Chapter 2 - THE DEAD WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
"Who is she?"
My question barely rose above the sound of the restaurant's ventilation system.
The man didn't answer.
He was staring at the photograph with such intensity that I wondered whether he had forgotten I was holding his child.
Finally, he spoke.
"Where did you get that picture?"
I looked toward the bar.
"It's been there since I started working."
"Who put it there?"
"I don't know."
His jaw tightened.
"Find out."
One of his bodyguards immediately walked toward the manager's office.
I shifted the baby against my shoulder.
"Sir, I think you're frightening your son."
His eyes returned to me.
For a moment, the coldness disappeared.
"His name is Luca."
I looked down.
"Luca."
The baby opened his eyes.
I smiled.
"Hello, sweetheart."
He touched my cheek.
Then he smiled.
The man stopped breathing.
"What did you just do?"
I frowned.
"Nothing."
"He smiled."
"Babies do that."
"Not Luca."
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
I looked at him more carefully.
He couldn't have been older than thirty-five, but grief had settled around his eyes like something permanent.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Elina Valdez."
He went still.
"Valdez?"
"Yes."
"Where were you born?"
I took a step backward.
"Why?"
"Answer me."
I tightened my hold on Luca.
"Because you don't get to interrogate me just because everyone here is afraid of you."
One of the guards looked horrified.
The man stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, he lowered his voice.
"You're right."
He paused.
"My name is Dante Moretti."
I knew the name.
Everyone in New York knew it.
The Moretti family controlled shipping companies, construction contracts, nightclubs, and businesses people discussed only behind closed doors.
Dante Moretti was rumored to be ruthless.
Unforgiving.
A man who never made the same mistake twice.
And now his baby was asleep against my chest.
Dante glanced at the photograph again.
"That woman was my wife."
My stomach dropped.
"Your wife?"
"Isabella Moretti."
He swallowed.
"She died eleven months ago."
I looked at the picture.
Then at him.
Then at the baby.
"She looks exactly like me."
Dante's expression hardened.
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean?"
He looked at my face.
"She had a scar beneath her right eyebrow."
I touched my eyebrow instinctively.
I had no scar.
Dante looked away.
"She also had a twin sister."
My heart stopped.
I stared at him.
"What?"
He turned back.
"Her name was Elena Valdez."
The restaurant seemed to tilt.
May you like
Because my name was Elina Valdez.
And my entire life, I had believed I was an only child.
