Chapter 2 - The Secret Behind Rosie’s Eyes
By midnight, Lorenzo had learned almost nothing.
That was what frightened him.
Clara Bennett had no criminal record.
No suspicious financial history.
No known connection to rival families.
She had worked at three bakeries, one hotel, and finally the Vitali estate.
Her daughter, Rosie Bennett, had been born three years earlier in a small private hospital outside the city.
Father's name: blank.
Lorenzo stared at that single word.
Blank.
"That's all?"
Matteo stood across the office.
"That's all the official record says."
"Unofficially?"
"We're still looking."
Lorenzo closed the file.
"Who paid the hospital bill?"
Matteo hesitated.
"A private account."
"Whose?"
"We don't know yet."
Lorenzo looked up.
Matteo rarely admitted that he didn't know something.
That meant somebody had gone to considerable trouble to make sure nobody knew.
"Find out."
"Already working on it."
Lorenzo dismissed him.
For the next hour he worked through contracts without absorbing a word.
At one in the morning, he finally gave up.
He walked downstairs.
The mansion was silent.
He passed the kitchen.
A small plate sat on the counter.
Three cookies.
One had a bite missing.
Another had been crushed.
The third had a crooked smile drawn across it in chocolate.
Lorenzo stared.
Then he heard footsteps.
Clara appeared in the doorway.
She stopped when she saw him.
Neither spoke.
Finally, she looked at the plate.
"Rosie made those."
"I assumed."
"She thinks everyone likes cookies."
"Does she?"
"She hasn't met everyone."
A strange answer.
Lorenzo leaned against the counter.
"She isn't afraid of me."
Clara's face tightened.
"She's three."
"Most three-year-olds know when adults are angry."
"She's stubborn."
"I noticed."
Clara moved toward the plate.
Lorenzo's voice stopped her.
"Why did she call me Angry Mister?"
Clara looked at him.
"Because she hears people talk about you."
"And what do they say?"
"Nothing children should repeat."
He studied her.
"Did you tell her anything?"
"No."
"Then why does she imitate me?"
Clara's fingers curled around the edge of the counter.
"Maybe she thinks you're funny."
"I assure you, nobody else does."
For the briefest moment, Clara almost smiled.
Then the expression vanished.
That tiny reaction hit him harder than it should have.
He remembered her laugh.
He remembered how she used to laugh when he pretended not to care about things.
"Clara."
She looked away.
"Yes, sir?"
"Why did you come back?"
Her eyes returned to his.
"I needed a job."
"You could have worked anywhere."
"I needed a job."
"Here?"
"I didn't know whose house it was."
That was a lie.
He knew it.
She knew he knew it.
The silence stretched.
Then small footsteps padded down the hall.
Rosie appeared wearing yellow pajamas.
Her hair was tangled.
She hugged a stuffed rabbit against her chest.
"Mommy?"
Clara immediately softened.
"What are you doing awake?"
"I had a bad dream."
Clara crossed to her.
But Rosie looked past her mother.
Straight at Lorenzo.
"Angry Mister."
Lorenzo sighed.
"Yes?"
"I dreamed Mommy was crying."
Clara froze.
"Rosie."
"And you were gone."
The little girl frowned.
"Then Mommy said you weren't coming back."
Lorenzo's stomach tightened.
Clara crouched.
"Baby, dreams aren't real."
Rosie looked at Lorenzo.
"Are you going away?"
He didn't know why the question felt like a challenge.
"No."
Clara stared at him.
Lorenzo corrected himself.
"I don't plan to."
Rosie seemed satisfied.
She reached into her pajama pocket and pulled out a tiny folded piece of paper.
"Mommy said I can't show anybody."
Clara's face went white.
"Rosie!"
The child held it toward Lorenzo.
"It's a picture."
Lorenzo took it.
A child's drawing.
Three stick figures.
A little girl.
A woman.
And a tall man.
Above the man, in uneven letters, was one word.
DADDY.
Lorenzo looked at Clara.
Her face had lost all color.
"Rosie," she whispered.
The child blinked.
"What?"
Clara's voice broke.
"Go back to bed."
"But—"
"Now."
Rosie obeyed.
She disappeared down the hallway.
Lorenzo didn't move.
He looked down at the drawing again.
"Daddy."
His voice was almost inaudible.
Clara closed her eyes.
"Lorenzo."
He hadn't heard his name from her lips in three years.
It sounded exactly the same.
May you like
And suddenly the past didn't feel buried anymore.
It felt alive.
