Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Photograph
"You recognize her?"
The question landed harder than a threat.
I stared at the photograph behind the bar.
The woman was younger than me, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three. Her black hair fell over one shoulder. A tiny silver necklace rested against her collarbone. She wasn't looking directly at the camera. She was looking at someone standing beside it, smiling with the kind of softness people only give to someone they love.
But none of that was what terrified me.
It was her face.
My face.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same dimple.
Even the slight tilt of her head was something I had seen a thousand times in mirrors.
The baby shifted against my chest.
His fingers curled into my blouse.
"Mara."
The mafia boss's voice dragged me back.
I looked at him.
"No."
The lie came too quickly.
His eyes narrowed.
"No?"
"I've never seen her before."
"Then why did you turn white?"
"I told you. Long shift."
One of his men gave a humorless laugh.
The boss didn't.
He stood.
Only then did I realize how tall he was.
He took the baby from my arms carefully. The little boy protested immediately, twisting toward me.
"Noah."
The name hit something inside me.
I didn't know why.
The boss held him tighter.
"Noah, basta."
The baby started crying.
Not the irritated cry from earlier.
This was different.
Heartbroken.
His tiny hands reached toward me.
Every person at the table watched.
Then the boss looked over his shoulder.
"Marco."
The broken-nosed man stood.
"Yes, boss?"
"Bring me the photograph."
My stomach dropped.
Marco crossed the restaurant.
I wanted to run.
My mother's warning screamed inside my head.
If you ever see men with dragons on their skin, you walk the other way.
But the exit was behind them.
And suddenly I understood something worse.
My mother hadn't warned me about criminals in general.
She had warned me about these men.
About this symbol.
About this family.
Marco removed the photograph from the wall and carried it over.
My manager appeared from nowhere.
"Sir, that picture belongs to the restaurant."
Marco looked at him.
My manager immediately stepped backward.
The boss took the frame.
His expression changed when he looked at it.
For the first time, I saw pain.
Real pain.
Not anger.
Not suspicion.
Grief.
His thumb moved across the glass.
"Elena."
My heart stopped.
That was my mother's middle name.
Elena.
My mother had always called herself Catherine Elena Reed.
I swallowed.
"Who is she?"
His gaze snapped toward me.
"You don't know?"
"No."
He studied me.
"Her name was Elena Moretti."
The room seemed to tilt.
Moretti.
My mother had never used that name.
"She was my wife."
I couldn't breathe.
"And Noah's mother."
I looked at the baby.
He had stopped crying.
He was staring at me.
The boss placed the photograph on the table.
"She died eleven months ago."
Something cold moved through my body.
"How?"
Nobody answered.
That frightened me more than any answer could have.
Finally Marco said quietly, "Car accident."
The boss's eyes moved to him.
Marco immediately went silent.
I looked again at the photograph.
There was something written at the bottom.
A date.
Eight years ago.
Impossible.
The woman couldn't be my mother.
My mother had been alive this morning.
I had spoken to her before my shift.
Yet she looked exactly like me.
"Who took the photograph?" I asked.
The boss stared at me.
"I did."
"Here?"
"Yes."
"Why is it hanging in this restaurant?"
His expression hardened.
"Because I own this restaurant."
My stomach sank.
Of course he did.
Of course the place where I had worked for eleven months belonged to him.
"What's your name?" I asked.
Marco actually looked shocked.
Apparently everyone in the city knew.
Everyone except me.
The boss answered.
"Luca Moretti."
The name meant nothing for half a second.
Then memory arrived.
Newspaper headlines.
Federal investigations.
Construction companies.
Nightclubs.
Politicians photographed beside men they later claimed not to know.
The Moretti family.
And Luca Moretti.
The man prosecutors had spent ten years trying unsuccessfully to imprison.
I stepped backward.
His eyes followed me.
"Now you recognize me."
I didn't answer.
Noah reached again.
"Ma."
Silence.
Luca froze.
