Then his gaze lit on her tea table filled with photos of her husband and children at various ages over the years. Two photos dominated the surface-the ones of Marc and Gino in their military portraits. Puzzled, he turned to Mrs. Milanesi. "How...?" He couldn't speak past the frog in his throat and pointed to the photos.

"Sit. We talk."

Had Gino kept in touch with her before he was killed? No, he couldn't have sent Marc's portrait. Once they were seated, he and Angelina on the divan and Mrs. Milanesi in an armchair closer to Marc, the woman began.

"Natalia sent me a long letter with the photos."

So it had been Mama. He'd have to thank her, once again, for opening doors and paving the way for him to gain access to this place. He needed to make peace with Gino and this place held secrets they'd shared. Marc was certain of it.

"I hadn't heard from her in so long." She extended her hands, joints swollen with arthritis. "It is hard for me to hold a pen..." She shrugged and smiled wistfully. "Truthfully, it was painful for me to think of you boys being so far away." Her gaze strayed to Gino's photo. "So sorry to hear..."

Marc glanced down at his lap, and Angelina reached over to squeeze the tops of his clasped hands, giving him the strength to face her. "He was a fine U.S. Marine." He cleared his throat which had suddenly grown tight.

A tear meander through the wrinkles on her cheek. An uncomfortable tightness filled his chest. His eyes burned, but he fought to regain control before he pulled away from Angelina to go to the woman's side. He wrapped her in his arms and comforted her but soon felt Angelina's arms around him, as well.

"Scusa. I thought I had cried all my tears after receiving Natalia's letter."

Marc and Angelina resumed their seats on the divan. "What did Mama say?"

An enigmatic smile crossed her lips. "She told me that you were just learning about...what happened back then. That you might show up here asking questions." Mama knew him so well. He hadn't told her about his intention to come here, and he thought he'd been discreet a few weeks ago when he'd asked about this house. Mama had recalled the street name instantly, probably from having rediscovered the address so recently.

Marc had wanted to see if his memories coincided with reality, though. The butcher shop had been next door to the restaurant where they'd just dined. Young Marc and Gino had helped the woman carry packages home so many times. He'd had no trouble finding this house.

Needing some distance from talk of Gino for a moment, he asked about her husband.

"Mr. Milanesi passed seven years ago."

"I'm so sorry." Marc truly had no memory of the man but knew this woman had spent her life loving and caring for him and so many others, including Gino and Marc. Marc surmised she'd been so taken by the boys because she and her husband hadn't been blessed with any children of their own. She had taken in the boys and their first mother when they had nowhere else to go after Solari deserted them. She'd also provided refuge for Mama when pregnant with Marc.

But the photos surrounding the ones of Marc and Gino told otherwise about her life after the D'Alessios moved to America. "Tell me about your children."

The next quarter hour was spent with her picking up each photo and telling of her two daughters, a son-in-law, and her one granddaughter.

She cleared her throat. "Let me show you a room you will be more familiar with."

The house was a tiny bungalow, much like Angelina's. Was this why he felt so comfortable in Angelina's house, as if he'd come home at last?

Marc expected her to take them to the bedroom, the room he needed to see most, but she led them to her kitchen instead.

Walking into the room, the smells that had been faint at the front door now bombarded him with memories. Anise cookies cooling on an oven rack and garlic from a pot of rich stew bubbling on the stove.

Marc's chest tightened.

Angelina squeezed his hand and whispered, "Breathe."

He smiled down at her, knowing he had made the right decision bringing his angel here to help him confront the ghosts from the past, especially the wizened woman who wasn't a ghost after all.

The tables had turned on this relationship with Angelina once again taking care of his needs. Before the interrogation, that thought would have terrified him. Now, having her beside him as he dug into the past gave him a sense of comfort he hadn't found when confronting his sperm donor in Siena a couple of months ago.

"Grazie, tesoro mio."

