Chapter 1 - THE BABY AT TABLE TWELVE
“Would you hold him?”
For several seconds, I genuinely thought I had misunderstood Luca Moretti.
The most intimidating man in Philadelphia stood beside Table Twelve holding a crying ten-month-old baby toward a waitress whose checking account contained forty-three dollars.
“You want me to what?”
“Hold him.”
Luca’s voice remained calm, but nothing else about him looked calm anymore.
His jaw was tight.
His gray eyes kept moving from my face to the silver necklace resting against my collarbone.
Leo stretched both arms toward me.
The second Luca shifted him away, the baby’s face crumpled.
“Please,” Luca said.
That word surprised me more than the request.
Men like him did not look built for please.
I placed the wine list down.
“I’m warning you, I have no professional baby credentials.”
One of the men seated near Luca muttered, “Could’ve fooled him.”
Luca shot him a look.
I stepped closer.
“Okay, tiny gentleman.”
Leo lunged before I had fully extended my arms.
I caught him awkwardly against my chest.
He immediately buried his face beneath my chin.
And stopped crying.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
His little body went soft.
One fist curled around the fabric of my blouse while the other found the chain at my throat.
“There,” I whispered. “Apparently you just needed somebody with cheaper clothes.”
Nobody laughed.
I looked up.
Luca Moretti was staring at me as if I had walked out of a grave.
“What?”
His eyes dropped to my necklace again.
It was nothing special.
A small silver swallow with one wing raised, worn smooth with age.
My mother had given it to me before she died.
I had worn it almost every day since I was nineteen.
“Where did you get that?” Luca asked.
“My necklace?”
“Yes.”
“My mother.”
His face tightened.
“What was her name?”
Every warning Greg had given me suddenly returned.
Don’t improvise.
Don’t ask personal questions.
Do whatever he wants.
Apparently nobody had warned Luca about asking personal questions.
“Claire Bennett.”
One of his men inhaled sharply.
Luca did not move.
“What?”
I asked again.
Leo lifted his head.
His gray-blue eyes searched my face.
Then he placed his palm against my cheek.
A strange ache passed through me.
I had held babies before.
Friends’ children.
My cousin’s twins.
None had ever looked at me with such complete concentration.
Leo smiled.
And that was when Luca went pale.
He took one step backward.
The older man at the table—silver-haired, maybe sixty—stood.
“Luca.”
“I see it.”
“See what?”
I demanded.
Neither answered.
Leo reached toward my necklace again.
His fingers closed around the swallow.
Then he made a soft sound.
Not a word.
Almost a hum.
Three descending notes.
My heart stopped.
I knew those notes.
My mother used to hum them while cooking.
Three notes.
Pause.
Then two higher ones.
I had not heard that tiny melody since she died.
Without thinking, I hummed the next part.
Leo froze.
Then laughed.
Luca grabbed the back of a chair.
The older man whispered:
“Madonna.”
I looked between them.
“Someone needs to explain what is happening.”
Luca slowly sat.
“Give me a minute.”
“No.”
His eyes rose to mine.
“You asked me to hold your son. He’s clinging to me. Three people at your table look like they’ve seen a ghost.”
I adjusted Leo on my hip.
“I think I’ve earned at least half an explanation.”
The older man looked almost impressed.
Luca did not.
He looked frightened.
Finally he said:
“My wife used to sing that melody to him.”
I stopped.
“Okay.”
“And she wore that necklace.”
My fingers went automatically to the swallow.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“This was my mother’s.”
“My wife’s was almost identical.”
My stomach tightened.
“Almost?”
“There was one difference.”
“What?”
Luca reached beneath his shirt.
For the first time I noticed a fine chain around his neck.
He pulled out a second silver swallow.
My breath vanished.
It matched mine.
But faced the opposite direction.
If placed together, the two birds would fly toward each other.
Leo squealed.
He reached for both.
I stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“It belonged to my wife.”
The noise of Aurelia faded.
Glasses.
Conversation.
Music.
Everything seemed far away.
“Where is she?”
Luca’s eyes changed.
The fear became grief.
