Chapter 2 - THE QUESTION I COULDN’T LIE ABOUT
Paulina’s question landed harder than anything Roman had said inside that church.
“Mama... is he my father?”
The Christmas tree lights blinked softly behind her.
Red.
Gold.
White.
My daughter sat cross-legged on the rug in flannel pajamas, a half-finished drawing beside her and a mug of cocoa cooling near her knee.
She was nine years old.
She deserved better than another lie.
I closed the apartment door and leaned against it.
“Yes.”
Paulina didn’t move.
Her gray eyes—Roman’s eyes—stayed fixed on mine.
“Yes, he is.”
She looked down at the drawing.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the refrigerator and Bing Crosby singing too softly from the old radio in the kitchen.
Then she asked, “Does he know about me?”
“He does now.”
Her head lifted.
“You told him tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he know before?”
That question had lived inside me for nine years.
I took off my wet coat.
“Because he left before I knew I was pregnant.”
“You never found him?”
“I knew where he was.”
She frowned.
“Then why didn’t you tell him?”
Children had a brutal way of finding the exact spot adults spent years walking around.
I sat beside her.
“Because your father was involved in dangerous things.”
“Like bad guys?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Is he a bad guy?”
My throat tightened.
“Sometimes good people make bad choices. Sometimes bad people do good things. Your father is... complicated.”
Paulina considered that.
“That means yes.”
Despite myself, I almost laughed.
Before I could answer, she pointed toward my hand.
“What’s that?”
Roman’s card.
I had forgotten I was still holding it.
Cream paper.
No name.
No number.
Only a small embossed crest I recognized instantly.
A wolf beneath a crown.
The mark of Roman’s family.
I turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
I hadn’t noticed it in the church.
Come to the old Bellini house before midnight.
Come alone if you want to know who made me leave.
My skin went cold.
Paulina leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I hated how much that expression looked like Roman.
“That means something bad.”
“Paulina.”
“Mama.”
She crossed her arms.
For one absurd second, I saw my husband sitting at our old dining table twenty years earlier, refusing to back down during our first argument.
I looked away.
That was when I noticed something else.
Paulina’s drawing.
Three figures stood beneath a Christmas tree.
One was me.
One was her.
The third was tall, wearing a black coat.
My heart stopped.
“Who is that?”
She looked at the paper.
“The man from church.”
“You drew him already?”
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
“I drew that yesterday.”
I stared at her.
She pointed toward the tall man.
“I’ve seen him before.”
Every sound in the apartment disappeared.
“Where?”
“Outside school.”
I grabbed her shoulders more sharply than I meant to.
“When?”
“A bunch of times.”
“How many?”
She shrugged, suddenly nervous.
“Maybe five.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought he was somebody’s dad.”
My pulse pounded.
“Did he ever speak to you?”
“No.”
“Come close to you?”
“No.”
“Follow you home?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
“Paulina.”
“Once.”
Fear went through me like ice.
“When?”
“Last week.”
I stood so quickly I knocked over the cocoa.
It spread across the carpet.
Paulina jumped.
“Mama?”
I went straight to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
Snow covered the parked cars.
The sidewalk was empty.
No black sedan.
No tall figure.
Nothing.
But Roman had not learned about Paulina until an hour ago.
Which meant the man watching her could not have been Roman.
Unless—
No.
I looked again at her drawing.
“Sweetheart, was the man outside school the same man you saw at church?”
She frowned.
“I thought so.”
“Thought?”
“The church man had a scar.”
Roman’s scar.
“The school man didn’t.”
My blood ran cold.
Someone who resembled Roman had been watching my daughter.
I immediately thought of one person.
Roman’s younger brother.
Luca.
I hadn’t seen him in nearly fifteen years.
He had Roman’s height, Roman’s dark hair, and enough of the same face to confuse a child at a distance.
But Luca had been the gentle one.
The one who sent flowers when my mother died.
The one who danced with elderly aunts at weddings because nobody else would.
Why would he watch Paulina?
I looked at the card again.
The old Bellini house.
That house belonged to Roman’s mother before she died.
Nobody had lived there in years.
I went to the hall closet and reached for my boots.
Paulina stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Mira’s.”
Mira lived downstairs and had helped me raise Paulina since infancy.
“You’re leaving me on Christmas Eve?”
The hurt in her voice stopped me.
I crossed back and knelt.
“Only for a little while.”
“With Aunt Mira?”
“Yes.”
“Because of Dad?”
I hated that the word sounded so natural in her mouth.
“I need answers.”
“Can I meet him?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know if he’s safe.”
Paulina looked toward the drawing.
“He looked sad.”
My heart tightened.
“So do stray dogs. We don’t bring every one home.”
“That’s mean.”
“It’s practical.”
She thought about it.
Then she reached beneath the Christmas tree.
“There’s something else.”
She pulled out a small box wrapped in silver paper.
No tag.
“I found it in my backpack.”
I froze.
“When?”
“Today.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you put it there.”
My fingers barely worked as I tore the paper away.
Inside was a narrow wooden jewelry box.
Old.
Italian.
I recognized the carved roses on the lid.
Roman’s mother owned one exactly like it.
I opened it.
A delicate gold bracelet rested on velvet.
Tiny charms hung from it.
A bell.
A star.
A wolf.
And one small oval frame.
Inside was a photograph.
Roman and me on our wedding day.
But someone had folded the photograph so my face was hidden.
Only Roman remained visible.
Beneath the bracelet was a note.
One sentence.
Tell Roman his daughter should have belonged to our family from the beginning.
No signature.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Paulina whispered, “Mama?”
I couldn’t answer.
Because suddenly Roman’s warning from the church sounded different.
His enemies were coming for me.
Maybe they had never stopped.
I grabbed my coat again.
This time, I knew I was going to Bellini House.
Not because Roman asked.
Because whoever had watched my daughter knew things they should not know.
Mira came upstairs within minutes.
I showed her the bracelet.
Her face drained.
“You can’t go alone.”
“The card says—”
“I don’t care what the card says.”
Neither did I anymore.
But when I turned the little wooden box over, I found something etched into the bottom.
A date.
December 24.
Ten years ago.
The night Roman left me.
And beneath it were two initials.
L.B.
Luca Bellini.
I stared at them.
Then at Paulina’s drawing.
Roman had spent ten years claiming he abandoned me to save my life.
May you like
But his brother had apparently known about my daughter long before Roman did.
And someone had just placed proof inside her school backpack.
