone, unwilling to burden me with what she knew. As always, she was protecting me—and I’ve hated her for it.

“I’ve been horrible to you,” I admit. “I’m sorry, Chi.”

I don’t know how else to say it. How truly sorry I am.

She reaches over and grips my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You didn’t know,” she whispers. “I’ve always got your back, you know that, right?” She tightens her grip, urgency threading her voice. “Now listen—we need to be careful. If the people who killed our parents find out we’re alive?—”

“Marco said the same thing,” I interrupt. “He warned me not to dig into this.”

Suspicion flashes across her eyes. “He was quite vehement for us not to dig further, wasn’t he? I wonder… why would he care so much about keeping us in the dark about our history? He has so much power. It would be a day’s work for him to get us answers.”

The question sinks like a stone in my stomach. Does Marco know something he’s not telling me?

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. We just stand there a while, no more words to be said for now.

“I should get back,” I say at last when I notice the moon and stars begin to recede, aware of how long I’ve been gone. “Before he wakes up.”

Chiara squeezes my hands. “I’ll be in touch. We’ll figure this out together, like we always have.”

I nod.