Chapter 2 - The Name My Mother Buried
For several seconds, nobody in the library moved.
Anna heard the fire crackling behind her.
The sound seemed absurdly ordinary.
Outside the townhouse, taxis were probably moving through Manhattan traffic.
People were ordering dinner.
Couples were fighting about reservations.
Somewhere, a hotel guest was almost certainly complaining that Anna had failed to arrange something impossible.
Inside the library, however, her childhood had just been rewritten in one sentence.
Marco Rizzo was not the traitor.
The traitor was a Moretti.
Lorenzo spoke first.
“Who?”
Giuseppe Carbone shook his head.
“You think I crossed an ocean to give you a name without proof?”
“My father has been dead twenty years.”
“And I have spent most of those years trying to stay alive.”
Lorenzo took one step closer.
Giuseppe did not flinch.
Anna understood something then.
The old man was afraid.
But not of Lorenzo.
That frightened her more.
“Open the envelope,” Giuseppe said.
Lorenzo picked it up.
Inside was an old photograph.
He stared.
Anna moved despite herself.
Four men stood outside a villa overlooking the sea.
One was younger Lorenzo could not possibly be mistaken for anyone except Vittorio Moretti.
The resemblance was brutal.
Beside Vittorio stood a man Anna recognized only because memory reached across nineteen years and slapped her.
Marco.
Her father.
He was smiling.
His arm rested around Vittorio’s shoulder.
The third man was Giuseppe.
The fourth stood slightly apart.
His face had been partially torn away from the photograph.
Anna whispered, “Who is that?”
Giuseppe answered.
“The reason somebody tried to kill me last month.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“You were attacked?”
“Yes.”
“And you waited?”
“I had to know whether you were involved.”
Lorenzo’s jaw hardened.
“You think I ordered an attack on you?”
“I think Morettis have disappointed me before.”
Anna looked toward the door.
“This was supposed to be translation.”
Nobody answered.
She pointed at Lorenzo.
“You owe me significantly more than twenty-five thousand dollars.”
For an instant Giuseppe actually smiled.
Then glass exploded.
The window behind him shattered inward.
Leo moved first.
He knocked Anna down behind the heavy desk.
A second crack split the room.
Lorenzo overturned a side table and pulled Giuseppe behind it.
Anna’s ears rang.
“What the hell?”
“Stay down,” Lorenzo ordered.
“Was that the theoretical murder?”
Another window broke.
Men shouted downstairs.
Leo drew his weapon but did not fire blindly.
Lorenzo looked toward him.
“East exit.”
Leo nodded.
Everything happened fast after that.
Too fast for Anna’s brain to organize.
She was moved through a narrow door concealed behind shelves.
Not carried.
Not dragged.
Lorenzo kept one hand at the center of her back while Leo led them through a service corridor.
Giuseppe followed.
Anna smelled dust and old plaster.
A security alarm began screaming.
They reached a staircase.
Footsteps came from below.
Leo stopped.
“Other way.”
They turned.
Lorenzo pushed open a door into what looked like a catering kitchen.
Two employees crouched behind a counter.
Anna heard shouting outside.
Italian.
She understood enough to freeze.
“Find the Rizzo girl.”
Not Lorenzo.
Not Giuseppe.
Her.
Anna caught Lorenzo’s sleeve.
“They’re looking for me.”
His head snapped toward her.
“What?”
“They said Rizzo.”
Another shout came from the hall.
“Alive if possible.”
Anna’s stomach dropped.
Lorenzo’s expression became something she had not yet seen.
The arrogance vanished.
So did the irritation.
What remained was frighteningly focused.
“Leo.”
“I heard.”
Lorenzo looked at Anna.
“You stay beside me.”
“I don’t take orders well.”
“Develop the skill for five minutes.”
A man appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Leo intercepted him.
There was a brutal struggle.
Anna saw enough to know she never wanted to see the rest.
Lorenzo grabbed her hand.
“Move.”
This time she did not argue.
They escaped through a rear service entrance.
A second Moretti vehicle arrived.
Giuseppe was pushed into the first.
Anna stopped at the curb.
“I’m leaving.”
Lorenzo turned.
“You’re not.”
Her fear became anger immediately.
“You said ninety minutes.”
“Someone just entered a protected townhouse asking for the Rizzo girl.”
“That is not my problem.”
“It became your problem when they knew your face.”
“I have a home.”
“They know your name.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Anna.”
