Page 455 of The Sinner: James

JAMES

She slidesher thumb over her phone and pulls up a few pictures. She sifts through them before finding what she needs, flipping her phone over and pushing it to me to see.

“What is this?” I ask without checking the picture.

My eyes stay locked with hers.

“Look,” she says, tapping her phone screen with her forefinger.

Slowly, I tip my gaze down.

An instant reaction zips through me as my brow furrows and my shoulders pull back.

“What is this?” I mutter.

Bewildered, I stare at the man in the picture.

Taken at the height of the summer, the photograph features a younger version of me.

Shirtless, the man is propped against a bench, the blue-green sea gleaming in the background.

He has the same stature, broad shoulders, dark hair, and green eyes––the last two features inherited from my mother.

He has the same sharp look in his eyes and cocky smile I’ve perfected throughout the years.

Intricate tattoos cover one of his shoulders.

The man is ripped.

I lift my gaze to my mother.

“Who is this?”

“Tiago Diego Rossi.”

My pulse races as I wrestle with a strange feeling.

“Your brother.”

Her answer confirms what I already know.

Stifling my surprise, I move my thumb across the screen and check his pictures.

I study a close-up––the similarities are surreal.

But how?

The man in the picture must be at least twenty-five years old. He’s strong, well built, and has an edge in his stare I’ve always had.

“How can he be my brother? How old is he?”

“Twenty-one.”

I shoot her an incredulous look.

“That means that…”

She nods.

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