Her smile radiated warmth and caring. Squeezing her hand, he returned his focus once more to the room. The burnished-red tile floors were exactly the same as he remembered, but an enamel-topped table for six sat against the wall where the old wooden one once stood. He and Gino had played toy soldiers under that old table while Mrs. Milanesi prepared dinner. An overwhelming sense of Gino's presence assaulted him, as if a glance under the table would find his big brother kneeling as he prepared to attack Marc's fortress castle.

Unable to help himself, needing to face his fear, he hunkered down and peered underneath.

"Gino! Marco! Where have you two boys gotten to? Hurry! Paolo expects us for dinner at the hotel at half past."

Aunt Emiliana's voice transported him into the past.

Stilettos and silk stockings were all Marco saw from under the table. She always called their father Paolo. He didn't like to be called Papa. Gino motioned for Marco to remain quiet, not wanting Mama to take them away from Mrs. Milanesi's. They were happier here. She cooked better, too.

The kind woman assured Mama she wouldn't mind having them spend the night again.

Mama sighed. "Perhaps it's best. Paolo has not been in a very good mood lately." She thanked Mrs. Milanesi, and her heels clicked on the tile until she reached the parlor rug. The front door soon slammed. Gino and Marco smiled at each other.

Mrs. Milanesi bent down and made eye contact with first one brother then the other. She smiled as if they had a secret. Well, they did. "Go wash up. Dinner will be ready as soon as Mr. Milanesi gets home from the factory."

Not wanting to disappoint her-or to give her an excuse to send them away-they crawled out from under the table and ran down the hallway to do as she told them.

"And you, Marc?"

Instantly transported back to the present, he looked up to find Angelina and Mrs. Milanesi staring at him as if waiting for him to do or say something.

"Scusa?"

"She asked if we'd like something to drink."

"Nothing for me, grazie."

"Do you remember all the wars you two boys fought under there?"

"Yes, I do. I think we must have staged battles all over your house." Had their childhood activities led them both to volunteer to fight in the military?

"Why don't you young people make yourself comfortable in the parlor again? I'll be there as soon as I add potatoes to my stew."

He and Angelina left the kitchen, even though Marc was reluctant to leave the memories of Gino behind. He hadn't found that nebulous something he expected to find here. As they returned to the parlor, he glanced down the hallway to the back bedrooms. Would she offer a tour of the rest of the house?

After they were seated again, images of Gino and a young Marco playing childhood games here bombarded him. Smiles. They were almost always laughing, even when their rivalry tried to get the best of them.

Flashbacks of the fight in the bedroom of his Aspen apartment where he'd found Gino and Melissa having sex obliterated the happier ones. He tried turning his head to escape the painful images only to be confronted by Gino's portrait. He couldn't keep away the memories of a naked Melissa straddling Gino's chest.

Wait a minute!

He'd never focused before on anything beyond their body positions, but clear as day, he saw that Gino wasn't naked. His dress pants weren't even unzipped. In fact, the expression on his brother's face was the opposite of what he'd expect from someone in the throes of having hot sex; he appeared annoyed by the woman on top of him.

What the fuck?

They weren't having sex at all. Gino looked at Marc almost with a sense of relief. An "about time you showed up" expression.

"Why, Gino?"

"I'm here, Marc." Angelina stroked his arm, yanking him away from the scene in his head.

Going to Gino's grave had brought the finality of his brother's death home to Marc, but being back in Mrs. Milanesi's home restored the vitality of Gino's memory. Marc had focused so much all these years Gino being dead without thinking about his brother's love for life.

Angelina rubbed his back in comforting strokes. She'd been beside him through so much of this intense journey into the past-the interrogation, aftercare, talking with his family, visiting Gino's grave. The woman had been his rock. No doubt in his mind she would be there for him whenever he needed her. Why hadn't he been able to allow her to get close before now?

