Chapter 2 - THE NAME SHE WHISPERED
Lorenzo Bianchi had imagined a thousand ways to punish Amelia Carmichael.
None of them involved kneeling in the snow.
Yet there he was, one knee sinking into a drift outside an abandoned sporting goods store, staring at the scar burned into the shoulder of the woman he had intended to marry.
The Moretti crest.
A serpent coiled around a bleeding dagger.
He had seen that emblem on weapons shipments, sealed envelopes, and the bodies of men who had made the mistake of trusting Victor Moretti.
But never on a woman.
Never on Amelia.
“Enzo,” she whispered again.
Lorenzo reached toward her.
She flinched.
His hand stopped.
The movement struck him harder than any bullet ever had.
He lowered his arm.
“Amelia.”
She pulled the torn sweater across her shoulder.
“Please don't.”
He stared at the exposed burn.
It was healing badly.
The surrounding skin was inflamed.
Her fingers trembled.
“Who did this?”
She shook her head.
“Don't ask.”
“Amelia—”
“If I tell you, you'll kill someone.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
That was answer enough.
She looked away.
The snow thickened around them.
He removed his overcoat and held it out.
“May I put this around you?”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
He draped it over her shoulders without touching the injured skin.
She closed her eyes.
For one brief moment, he remembered the woman who used to fall asleep against his chest.
The woman who loved lemon cake.
Who hated thunderstorms.
Who insisted on feeding stray cats behind his Lake Forest estate.
He had searched fourteen days for a traitor.
Now he was looking at someone who could barely stand.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
She looked toward the fallen bottle of antibiotics.
“An infection.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Not a real one.”
His jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“No insurance. No identification I can use.”
Lorenzo glanced toward his SUV.
“We need to get you somewhere warm.”
Amelia stepped backward.
“No.”
He stopped.
She looked terrified.
“I'm not going back to Chicago.”
“I didn't say Chicago.”
“You'll take me there eventually.”
Lorenzo swallowed.
Fourteen days earlier, he would have done exactly that.
He would have brought her home, demanded explanations, and treated her disappearance as an insult to his authority.
Now he looked at her shoulder.
At the fear in her eyes.
And understood that the woman he loved had been living through something he knew nothing about.
“You can choose where we go,” he said.
She stared.
“You're lying.”
He nodded slowly.
“I understand why you think that.”
The words seemed to surprise her.
He reached into his pocket and took out his phone.
“There's a medical clinic four blocks from here. I'll call and ask whether they can see you.”
Amelia watched him.
“And afterward?”
He met her eyes.
“Afterward, you decide.”
She looked down.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then she whispered, “They told me you'd never forgive me.”
Lorenzo felt his stomach turn.
“Who?”
May you like
Her eyes filled.
“The people who made me leave you.”