The baby's hand stretched toward me.
"Ma."
Marco whispered something in Italian.
Luca looked as though someone had stabbed him.
"Noah," he said.
But Noah became excited.
"Ma! Ma!"
My eyes burned.
"I should get back to work."
"No."
Luca's voice stopped me.
"You're finished working tonight."
My fear sharpened.
"I need this job."
"You still have it."
"Then—"
"Sit."
"I'm not sitting."
The entire table went still.
Apparently people didn't tell Luca Moretti no.
His expression almost changed.
Almost.
Then he pulled out the chair beside him.
"Please."
That frightened me even more.
I sat.
Noah immediately calmed.
Luca studied us together.
Then he asked the question that changed everything.
"What's your mother's name?"
My blood went cold.
"Catherine."
"Last name?"
"Reed."
Nothing moved on his face.
But Marco reacted.
It was tiny.
A flicker.
His eyes widened.
Luca saw it.
So did I.
"What?" I demanded.
Marco looked away.
Luca's voice became deadly quiet.
"Marco."
"I don't know anything."
"You reacted."
"I didn't."
"Don't lie to me."
The restaurant had gone silent again.
Marco rubbed his jaw.
Then he looked at me.
"How old is your mother?"
"Forty-six."
"Where was she born?"
"I don't know. She never talked about it."
"Does she have family?"
"No."
"Sisters?"
"No."
Luca stopped breathing.
I looked between them.
"What?"
Marco whispered, "Elena had a sister."
The world disappeared beneath me.
Luca slowly turned toward him.
"What did you say?"
Marco looked like he regretted being alive.
"Elena had a twin sister."
I couldn't hear anything except my own heartbeat.
"No."
Luca stood.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know."
"You knew?"
"Boss—"
"You knew my wife had a twin?"
Marco's face tightened.
"I knew once."
Luca grabbed him by the jacket.
Chairs scraped backward.
Noah began crying.
"Luca!"
My voice came out before I thought.
He stopped.
Everyone stopped.
I stood with Noah between us.
"You're scaring him."
Luca looked at his son.
His hands slowly released Marco.
That was when my phone rang.
Mom.
I stared at the screen.
Luca stared too.
"Answer it."
I hesitated.
Then I pressed the button.
"Mom?"
Nothing.
"Mom?"
Static.
Then breathing.
Fast.
Terrified.
"Mara?"
Her voice shook.
"Mom, what's wrong?"
"Where are you?"
"At work."
Silence.
Then:
"Leave."
I looked at Luca.
"Mom—"
"Leave the restaurant right now."
My skin went cold.
"How do you know where I am?"
Her breathing became ragged.
"Mara, listen to me. Don't ask questions. Go out the kitchen exit. Don't talk to anyone. Don't let anyone follow you."
Luca heard every word.
His expression became stone.
"Mom, there are men here—"
"I know."
My knees weakened.
"What?"
Then she said the sentence that made Luca Moretti rise slowly from his chair.
"Does the man with the dragon tattoo have a baby with him?"
I couldn't speak.
Luca took one step toward me.
"Mom..."
Her voice broke.
"Oh God. He found you."
The call disconnected.
For three seconds nobody moved.
Then Luca said:
"Give me your phone."
"No."
"Mara."
"No!"
I backed away.
The restaurant lights suddenly went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Someone screamed.
A gunshot exploded near the front entrance.
Then another.
Luca moved faster than I thought possible.
One arm wrapped around Noah.
The other pulled me down behind the table.
"Stay down!"
Glass shattered.
Men shouted.
More gunshots.
I covered my head.
Luca pressed Noah between us.
His body shielded both of ours.
Then someone screamed from the darkness:
"GET THE GIRL!"
Not Luca.
Not the baby.
Me.
Luca heard it too.
His eyes met mine.
And something changed in his face.
This wasn't coincidence anymore.
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Someone had come to Ristorante Bellagio specifically for me.
And somehow my mother had known they were coming.