Trust. He needed to know he could rely on her to have his back. Adam had told him most of the details of what she'd done during the interrogation scene-and of how Angelina had shown up in mama bear mode ready to take care of him. He always known she would put his needs and put his best interests ahead of her own, even when he didn't want her to do such a thing.

However, he'd made a decision in the aftermath of the interrogation not to continue to wallow in the pain and sorrow of his past. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he'd declined Adam's offer to gather a group of Gino's buddies to talk about Gino at Camp Pendleton the weekend of Damian's wedding.

Marc practically heard Gino telling him to "man up" and face the fear.

He drew her tightly to his side and held on, at first as if afraid she, too, would leave him. He recognized that was just the abandoned little boy inside him talking.

Angelina wanted to be with him.

Angelina wanted him.

"Gino was such a good big brother to you, Marco. Always so protective." Marc stood as Mrs. Milanesi came into the parlor again. "When Natalia took you to America, I didn't see you again-until today."

Marc nodded. The young Marco had felt the loss of this woman in his life almost more keenly than that of the woman he once thought was his mother. Abandoned by so many women in his life.

"She didn't have it easy. Such a tragedy."

He wasn't sure which particular tragic woman Mrs. Milanesi referred to but assumed she meant Mama's sister. Angelina snuggled against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, needing her to be closer. He waited for Mrs. Milanesi to continue without prompting but hoped to learn more about that incident, as well.

"Natalia and I were schoolgirls together." Ah, so she wanted to speak of Mama instead. Maybe he would learn more about her girlhood. "She was so full of life then. So much fun." A scowl came over her face. "Paolo was such bad news. Born with too much money. Spoiled. He thought he had the right to sleep with any woman he wanted." The man hadn't changed any over the years from what Marc observed in Siena. This also meshed with the story Mama had told. Marc wasn't sure he wanted to hear again what Solari had done to Mama, but there was no polite way to stop her.

"But she hated the way he treated Emiliana. She didn't want him to continue to hurt her sister, so Natalia tried to get Emiliana to leave him many times. Unfortunately, Emiliana was too enamored of what his money could buy. She was young, immature, and wanting to party-until she got sick."

Beyond those newly recovered memories of around the time she died, he didn't remember much about her, except she dressed for fancy parties and often wore stilettos. The sound of them grated on his nerves to this day, but he'd never understood why until now. The reminder of another mama was too much for his mind to grasp.

"When he noticed Natalia beginning to get Emiliana to see the reality of her situation, I think Paolo decided to punish Natalia. He took what he wanted."

The blood rushed through his head and pounded in his ears. She must know about the rape.

"Natalia couldn't stop him, but such things weren't reported to the authorities back then for fear of bringing shame to the girl and her family. Men will be men, after all."

Marc closed his eyes as a wave of nausea ripped through him. Was she excusing rape or just explaining the society in which she lived? The woman's words replayed in his head an unknown number of times before he could focus again.

"Natalia was devastated afterward. I brought her here to heal."

Angelina's hand began stroking his back in sweeping motions. "Your mama's okay now. Breathe, Marc."

At her prodding, he did so but couldn't relieve the suffocating tightness in his chest while thinking of what Mama had been through. That she could even stand to look at Marc confounded him.

"You were born in this very house. Natalia's mama thought Emiliana would do better raising you than Natalia, an unmarried girl. Her mother put a lot of pressure on her. So we kept Natalia's condition a secret from most in town. Emiliana pretended toward the latter months to be expecting a child of her own. I think she knew who had fathered Natalia's baby but am not certain she ever realized under what circumstances. It left the sisters...estranged."

What a living hell for Mama. No wonder she shut down emotionally.

"Marc." He turned toward Angelina's voice as if she called from far away. "You and Mama D'Alessio hold no guilt or shame in how you were conceived. Paolo Solari is the only guilty party."

Mama hadn't expressed any regret or animosity toward Marc. Perhaps he needed to accept himself for who he was and not let this become a part of his being. The muscles in Marc's back constricted, but her steady, reassuring hand relaxed him again.

