Chapter 2 - The Name He Shouldn’t Know
I followed them upstairs because nobody told me not to.
Maybe that was a mistake.
Maybe everything that happened afterward began because I stepped through that forbidden door a second time.
Lorenzo’s room no longer felt silent.
Two doctors surrounded the bed.
A neurologist shined a light into his eyes.
Machines beeped faster.
A respiratory therapist adjusted tubing.
Lorenzo’s eyelids were closed again.
Isabella stopped beside him.
“Lorenzo?”
Nothing.
She touched his cheek.
“Son?”
A tiny movement.
His brow tightened.
The neurologist raised a hand.
“Give him space.”
Isabella ignored him.
“He spoke?”
Elena nodded.
“One word.”
“Mia?”
“Yes.”
I stood near the doorway.
Nobody looked at me except Elena.
Then Lorenzo’s eyes opened.
Slowly.
Dark.
Unfocused.
He stared at the ceiling.
His lips moved.
Nothing came out.
The doctor leaned closer.
“Mr. Moretti, can you hear me?”
Lorenzo blinked.
“Can you squeeze my hand?”
No response.
His eyes drifted.
Toward the doorway.
Toward me.
He stopped.
My body went cold.
His expression changed.
Confusion.
Then something deeper.
Pain.
His mouth moved.
I stepped backward.
Lorenzo whispered:
“Sofia.”
Isabella turned toward me so fast I almost flinched.
“No,” I said.
Nobody had accused me of anything.
But the word came instinctively.
Lorenzo struggled to lift his hand.
The monitor accelerated.
The doctor immediately intervened.
“Mr. Moretti, stay still.”
His eyes remained on me.
“Sofia…”
“I’m Clara.”
The words sounded stupid.
He closed his eyes.
A tear slipped sideways into his hair.
The most feared man in New York was crying.
Nobody spoke.
Then Lorenzo lost consciousness again.
The doctor ordered everyone out.
Isabella did not move.
“Mrs. Moretti.”
“Is he dying?”
“No.”
“Then I’m staying.”
“His brain needs controlled stimulation.”
She finally obeyed.
Outside, she turned toward me.
“You’re not leaving.”
I stared at her.
“I have a daughter downstairs.”
“She can be brought up.”
“No.”
My voice came sharper than intended.
“I’m not bringing Mia anywhere near this until somebody explains what is happening.”
Isabella’s face hardened.
Then Elena spoke.
“She’s right.”
Isabella looked furious.
Elena did not care.
“Lorenzo said her name. He also said Sofia when he saw Clara. Whatever this is, Clara deserves answers.”
“Answers can be dangerous.”
Elena replied:
“So can secrets.”
That sentence changed something.
Isabella walked away.
I called the babysitter who watched Mia while I worked.
Then I sat with Elena in an empty lounge.
“Who was Sofia?”
Elena exhaled.
“Lorenzo’s wife.”
“I know that.”
“They were married six years.”
“How did she die?”
“Car accident.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why did Lorenzo call me her name?”
Elena hesitated.
“You resemble her.”
“How much?”
She unlocked her phone.
Found a photograph.
Turned it toward me.
I stopped breathing.
The resemblance was not exact.
But enough.
Same dark brown eyes.
Same face shape.
Same mouth.
We could have been sisters.
“You didn’t know her?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Buffalo.”
“Parents?”
“My mother died when I was nineteen.”
“Father?”
“Never knew him.”
Elena frowned.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Rachel Bennett.”
She nodded slowly.
Then:
“What about Mia’s father?”
I looked away.
“His name was Daniel.”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena stared.
“You had a child with a man whose last name you didn’t know?”
“I knew what he told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Daniel Reed.”
“But?”
“He disappeared when I was five months pregnant. The apartment was empty. His phone disconnected. The company he claimed to work for had never heard of him.”
Elena went pale.
“What did he look like?”
“Why?”
“Clara.”
I described him.
Tall.
Black hair.
Gray-green eyes.
A scar beneath his chin.
Elena stood.
“What?”
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
She walked quickly toward Isabella’s office.
I followed.
Isabella was on the phone.
Elena entered without knocking.
“Daniel.”
Isabella stopped talking.
“What?”
“Clara says Mia’s father called himself Daniel Reed.”
The color disappeared from Isabella’s face.
I felt suddenly sick.
“You know him.”
She ended the call.
“Describe him.”
I did.
Isabella sat down.
“He wasn’t Daniel Reed.”
“Who was he?”
She looked at me.
“Daniel Moretti.”
Silence.
I laughed once.
Because the alternative was screaming.
“No.”
“Lorenzo’s younger brother.”
“No.”
“He disappeared three years ago.”
My entire body went numb.
“When?”
Isabella looked at Elena.
Elena whispered:
“About two months before Mia was born.”
I stood.
“What are you saying?”
Isabella’s voice softened for the first time.
“I’m saying Mia may be a Moretti.”
I backed away.
“No.”
“Clara—”
“No.”
I thought about Daniel.
His jokes.
His expensive watch.
His refusal to let me meet friends.
How he always paid cash.
How he seemed to know when strangers watched us.
Then his disappearance.
“Why would he lie?”
Isabella looked exhausted.
“Because Daniel lied to everyone.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
“You said he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Dead?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“He vanished after Sofia died.”
The room became too small.
“So my daughter’s father disappeared right after Lorenzo’s wife died?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he killed her?”
Isabella said nothing.
That was worse.
I grabbed my coat.
“I’m taking Mia and leaving.”
“You can’t.”
I turned.
“Watch me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No. I understand perfectly. I worked eighteen months to keep my daughter safe, and now I find out her father may belong to a mafia family and may have been involved in a dead woman’s accident.”
Isabella flinched.
“She wasn’t just a dead woman.”
“No. She was your daughter-in-law. That does not make my child your property.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.”
I walked out.
Security did not stop me.
That surprised me.
I collected Mia.
She looked sad.
“No singing?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Mr. Moretti needs rest.”
She hugged Mr. Buttons.
“Is he better?”
“I don’t know.”
At home that night, I packed.
I did not know where we were going.
Only away.
Then somebody knocked.
Three slow knocks.
I froze.
Mia was asleep.
I took a kitchen knife before approaching.
“Who is it?”
A male voice answered.
“Clara.”
I knew that voice.
My knees nearly gave out.
Three years.
Three years since I had heard it.
I unlocked the chain but left the door closed.
“Daniel?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
I opened the door.
The man I had believed abandoned me stood in the hallway.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar across his temple.
But him.
Mia’s father.
Daniel Moretti.
He looked at me like he had forgotten how to breathe.
“I’m sorry.”
I raised the knife.
“Give me one reason not to scream.”
His eyes moved toward the bedroom.
“Mia.”
“Don’t say her name.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“You lost the right.”
“I know.”
“Why are you here?”
His face tightened.
“Because Lorenzo woke up.”
My blood chilled.
“How do you know?”
“People talk.”
“Why does it matter?”
Daniel stepped closer.
I raised the knife.
He stopped.
Then he said:
“Because the crash that put Lorenzo in that bed wasn’t meant for him.”
I stared.
May you like
Daniel swallowed.
“It was meant for you.”
