Chapter 2 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
“Claire…”
Alessandro lowered his voice.
“Your mother never told you who your father was, did she?”
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the refrigerator humming behind the counter.
The diner suddenly felt too small.
Too bright.
Too ordinary for a question that had just split my entire life open.
I stared at him.
“My father died before I was born.”
Alessandro didn't blink.
“Did your mother tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“She said he died in an accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
“I don't know.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“His name?”
I swallowed.
“She never told me.”
Alessandro looked away.
For the first time since I had met him, he seemed less like the man everyone feared and more like someone who had just been punched somewhere nobody could see.
Victor stepped away from the jukebox.
“Boss.”
Alessandro raised one hand.
Victor stopped.
I looked between them.
“You know my father.”
Alessandro didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, “I knew the man your mother loved.”
My fingers tightened around the coffee pot.
“Who was he?”
“I don't know if he was your father.”
“You just said—”
“I said I knew him.”
My voice shook.
“You're playing with words.”
“No.”
“Then tell me his name.”
Alessandro looked directly at me.
“Daniel Bell.”
The name meant nothing.
And somehow, hearing it made my chest hurt.
“Who was Daniel Bell?”
“A man who disappeared twenty-two years ago.”
Victor moved toward us.
“Alessandro, not here.”
I turned sharply.
“Not here?”
Alessandro's eyes hardened.
Victor nodded toward the front windows.
Two black SUVs were parked across the street.
I hadn't noticed them before.
Neither had Rosie.
Alessandro's expression changed.
“Claire, go into the kitchen.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“I don't take orders from you.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he said something that frightened me more than shouting ever could.
“Please.”
I stared at him.
A man like Alessandro Romano did not say please.
Not unless something was very wrong.
I moved toward the kitchen.
Victor stepped outside.
Two seconds later, the sound of a car engine suddenly screamed down the street.
A dark sedan accelerated past the diner.
Victor stepped back inside.
“Wrong plate.”
Alessandro nodded.
“Thought so.”
I looked at him.
“What is happening?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the window and stared at the empty street.
“Someone followed me here.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
Rosie finally found her voice.
“Alessandro, what does this have to do with my waitress?”
His eyes moved to me.
“Everything.”
I hated that answer.
I hated the fear spreading through the diner.
And most of all, I hated the fact that some part of me believed him.
I grabbed my purse.
“I'm going to the hospital.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“My mother is there.”
“I know.”
“Then move.”
He didn't.
“Claire, you can't go alone.”
“I've gone alone every day for fourteen months.”
“Not tonight.”
I stepped closer.
“You don't get to decide that.”
His expression softened.
“I know.”
That stopped me.
He reached into his coat.
I tensed.
Instead of a weapon, he pulled out a photograph.
Old.
Creased.
The edges were worn white.
He handed it to me.
I looked down.
A younger woman stood beside a dark-haired man.
My mother.
I recognized her immediately.
She was maybe twenty-six.
Healthy.
Smiling.
And standing beside her was a man I had never seen before.
Daniel Bell.
My fingers trembled.
But there was someone else in the photograph.
A little girl.
Maybe seven years old.
She stood between them.
I stared.
The child had my eyes.
My exact eyes.
“What…”
My voice disappeared.
Alessandro watched my face.
“That picture was taken twenty-two years ago.”
I looked at the little girl.
“That can't be me.”
“It isn't.”
My blood ran cold.
“Then who is she?”
Alessandro didn't answer.
I looked again.
The little girl was wearing a silver bracelet.
A tiny heart charm hung from it.
My mother had owned that bracelet.
I remembered it from childhood.
She kept it in a wooden jewelry box and never let me touch it.
I had always assumed it was hers.
I turned the photograph over.
Three words were written on the back.
KEEP HER SAFE.
Underneath was a date.
October 17.
My birthday.
I looked at Alessandro.
“Who is that girl?”
He took a slow breath.
“My younger sister.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“Your sister?”
“She disappeared the same year Daniel Bell disappeared.”
I couldn't speak.
Alessandro looked at the photograph again.
“My family believed she was dead.”
I whispered, “And my mother?”
“She knew what happened.”
“Did she take your sister?”
“No.”
“Then why did she have this?”
Alessandro's eyes hardened.
“That's the question I've spent twenty-two years trying to answer.”
I stared at him.
Then I noticed something.
The little girl's bracelet had a second charm.
A small silver key.
My mother had the same key.
I had seen it once.
When I was twelve.
She had been crying in the kitchen.
I had asked what it opened.
She told me, “Something I hope you never need.”
I looked up.
“My mother had that key.”
Alessandro went completely still.
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Claire.”
“I don't know.”
Then my phone rang.
The hospital.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
A nurse's voice came through.
“Claire? It's St. Catherine's.”
My heart stopped.
“What happened?”
“Your mother is asking for you.”
“Is she okay?”
There was a pause.
“She woke up.”
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly gave way.
Then the nurse said—
“She also asked us to tell you something.”
“What?”
The nurse hesitated.
“She said, ‘Don't let Alessandro find the key.’”
I slowly lowered the phone.
Alessandro was watching me.
He knew from my face.
“What did she say?”
I couldn't answer.
Because at that exact moment, Victor's phone rang.
He listened for three seconds.
Then his face went pale.
“Boss.”
Alessandro turned.
Victor swallowed.
“Someone just entered St. Catherine's.”
Alessandro's expression went cold.
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Armed?”
“Yes.”
I grabbed my purse.
Alessandro caught my arm.
“Stay behind me.”
This time, I didn't argue.
Because for the first time, I understood something terrifying.
Whoever was coming for my mother wasn't afraid of Alessandro Romano.
They were afraid of what my mother might finally tell me.
May you like
And somewhere in that hospital was a key my mother had spent twenty-two years hiding.
A key someone was willing to kill for.
