47
DANIELA
They run a business that takes vulnerable women to safety and helps them create a new life.I did not see that coming.Am I surprised?Yes.Should I be?Probably not.
Antonio’s a bundle of contradictions. He lives by his own rules, soulless as some of them might be, and he has his own brand of honor.
After Sonia leaves, Antonio and I spend a few moments eyeing one another—each waiting for the other to make a move.
I’ll go first.I begin with a humble pawn. It’s an undervalued piece, somewhat dispensable, but capable of striking gold at times. “Is she still searching for Petra?”
He nods. “She chases every lead into every dark corner and dead end.”
I sigh deeply.
“But that’s no excuse for what she did.”
“Desperate people do desperate things. You might not appreciate it because you’re always the one in control of every situation. You can’t begin to understand the tortured feelings that come with that kind of desperation.”
“That’s not true,” he says soberly, gazing at me, although he seems faraway. “I know that desperation. It ran wild through me when I learned you were headed for the docks to board a cargo ship, and we had to stay one step ahead of you, even though we had started from behind and were flying blind.”
As he speaks, the raw emotion snakes and curls, making the wounds seem all too fresh. I lower my eyes because it’s too difficult to look at him still wounded, by what he viewed as my betrayal.
“The world is a dangerous place, especially for women and children.” His tenor has shifted to something more familiar. It’s a tone that belongs to someone in control, to someone who isn’t prone to displays of rank emotion—unless it’s rage.
I glance up at him. “I’d like to help in some way. I can gather supplies or whatever needs to be done to get the women safe passage.”
“I’d like some peace, but neither of us is getting what we want. It’s too dangerous, Daniela, I won’t discuss it.”
Yes, you will.
“I need to do something besides go through mail and write thank-you notes.”
“You have Valentina.”
“She does need me, but she’s not an infant. There’s a lot she does for herself. Sometimes I think I need her more than she needs me.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but true.
He doesn’t respond right away, but the wheels are turning, as though he’s weighing options. I sit quietly, giving him the time it requires, hoping the scales will tip my way.
“My father and Abel were involved,” he says softly, “—in the sex trade. At least peripherally. Mostly, they closed their eyes to the atrocities, while accepting kickbacks from the devils who moved women through Porto.” He pauses for a quiet breath. “I believe my Aunt Vera stumbled onto something and that’s why she disappeared. And I’m beginning to feel your mother was murdered because she got too close, too.”
The air leaves my lungs in a longwhoosh. “My mother? How was she involved?”
“For years, the three amigas—Vera, my mother, and yours—ran a small underground operation. They smuggled women out of the country who were abused by their husbands, helped others acquire birth control, which was illegal in the country at the time, and I suspect more than one bastard was poisoned with a recipe they concocted.”
I feel as though a steel beam has been lowered onto my chest, and it’s making it difficult to breathe, let alone think.
My mother always deferred to my father in public, but she had strong opinions about—everything. She was involved with various charities that benefited the poor and helped distribute food to impoverished pockets of the valley. But smuggling women and illegal activities?I don’t know.
I have no reason to doubt Antonio, but this is all news to me. I try to think back, but it was a long time ago, and I was young when she died. I can’t make a single connection. “My father never mentioned anything about it. Did he know?”
He nods. “I don’t think your parents had many secrets between them. But I’m not surprised they shielded you. We had a dictator running the country, with neighbors ratting out neighbors. They would have been jailed just for distributing birth control, let alone the rest.”
“Did my father help them?”
“At times. Begrudgingly. He wanted them out of the business, but he also wanted them safe. From what I know, it was mostly the three women, although they had friends in lots of places. You can ask my mother about it. I’m sure she’ll share more with you than she’s shared with me.”
I sit with the revelation, trying to make sense of it. But I keep coming to the same thing. My mother and her friends risked their lives doing angels’ work, while I’m cloistered away responding to party invitations and approving menus. While she would have wanted me out of harm’s way, it’s not the life my mother would have envisioned for me.