Angelina interrupted his thoughts again. "Mrs. Milanesi, what can you tell us about Emiliana's death?"

Marc had intended to ask the question himself but couldn't concentrate. The older woman wrung her hands a moment, avoiding eye contact. "She had a fast-moving cancer. From diagnosis until her passing...mere months. Paolo couldn't be bothered playing nursemaid to a sick wife-or caring for his boys." She made a face as if she'd just bitten off something bitter. "She had no place to go, so I invited her and you boys to live here with me and my husband." Her voice cracked, and she continued in a whisper. "I tried to bring some stability to your lives." She looked at Marc. "You took it so very hard."

"May I see the room where she died?"

"If you wish. It's where my granddaughter stays when she visits now, so I'm afraid it looks nothing like you will remember."

"That's fine, Mrs. Milanesi. I just wish to see the room."

"Are you sure about this, Marc?"

He stared at Angelina a long while before smiling with determination. "I'm sure. This is something I need to do. I think that room might hold the key to remembering something important."

Marc rose and helped Mrs. Milanesi to stand. She held on to his arm so tightly he couldn't let go if he wanted to, and he half-guided her toward the hallway. He knew where they were headed. Angelina fell into step behind them. He wanted her to stay close to him, but the older woman seemed to lean more heavily on his arm the closer they got to the door at the end of the hall. Or was he gripping her arm so tightly that he was pulling her down the hall?

Maybe a bit of both.

Dread descended over Marc as they walked down the hallway. The ghosts of Gino and Emiliana clawed at him as he drew closer to the bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed, and the light receded the further they progressed.

Stop crying.

Gino's admonishment blasted into his consciousness and nearly brought him to a halt. Until the aftercare following the interrogation, Marc would never have cried. Somehow that barrier was gone now.

They won't keep you if you're a baby.

Holy shit. He'd spent a lifetime trying to show his strength to those around him without knowing why that had been a personal imperative for him. He had fought his entire life to be independent, to not need anyone else. Had followed his own path, most of the time alone. Had bowed to no man or woman, not since he'd joined the Navy, anyway. Well, there was Adam, but that was different; Adam was Marc's superior.

Don't let them see your weaknesses.

Marc had given up his power to no one. Perhaps that's why surrendering his heart to Angelina had been so difficult. He'd followed Gino's advice since boyhood. His family had accepted him. They had never turned away from him, even when he tried to distance himself from them.

But the reason they'd given him a home-and their love-had nothing to do with the fact that he had put up a strong front. They actually loved him for who he was. Did Gino ever figure that out for himself? God, Marc hoped so.

Mrs. Milanesi paused at the door. Keys rattled as she extracted a key chain from her pocket. "My granddaughter is a very private young lady. She asks that I keep her room locked when she isn't here, except to clean. But I think she'll understand when I explain to her why I had to open the door this time."

Marc had no interest in disturbing the young girl's things and hoped she would forgive her nonna this transgression. The door creaked open, and his gaze went first to the twin bed. In his mind's eye, the pink-and-yellow coverlet flashed alternately in strobe-light fashion with a hunter green one from the larger bed that had been here in Marc's childhood. His mind transformed the present into the past as he stepped inside the room, which also appeared to be so much smaller than the one in his mind's eye.

Size wasn't the only difference. Marc remembered something more pungent than the flowery scent that assailed him now. The smell of lemons-and death. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Today, the room was filled with stuffed animals, posters of actors on the walls the likes of Raoul Bova and the boy band his sister Carmella had been a fan of, Zero Assoluto.

Marc's gaze ricocheted off the bed and settled on the closet door, very much the same as the one he remembered; its cold metal doorknobs were now a burnished brass after years of use. The rope-rosette pattern had fascinated him as a boy. He'd stared at it for hours, almost as if in a trance.

"You don't have to go in there, Marc."