Chapter 2 - The Name Hidden Inside My Daughter’s Birth Certificate
I did not sleep.
By sunrise, I had convinced myself that Alessandro had made a mistake.
There was no possible connection between my daughter and his dead family.
Sophia's father had been Daniel Carter.
Daniel had died before Sophia was born.
I had never known the Morettis until after that.
There was no connection.
None.
At least, that's what I believed.
I brought the documents to Alessandro.
He read them in silence.
Birth certificate.
Hospital records.
Medical forms.
Everything was legitimate.
Then he looked at one line.
“Where was she born?”
“St. Vincent's.”
“What doctor?”
“Dr. Aaron Blake.”
He went very still.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
He picked up the phone.
“Tommy.”
A man answered.
“Find everything on Aaron Blake.”
He hung up.
I frowned.
“What does a doctor have to do with my daughter?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Then why are you frightening me?”
His expression softened.
“I'm sorry.”
Again.
Another apology.
I was beginning to realize they meant something coming from him.
An hour later, Tommy returned.
He placed a folder on Alessandro's desk.
“Dr. Blake died four years ago.”
I swallowed.
“How?”
“Suicide.”
Alessandro looked at the papers.
“That's what the report says.”
Tommy nodded.
Alessandro turned another page.
“There was something unusual.”
“What?”
“The doctor's financial records.”
He pointed.
“Six months before his death, he received a payment from a private trust.”
Whose?
The Moretti family.
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“I told you something was connected.”
“I didn't know anything about your family.”
“I believe you.”
He studied my face.
“That's why I think someone else may have known.”
“Known what?”
He didn't answer.
Then a woman entered the room.
She was older.
Elegant.
Cold.
Alessandro's aunt, Isabella Moretti.
I had seen her twice.
Both times, she had looked at me as if I were furniture.
Now her gaze moved to Sophia.
Then me.
Then Alessandro.
“What have you done?”
He stood.
“Not now.”
“You brought them into the house.”
“They are under my protection.”
“Why?”
He said nothing.
Isabella smiled.
“Because of the room?”
I stiffened.
Alessandro's expression darkened.
“Leave.”
“Not until you understand what you're doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“You are reopening a wound that should stay closed.”
She looked at me.
“Your daughter is not the reason Elena died.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
Isabella continued.
“But she may be the reason Elena's killer comes back.”
I stared at her.
“Who killed Elena?”
Silence.
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
“We're done.”
Isabella looked at him.
“Not if they find Sophia.”
Then she left.
I turned to Alessandro.
“You told me it was an accident.”
“It was.”
“Was it?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What happened?”
He walked toward the window.
“Someone tampered with the car.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“Why didn't they tell the police?”
“They didn't have enough evidence.”
“And you know who did it?”
“I suspected.”
“Who?”
“My own family.”
I stared.
He closed his eyes.
“My father had enemies.”
“Inside the family?”
“Yes.”
“Did they kill Elena?”
“They were involved.”
The words came slowly.
“Six years ago, Elena discovered that someone was moving money through our legal businesses.”
She was six.
“How could a child know?”
“Because she overheard adults.”
He looked at me.
“She told her mother.”
Then he stopped.
Something in his face told me there was more.
“And?”
“She disappeared for six hours.”
My heart tightened.
“Before the accident.”
He nodded.
“She was taken.”
“By whom?”
“We never proved it.”
“What happened?”
“When she was found, she was terrified.”
Alessandro's voice cracked.
“She told me someone wanted something from her.”
“What?”
“A key.”
I looked at him.
“What key?”
He stared at Sophia.
Then me.
“The same kind my daughter had.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that have to do with Sophia?”
“I don't know.”
Then the door opened.
Sofia walked in.
She was holding one of the tiny butterflies she had painted.
She looked at Alessandro.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask something?”
He crouched.
“What?”
“Why does your little girl look like Mama?”
My heart stopped.
I looked at the photograph on the desk.
The woman beside Elena.
I understood.
It wasn't Elena's mother.
It was a photograph of me.
Or someone who looked almost exactly like me.
Alessandro followed my gaze.
His face went pale.
He picked up the photograph.
He stared at it.
Then at me.
I whispered:
“Who is that?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
The woman in the photograph had my eyes.
My mouth.
The same small mark above her left eyebrow.
I had never seen her.
But she looked like me.
Exactly like me.
Alessandro turned the photo over.
A date.
Six years before Elena's death.
A name.
Mara Carter.
My mother's name.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“That can't be.”
Alessandro stared at me.
“Why is your mother's name on a Moretti family photograph?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know.”
Then Sophia spoke.
“Mama?”
I turned.
She pointed to the photograph.
“That's Grandma.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
Sophia nodded.
“Grandma.”
My mother had died when I was twenty-two.
I had only a few photographs.
But that woman was unmistakably her.
I had never seen the picture.
I looked at Alessandro.
He looked equally stunned.
“My mother knew your father,” he said.
I couldn't breathe.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then:
“When?”
His eyes met mine.
“An hour ago.”
He hung up.
“What happened?”
He stepped closer.
“The cemetery where your mother is buried was broken into.”
My blood ran cold.
May you like
“What?”
“Her grave was opened.”
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