It didn’t make any sense. Why would her mother’s family recipe book have a symbol from a family that married the Federovs, five hundred years ago?
Someone in her mother’s family had been related to the Serras. Which meant?
The truth settled in the hole in Adria’s body that it had carved out for itself. She could almost feel it needling her, nesting deeper in her core.
Her limbs moved while her mind struggled to keep up. Vaguely she was aware that her mouth whispered some type of gratitude to the older man standing next to her. The priest who had lovingly and faithfully ripped her carefully constructed world apart.
Adria moved towards the exit.
It was a long dark corridor, and Adria stumbled as she began to run.
Sprinted.
She knew she was nearing the stairs because the daylight filtered into the stone space.
Hand on the railing, she looked up into blinding sunlight.
She wanted to leave what she had learned behind.
Keep it buried deep in the underground bunker. But the truth wormed its way into her as she ascended the stairs. It gave her more questions than answers. But one question nagged at her most of all.
Why?
CHAPTER 62
CURITIBA PARANÁ
Maxim picked up on the third ring.
“Adria?”
“You have ten minutes.”
Her mother was in the sitting area, a staff member on her knees painting her toes.
“Who are the Serras?” Adria said, storming into the room.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice her tone. “Did you get Cole? What did he bring us?”
“Cole’s safe and Eric is in the car,” Adria said, arms crossed. After what she had learned in the church, there was no way she was bringing Cole here. Instead, her and Eric had left him with Sage.
Cole not being there seemed to get her mother’s attention. “Adria, these things are time sensitive. We need to move forward with the plans in order to keep you and your partners safe.”
Adria didn’t move. “I defended you.”
Her mother waved the woman at her feet away, speaking in Portuguese, telling her to leave. “I haven’t done anything to warrant a need for defense, so don’t get on your high horse just because you did something I didn’t ask you to.”
“I trusted you,” Adria said quieter.
“I didn’t ask for that either.”
Adria said again, “Who are the Serras.”
Her mother picked off a flake of polish on the outside of her big toe while responding, “They are your ancestors. Your great-great-great-great grandmother was married to your father’s great great-great-grandfather.”
Adria shook her head. “Ew.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. That long of a line of ancestors, there was practically no relation between myself and your father.”
