Chapter 3 - The Scar That Came From a Lie Everyone BelievedHannah's apartment had already been searched when they arrived.
The front door was open.
One lamp was broken.
Books were scattered across the floor.
Her mother's old dishes lay shattered near the kitchen.
Hannah stopped breathing.
Vincent moved in front of her.
“Stay behind me.”
“This is my home.”
“I know.”
“You don't understand.”
“I do.”
He looked around.
“Someone was searching.”
Hannah stepped carefully over broken glass.
Her mother's photograph lay face down on the floor.
She picked it up.
For a moment, the memory of her mother's hands struck her so hard that her chest hurt.
Evelyn Blake had been tiny.
Soft-spoken.
Always tired.
But never afraid.
At least not in front of Hannah.
“She used to tell me,” Hannah whispered, “that fear was expensive.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“She said fear made you surrender things before anyone even asked for them.”
He studied her.
“Your mother was smart.”
“She was.”
Daniel entered from the hallway.
“Bedroom is clear.”
Vincent nodded.
Hannah immediately went to the closet.
She pulled up the loose floorboard.
Nothing.
Her stomach dropped.
“No.”
Vincent crouched beside her.
“What?”
“It was here.”
“What's missing?”
“The notebook.”
He stared at the empty space.
Then slowly stood.
“They knew exactly what they were looking for.”
Hannah's phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
“Your mother should have burned it.”
Hannah went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You have forty-eight hours.”
“For what?”
“To give Vincent Moretti what he couldn't find eighteen years ago.”
The call ended.
Vincent held out his hand.
“Phone.”
She gave it to him.
He listened to the recorded voicemail notification.
Then looked at Daniel.
“Trace it.”
“Already trying.”
Hannah looked between them.
“What happens in forty-eight hours?”
Vincent answered quietly.
“I don't know.”
She hated that.
But what she hated more was what happened next.
Daniel returned ten minutes later with another photograph.
He placed it on the table.
A younger Vincent.
Standing outside the warehouse.
His neck bleeding.
Hannah stared.
The scar was fresh.
Behind him was fire.
But there was another person in the picture.
Her mother.
Alive.
Standing beside a man Hannah had never seen.
“What?” she whispered.
Vincent stared at the picture.
His face lost all color.
“That's impossible.”
“Who is that man?”
Vincent picked up the photograph.
His hands were shaking.
Daniel looked confused.
“Who?”
Vincent turned the picture over.
On the back, someone had written a date.
And three words.
HE SURVIVED THAT NIGHT.
Hannah looked at Vincent.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent couldn't answer.
So Daniel did.
“Luca.”
Hannah stared.
“Your brother?”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“That isn't Luca.”
“Then who?”
He turned back.
“My father.”
Hannah's breath caught.
“Your father died in the explosion.”
“That is what I was told.”
The room fell silent.
Vincent was staring at the photograph as though the past had just reached through eighteen years of darkness and grabbed him by the throat.
Hannah stepped closer.
“You think your father survived?”
Vincent's voice was almost inaudible.
“I think someone wanted me to believe he died.”
The implications were enormous.
If Vincent's father had survived, then every story about the Moretti family could be false.
The war.
The succession.
The disappearance of Matteo.
The explosion.
Everything.
Hannah looked at the scar.
“Your scar.”
Vincent touched it instinctively.
“What about it?”
“My mother knew.”
He looked at her.
“She left that photograph.”
“No.”
“How can you know?”
“Because my mother was terrified of scars.”
He frowned.
“She used to say scars were proof somebody had survived something they weren't supposed to.”
Vincent stared at her.
She reached up.
Very carefully.
She touched the scar again.
This time he did not move.
“I think,” she whispered, “this one is proof you survived something nobody wanted you to remember.”
Vincent's green eyes locked onto hers.
For one suspended moment, nothing else existed.
Then Daniel cleared his throat.
“I'm sorry.”
They stepped apart.
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“We have a problem.”
“What?” Vincent asked.
“Someone just accessed the Moretti family vault.”
Vincent's expression became lethal.
“The vault is underground.”
“Yes.”
“Who has access?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Only three people.”
Vincent's face hardened.
“Me.”
“Your father.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“And?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Matteo.”
The room went silent.
Hannah's pulse accelerated.
“But Matteo is dead.”
Daniel looked at her.
“We were told he was.”
Vincent's hand closed around hers.
Not gently.
Not romantically.
Protectively.
“We're leaving.”
Hannah didn't resist.
“Where?”
“My family home.”
“I thought you said this was dangerous.”
“It is.”
“Then why go there?”
May you like
Vincent looked at her.
“Because if Matteo Moretti is alive, he's going to come for you next.”
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