“She died ten months ago.”
I looked at Leo.
Ten months.
His age.
“I’m sorry.”
Luca swallowed.
“Her name was Sofia.”
My heart twitched strangely.
I had never known a Sofia.
At least I did not think I had.
Luca continued.
“She wore that necklace every day.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know.”
“It could be mass-produced.”
“It wasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Sofia spent two years searching for the person who had the other one.”
Every hair on my arms lifted.
Leo still gripped my blouse.
I whispered:
“What person?”
Luca stared at me.
“Her sister.”
I nearly laughed.
“My mother had one child.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“Very.”
Except the word came out weaker than I intended.
My mother had been private about her life before I was born.
But private did not mean she had hidden another child.
Did it?
I shook my head.
“No.”
Luca reached into his jacket.
One of the men moved as if to stop him.
Luca ignored him.
He removed his phone.
Opened a photograph.
Turned it toward me.
My breath caught.
A woman stood on a balcony holding newborn Leo.
Dark brown hair.
Green eyes.
A narrow nose.
A small dimple beside her mouth.
She did not look exactly like me.
But she looked enough like me that my knees became weak.
Around her neck was the second silver swallow.
I stared until the screen blurred.
“That’s Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“She…”
I could not finish.
Leo made the same three-note hum.
Luca locked the phone.
“My wife was adopted.”
I looked at him.
“She started searching for her birth family three years ago.”
My heart pounded.
“She found records suggesting her biological mother later had another daughter.”
“No.”
Luca’s expression remained careful.
“She never found the daughter.”
I almost laughed from pure panic.
“She would have found me. I’m not hiding.”
“She only had a first name.”
“What?”
“Avery.”
The restaurant disappeared.
For a second, I felt like I might drop Leo.
Luca stood immediately.
“Sit down.”
“I’m working.”
“Sit.”
Normally I would have objected.
I sat.
Leo curled against me as though this entire disaster had exhausted him.
I whispered:
“My mother never told me.”
“I believe you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“No.”
Luca sat opposite me.
“But I know that face.”
I looked up.
He sounded almost ashamed.
“When you smiled at Leo…”
His voice broke.
“You looked like Sofia.”
The older man turned away.
I stared at the baby.
His eyelashes rested against his cheeks.
“Why was your wife looking for me?”
Luca did not answer immediately.
That frightened me.
“What?”
“She wanted to meet you.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“She died before she could.”
Something sharp moved through my chest.
I had spent twenty-seven years unaware I might have a sister.
Now I was being told she had searched for me.
Wanted me.
And died before I knew her name.
I whispered:
“How did she die?”
Every man at the table became still.
Luca looked toward the restaurant windows.
Then back at me.
“Her car went off the road during a storm.”
“Accident?”
“That is what the report says.”
The way he said it made my stomach tighten.
“What do you say?”
His gaze hardened.
“I say Sofia was frightened during the final week of her life.”
“Of what?”
Luca looked at Leo.
Then me.
And lowered his voice.
“I never found out.”
The older man interrupted.
“Luca.”
He shook his head.
Not here.
Luca ignored him.
“She left me one note.”
“What did it say?”
Luca reached into his jacket again.
This time he removed a folded piece of paper.
Old creases.
Worn edges.
He placed it on the table.
I hesitated.
Then opened it.
Sofia’s handwriting was hurried.
If anything happens before I find her, look for Avery. Claire Bennett’s daughter. She may still have the other swallow. Do not let Rocco know you found her.
My heart stopped.
I read it again.
Then once more.
“Who is Rocco?”
Nobody answered.
The silver-haired man closed his eyes.
Luca finally said:
“My uncle.”
I looked around the table.
“Why shouldn’t your uncle know about me?”
Luca’s face became unreadable.
“That is what I have spent ten months trying to understand.”
Leo woke slightly.
He reached up.
His tiny fingers closed around my necklace again.
And Luca Moretti, a man entire rooms apparently feared, looked at his son’s hand and whispered:
“Sofia found you.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
My voice shook.
“Your baby did.”
May you like
And somehow that felt even stranger.
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