Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD
Vincent Moretti looked at my son as though the world had split open beneath his feet.
The charity ballroom around us had gone quiet.
Three hundred guests stood beneath crystal chandeliers. Waiters held silver trays suspended in the air. The jazz quartet had stopped halfway through a song.
And the most feared mafia boss in Chicago was staring at a three-year-old boy who had his eyes.
"Anna?"
His voice barely carried.
I had imagined this moment a thousand times.
Sometimes I imagined screaming at him.
Sometimes I imagined slapping him.
Sometimes I imagined walking past him without speaking, letting him experience the same terrible helplessness I'd felt while watching him lead Sophia toward safety.
But none of those fantasies had included my son standing between us.
"Mommy," Leo whispered, "why is that man crying?"
Vincent's face changed.
I hadn't noticed the tears until Leo mentioned them.
"Nobody, sweetheart," I said gently. "He's somebody Mommy used to know."
Vincent flinched.
"Somebody you used to know?"
I lifted my chin.
"That's right."
His eyes traveled to Leo again.
"How old is he?"
I said nothing.
"Anna. Please."
"Three."
Vincent gripped the edge of a nearby table.
"Three years."
"That's usually what three means."
Several guests exchanged uncomfortable looks.
Vincent didn't seem to notice.
"Is he—"
"Don't."
"Is he my son?"
I looked directly into the eyes of the man I'd once loved more than my own life.
"Biologically, yes."
His breath caught.
"But that doesn't mean you get to frighten him."
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"I would never hurt him."
"You promised you would never hurt me either."
The words struck harder than any slap.
Behind him, Sophia Bellini appeared in a silver evening gown.
At thirty-three, she was still beautiful, with glossy dark hair and the delicate features that society magazines adored.
She had once been Vincent's childhood sweetheart.
The woman his family expected him to marry.
The woman he'd chosen to save first.
Sophia stopped beside him.
"Vincent, darling, what's happening?"
I felt Leo's fingers tighten around my neck.
Vincent didn't answer her.
He kept looking at us.
Sophia followed his gaze.
Her smile disappeared.
"Anna?"
I watched recognition turn to horror.
"That's impossible."
"Apparently not."
She took a step backward.
"But you died."
"No, Sophia. I survived."
Her eyes moved toward Leo.
Then back to Vincent.
"That child can't be yours."
A dangerous silence settled over the room.
Vincent turned slowly.
"Don't."
Sophia blinked.
"What?"
"Don't speak about him that way."
Her face reddened.
"I was only saying—"
"I heard what you said."
For three years, I'd wondered whether Vincent had married Sophia after my supposed death.
The newspapers had repeatedly photographed them together.
Some articles called her his closest companion.
Others described their relationship as inevitable.
I had refused to read the details.
Now, standing before them, I discovered something surprising.
I didn't feel jealous.
I felt tired.
A different emotion altogether.
"Anna," Vincent said, "where have you been?"
"Living."
"Where?"
"Somewhere safe."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I almost laughed.
"Are you seriously asking me that?"
His face tightened.
"I buried you."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Three years ago. I buried what they recovered from the plane."
A terrible image flashed through my mind.
A funeral.
A coffin.
My name carved into stone.
Vincent lowered his voice.
"I spent three years believing I'd killed my wife and unborn child."
"You didn't spend three years believing," I replied. "You spent three years living with the consequences of a decision."
His eyes closed.
"Anna, I tried to come back."
"I know."
He looked startled.
"I saw you turn around."
"Then you know I didn't abandon you."
I tightened my hold on Leo.
"I know that when the emergency exit opened, you took Sophia's hand instead of mine."
Vincent went still.
"She couldn't walk."
"And I was seven months pregnant."
"I thought I had time."
"So did I."
He had no answer.
Leo touched my cheek.
"Mommy, I want Grandma."
I kissed his forehead.
"Then we'll find her."
I turned to leave.
Vincent stepped forward instinctively.
Three men in dark suits moved with him.
My body went rigid.
I recognized that movement.
The silent coordination.
The way armed men responded whenever Vincent wanted something.
Three years ago, I had found it reassuring.
Now I saw it differently.
"Call them off," I said.
Vincent looked over his shoulder.
The men stopped.
"Nobody touches her," he ordered.
I stared at him.
He turned back.
"Please. Just give me five minutes."
"No."
His expression crumpled.
"Anna."
"No, Vincent."
For a moment, I thought he might demand that I stay.
Old habits.
Old power.
Old entitlement.
Then he stepped aside.
I walked past him.
Sophia stood near the doorway, pale and trembling.
As I passed, she leaned close enough to whisper.
"You should have stayed dead."
I stopped.
She smiled faintly.
Nobody else had heard.
I looked at her.
"That's an interesting thing to say to a woman who survived an accident."
Her smile faltered.
Then I noticed something.
A small gold bracelet around her wrist.
It had a charm shaped like a crescent moon.
I'd seen that bracelet before.
Not at a party.
Not in a photograph.
On the private jet.
Minutes before the explosion.
And suddenly, a memory I'd spent three years trying to bury returned with terrifying clarity.
Sophia had been near the emergency equipment compartment shortly before the alarms began.
She'd claimed she was searching for medication.
At the time, I hadn't questioned it.
Now I wondered why her bracelet had been caught in the cabinet door.
And why she looked so frightened to see me alive.
Outside the ballroom, my mother, Margaret, waited beside our car.
Leo ran into her arms.
"Grandma!"
She lifted him.
"There's my handsome boy."
Then she saw my expression.
"Anna?"
"He knows."
Her face drained.
"Vincent?"
"Yes."
She closed her eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I glanced toward the illuminated windows.
"He knows about Leo."
My mother held my son closer.
"Then it's begun."
I looked at her.
"What has?"
She hesitated.
For three years, my mother had helped me rebuild my life under a different name.
She had protected my location.
Helped raise Leo.
Kept every secret I'd asked her to keep.
But now her hands were shaking.
"Mom?"
She looked toward the ballroom.
"There's something I should have told you about the night of the crash."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
May you like
She swallowed.
"Vincent wasn't the only person who knew you were alive."
