Page 87 of Urgent Vows
Now I know what that something is. Or rather that someone. My husband, don of the Genovese family.
SEVERU
While Miceli personally sees to the removal of the boxes from my wife's secret room before anyone from Francesco's former household is allowed to return to the mansion, I meet with Domenico and Angelo.
I want Domenico to confirm Catalina's research so that when I talk to Shaughnessy, I will have sources for him that will not reveal my wife's knowledge or penchant for gathering intelligence. And I want Angelo to work with Big Sal vetting the men that used to belong to Francesco.
"Catalina noticed some news reports that could point to who is behind the attacks on us and the Irish mob." Big Sal knows she brought the idea up because I refuse not to give her any credit. However, I have to make sure the nature and depth of her research stays strictly in family. "I want you to look into it and any activity of the Gutierrez Cartel in New York."
"You got it, boss," Domenico says. He shares a look with Angelo and then says, "There's something you need to see. Go to YouTube on your laptop."
I flip open my computer and do what he says.
"Now type Stellina into the search."
When I do that, a channel and several videos populate the right side of the screen. They're of a woman playing a piano. She looks a lot like Catalina. I press play on the one featured.
After I click past the ad, the sound of piano music filters from my computer's speakers. The woman doesn't look like my wife, sheismy wife.
What the hell? Francesco would never have approved of this. Did she do it in one of her quiet acts of rebellion?
My gut churns as I continue to watch her play. The music is haunting, even soul-wrenching. No wonder the number of views is over a million.
"It's a monetized account, boss."
I want to hit something. This is how my clever wife intended to finance her new life after running away. I hate that anyone else is seeing her this way. That she would let them. Her every emotion is exposed in a way she would never allow me to see.
"I don't think she knows she's being recorded," Domenico says, cutting through my furious thoughts. "Look at a couple more and you'll see what I mean."
As much as I feel compelled to watch the video to its completion, I don't have time. I fast forward and watch bits before doing the same to several more uploads.
Catalina's eyes are almost always closed. Sometimes her lovely face reflects peace, but sometimes it's agony. Sometimes longing. The emotions are too raw, too intimate for her to share this way.
My wife, who doesn't want to share her pain level on a number scale with a medical professional, would never allow another person to see her like this. She would not post it to social media for a following the size of the one on this channel.
"I've watched all the videos," Domenico says. "Your wife never once looks at the camera."
Because she doesn't know it's there. My gut tells me that this is not Catalina's account. The name of the owner is in the name of the channel. Stellina. The endearment Francesco used for Carlotta.
Her fucking sister, using Catalina again. The first video was posted three years ago, when Carlotta was sixteen.
Domenico points at the screen. "There are a lot of comments trying to figure out who she really is. The owner is meticulous about deleting spam and that shit posted by trolls, but she leaves those up."
"They probably increase the popularity of the channel." Angelo frowns. "The public loves a mystery."
He's right, damn it.
Domenico nods. "I'm surprised no one from that boarding school she attended recognized her and posted her name. If they did, the owner deleted the comment."
"Carlotta took a chance," I growl. "Both with her sister's safety and the privacy ofla famiglia."
At sixteen she might have been forgiven for thinking she didn't need to worry that her sister would be recognized, because her father had basically kept her a prisoner in her own home. But in three years, hasn't she grown any wiser? Her recent actions are evidence to the contrary.
"You think it's Carlotta?" Angelo asks, no inflection in his tone.
"I would bet my favorite knife on it." I've had that knife since I became a made man. It was a gift from my father.
"We'll know soon enough," Domenico says with satisfaction. "I've got a tracer on the account. The next time she signs in to monitor comments, we'll get her IP address."