“I am not going to some mafia bunker because you say so.”
He stepped closer.
Snow landed in his dark hair.
His voice lowered.
“I am trying very hard not to become the man you already think I am.”
“Then let me go.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“All right.”
Anna had not expected it.
Lorenzo opened the vehicle door but did not touch her.
“Leo takes you home.”
“No.”
“A driver?”
“No.”
“You want a taxi?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll follow it.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You are exhausting.”
“You met me ninety minutes ago.”
“It has been a productive ninety minutes.”
Anna turned away.
Lorenzo caught himself before reaching for her.
“Anna.”
She faced him.
“I won’t force you into the car.”
“Good.”
“But I am telling you the truth. Whoever attacked that house knew exactly who you were.”
She said nothing.
“Call your mother.”
The words struck harder than she expected.
“What?”
“Call her now.”
“My mother has nothing to do with this.”
“Giuseppe recognized a medal she gave you. Men came looking for the Rizzo girl immediately afterward.”
Anna stared.
Lorenzo continued.
“If your mother knows something, she may be in danger too.”
Anna pulled out her phone.
Her mother lived in Astoria.
Twenty minutes from Midtown in good traffic.
Anna called.
Once.
Twice.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
She told herself not to panic.
Her mother hated answering the phone while cooking.
She tried the bakery.
An employee answered.
“Bennett Bakery.”
“This is Anna. Is my mother there?”
A pause.
“She left early.”
“When?”
“Maybe an hour ago.”
“With who?”
Another pause.
“Anna?”
“Yes?”
“There were two men here.”
Her skin went cold.
“What men?”
“They said they were old friends.”
“What did they look like?”
The employee described them.
Anna barely listened.
She was already looking at Lorenzo.
He saw the answer in her face.
“Get in the car.”
This time she did.
They reached Astoria in seventeen minutes.
Anna’s mother lived above the bakery in a small apartment filled with plants, old photographs, and furniture collected from twenty-five years of American life.
The front door was open.
Anna ran upstairs.
“Mom?”
Lorenzo caught up.
“Anna, wait.”
She ignored him.
The apartment had been searched.
Drawers open.
Cushions cut.
Pictures removed from walls.
A ceramic lamp shattered.
“Mom!”
No answer.
Anna crossed the living room.
Lorenzo stood at the doorway.
He did not enter until she looked at him and nodded.
Leo moved through the apartment.
“Clear.”
Anna’s heart slammed.
“She’s gone.”
Lorenzo picked up a broken picture frame.
“No blood.”
“That is supposed to make me feel better?”
“It means something.”
Anna wanted to hit him.
Instead she noticed an envelope beneath the overturned dining table.
Her name was written on it.
Not recently.
The paper was yellowed.
ANNA.
Her mother’s handwriting.
Anna crouched.
Her fingers shook.
“What is that?” Lorenzo asked.
“I don’t know.”
She opened it.
Inside was a single page.
My Anna,
If you are reading this because someone named Moretti has entered your life, then the past has finally found us.
I am sorry.
I told myself silence protected you.
Perhaps it only left you defenseless.
Your father, Marco, did not abandon us.
He did not betray anyone.
He died because he learned who arranged Vittorio Moretti’s murder.
The man responsible believed I had proof.
I did.
I still do.
Do not trust anyone simply because they tell you they want the truth.
Especially a Moretti.
There is a key sewn inside the lining of your silver medal.
The box it opens contains what Marco died protecting.
If I have disappeared, assume someone wants that key.
And Anna—
The man who killed your father wore a silver wolf on his right hand.
I love you more than every lie I ever told to keep you alive.
Mama.
Anna read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
Lorenzo stood completely still.
Anna looked slowly toward him.
“Do you own a silver wolf ring?”
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
“Lorenzo.”
His eyes had changed.
“Who?”
He looked away.
Anna stepped closer.
“Who wears the ring?”
His jaw tightened.
“My uncle.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Name.”
“Renato Moretti.”
Anna remembered the hotel lobby.
Three men behind Lorenzo.
She remembered family photographs she had seen in newspapers.
An older silver-haired man standing beside Lorenzo at charity events.
Always elegant.
Always smiling.
And on his right hand—
A large silver ring.
A wolf’s head.
Anna’s breath caught.
“Where is he?”
Lorenzo looked at Leo.
Leo looked grim.
Then back at Anna.
May you like
Lorenzo answered quietly.
“He’s the man running my family while I’m standing here.”
