Neal put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Give her a chance, okay? When a person reaches a certain age and realizes she’s not going to live to double it, a lot of times her perspective changes. Especially after a diagnosis like this. Sooner or later you were meant to go back there. There’s too much unsettled business tearing at you. Take care of it. Bury the past, once and for all.” He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips “Go to Magdalena. Settle things there. And then come back to me.”

Chapter 3

Who is Sasha Rishkov?

A Family Affair: The Secret

Alternate storyline

What if Frank Sorrento had surprised his daughter and visited Magdalena a few days earlier? Would he have recognized Sasha Rishkov’s true identity? And if he had, what then? This scene could have led up to Roman and Angie reuniting, but I wanted to make Roman sweat a bit and then see the woman he loved against the elegance of a New York City backdrop.

And who knows, maybe one day we’ll hear from Sasha Rishkov again...

“Look at these pictures, Dad. Aren’t they beautiful?” Angie fixed her gaze on the rendering of Sal’s Market, thought of the old man’s smile and the last words he spoke to her. You’ll make my son a good wife, Angela. You’ll give him the truth and you’ll give him your heart. His voice had cracked when he said, And maybe a baby or two. But Sal had been wrong. She hadn’t given Roman anything but torment and probably a headache or two.

“Who painted these?” Her father leaned closer, squinted at the signature.

“My friend Sasha.” Angie didn’t know a handful of people she’d call friends, but Sasha Rishkov was her friend.

“Sasha?” The name slipped from his lips as he turned toward her, his expression a mix of disbelief and horror. “Sasha?”

“Yes, Sasha Rishkov. I’d hoped she’d come today. I wanted you to meet her.”

“What…what did she look like?”

“Dad? What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.” Angie clasped his hand, studied his pale face. “Do you want to sit down?”

He shook his head. “What did this Sasha look like?”

Angie laughed as she thought of the woman’s bright clothes and bangles. “Like a gypsy.”

“Oh.” Her father’s expression relaxed as he wiped a hand over his forehead, blew out a long sigh. “I once knew a woman named Sasha. But, a gypsy?” Laughter dribbled out, grew stronger. “That’s definitely not the woman I knew.”

“I’m sure it’s not.” Angie squeezed his hand. “Dad, there’s more than one Sasha in the world. Why would you think you might know her?”

His dark gaze turned black, his voice flat. “I don’t know. Something just told me it could be.” He turned toward the painting again, stared at the signature. “I had a feeling…”

“No.” Angie leaned on tiptoe, pecked his cheek. “It’s just the two of us.” It had always been the two of them with only three exceptions: the years before her mother died that she couldn’t remember, the time she was with her ex-fiancé, and now, the few weeks with Roman Ventori. This last “exception” had been more painful than the failed wedding. She’d believed in Roman, believed that although he hadn’t spoken words of love and commitment, they would come. They had to; nobody could create such emotion in her and not feel anything, could they?