No birth certificates.
No IDs.
No Social Security cards.
Then I found a newspaper clipping.
I picked it up and read it.
Wife of CEO of New York's Largest IT Firm Killed in Midtown Drunk-Driving Crash
Next to the article was a photo.
She was beautiful.
Long dark hair.
A round, pretty face.
Soft features.
But what struck me were her eyes.
They looked like mine.
So did her nose.
We could've been cousins.
Sisters, even, if not for the difference in race.
I'd guessed right.
She was Italian.
Or maybe a mix of Hispanic and Italian.
My stomach twisted.
This was probably why he hadn't killed me.
I sat back, holding the photo, my hands steady but my mind racing.
I continued reading the article until I came across the nameVicente Morelli.
The name was familiar.
It nagged at me.
Like something I should remember.
"Vicente Morelli."
I said it out loud.
Suddenly, the pieces fell into place.
Years ago, his name had been all over the streets.
