Cellie's POV
The room he took me to had an old man in a wheelchair and a photograph of my face taken before I existed.
I stood in front of Romano Mikhailov and looked at the photograph of a woman who had my eyes and my hair and my specific way of holding her chin slightly elevated, and I thought about what Demetrio had told me, which was everything, and I thought about Emilio and the pantry corner and the car accident and Penelope and all the years in between.
And I thought about this man sitting in front of me with his hands shaking and tears on his face saying the name Katerina like it was something he had been keeping safe for twenty years and was finally allowed to put down.
"You're my father," I said.
Not a question. I was done asking questions I already knew the answer to.
"Yes," Romano said.
