Chapter 2 - The Secret He Hid Behind My Job
Lorenzo did not explain anything that night.
Instead, he moved me into the secure wing of Greco Tower.
I objected.
He ignored me.
I threatened to quit.
He said, “Fine.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
“You can quit.”
He set his phone down.
“Your employment has nothing to do with why you're in danger.”
My heart pounded.
“Then what does?”
“You.”
I stared at him.
“That isn't an explanation.”
“No.”
“Then give me one.”
He walked toward the windows.
Snow had begun falling over Manhattan.
“Twenty-six years ago, my mother died at Saint Verena.”
“You said she was murdered.”
“She was.”
“By whom?”
“We never proved it.”
“Who did you suspect?”
“My father.”
I blinked.
“Your own father?”
“He was powerful.”
“So are you.”
“I know.”
“Did he kill her?”
Lorenzo looked at the city.
“I don't know.”
That answer surprised me.
“What happened to him?”
“He died three years later.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
I stared.
“You don't believe that either.”
“No.”
A bitter smile crossed his face.
“In my family, accidents happen whenever the truth gets too close.”
He turned toward me.
“There is a reason I hired you.”
I frowned.
“You hired me because my predecessor left.”
“That was what I told everyone.”
“And the real reason?”
“I saw your name on a list.”
My stomach dropped.
“What list?”
He didn't answer.
“Lorenzo.”
“Your mother worked at Saint Verena.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Not as a doctor.”
“She was a nurse.”
“I know.”
“My mother died when I was nine.”
He nodded.
“She was there the night my mother died.”
I stared at him.
“I never knew that.”
“Because the records were sealed.”
“Why?”
“Because someone paid to erase them.”
I took a step backward.
“You knew this when you hired me.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know if you were being watched.”
My breathing became uneven.
“Was I?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
That was the first time I saw genuine uncertainty in him.
I sat down.
“This is insane.”
“I agree.”
“Why bring me into your company?”
“Because it was the safest place I could watch you.”
I looked up.
“You made me your assistant to protect me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you acting jealous about the flowers?”
His expression changed.
“Because I'm not always rational where you are concerned.”
That sentence silenced me.
Lorenzo Greco, the man who terrified politicians and criminals alike, had just admitted something he probably considered weakness.
I didn't know what to do with it.
He stepped closer.
“When you joined me, I told myself it was temporary.”
“And?”
“I told myself I'd keep my distance.”
“You didn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“Because I failed.”
My heart thudded.
He reached for me.
Then stopped.
“Do you remember the night you were almost attacked outside the tower?”
“Yes.”
“Three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“I was the one who sent the second car.”
I stared.
“You?”
“You never knew.”
“I thought security found me.”
“They did.”
“Who told them?”
“I did.”
I shook my head.
“How many times have you saved me without telling me?”
He didn't answer.
That scared me more than the answer would have.
Then a loud crash came from the hallway.
Claudio shouted.
Lorenzo grabbed my hand.
“Stay behind me.”
Gunfire exploded.
Security personnel rushed through the doors.
Lorenzo's expression became terrifyingly calm.
“Lock the corridor.”
Claudio moved.
I crouched behind the desk.
The shooting lasted less than a minute.
Then silence.
Claudio entered.
“Three men. All down.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He checked me anyway.
His hands moved over my shoulders.
My arms.
My face.
When he reached my wrist, his fingers stayed there.
“You're shaking.”
“So are you.”
He stared at me.
He was.
Only slightly.
“I don't like anyone near you.”
I whispered:
“Why?”
His eyes darkened.
“Because I know what happens to people I love.”
The words hung between us.
Love.
He had said it.
Maybe accidentally.
Maybe not.
Before I could ask, Claudio came in carrying a wallet.
“We found identification.”
Lorenzo looked inside.
His face hardened.
“Who?”
Claudio handed him the driver's license.
Lorenzo stared at it.
“Impossible.”
“What?”
He gave it to me.
I looked at the photo.
My blood froze.
It was a man I recognized.
My mother's older brother.
My uncle Adrian.
The man who had supposedly died before I was born.
I looked at Lorenzo.
“He's dead.”
“So was my mother,” he said.
Neither of us spoke.
Claudio lowered his voice.
“There's more.”
He held up a second photograph.
A younger version of my mother.
Standing outside Saint Verena.
Beside her was Lorenzo's mother.
And in the background was my uncle Adrian.
Alive.
Watching them.
My knees nearly gave out.
“Why would my uncle be there?”
Lorenzo took the picture.
“Because he was involved.”
“With what?”
He looked at the Saint Verena symbol on the back.
“The murder.”
A cold feeling spread through me.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice whispered:
“Your mother didn't die at Saint Verena.”
I froze.
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?”
The voice continued.
May you like
“She survived.”
The line went dead.
