Chapter 2 – THE TRUTH BEHIND THE LOCKET

“The lady in the red dress.”

Luca repeated the words slowly, as if the syllables tasted like poison.

He looked down at the silver locket in the little girl’s trembling hand.

It was unmistakable.

The tiny scratch on the clasp. The delicate engraving of a single rose on the back.

He had bought it for Isabella in Venice, a year before she disappeared into the river.

“Sweetheart,” Luca choked out, his voice cracking completely. “What is your name?”

The little girl wiped a raindrop from her nose.

“Lily.”

Luca squeezed his eyes shut.

A painful, agonizing sob tore from his throat.

It was the name he and Isabella had chosen if they ever had a daughter.

“Lily,” he breathed, gently resting his large hands on her tiny, shivering shoulders. “I want you. I want you more than anything in the world. Who told you I didn’t?”

Lily pointed a small, wet finger toward the mansion’s grand staircase.

Vanessa was standing under the porch lights.

Her red silk gown clung to her body in the damp air.

Her face was twisted in absolute fury.

“This is a setup!” Vanessa screamed, storming down the marble steps with an umbrella. “Luca, get away from that street rat! It’s a scam! Someone hired an actor to ruin our engagement!”

Lily shrank back, terrified.

She grabbed the lapel of Luca’s wet suit jacket and hid her face against his chest.

“That’s the bad lady,” Lily whimpered. “She told me if I came to the big door, she would hurt my mommy.”

The world seemed to stop spinning.

The rain kept falling, soaking us all to the bone, but Luca didn’t move.

He slowly lifted his head.

The look in his eyes was something I had never seen before.

It wasn’t just anger.

It was the cold, terrifying stillness of a man who realized his entire life had been a lie.

He stood up, lifting Lily effortlessly into his arms, sheltering her small body beneath his jacket.

He walked up the driveway.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Vanessa stepped back, her umbrella trembling.

“Luca—”

“Get out,” he said softly.

Vanessa blinked, pretending to be confused.

“Darling, please—”

“I said, get out of my house,” Luca repeated, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Before I kill you right here on the driveway.”

Vanessa opened her mouth to argue, but the sheer violence in his eyes silenced her.

She threw her umbrella onto the grass and ran inside, her high heels clicking frantically against the stone.

I pushed Teresa’s wheelchair into the foyer behind them.

The guests were still standing around awkwardly, but Luca ignored them all.

He carried Lily straight into the private library and kicked the heavy oak doors shut, leaving only me, Teresa, and the child inside.

He set Lily down gently on the leather sofa.

“Hannah, get her a blanket,” he ordered softly.

I hurried to the corner chair and grabbed a thick, wool throw, wrapping it around the shivering girl.

As I did, I noticed something strange about Lily’s feet.

She was wearing a pair of thick, custom-made orthopedic shoes.

They were identical in size and shape to the single wooden dance shoe I had found behind the piano yesterday.

Teresa saw it too.

She wheeled herself forward, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch Lily’s cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” Teresa wept. “You’re so beautiful.”

Lily looked at the old woman with curious eyes.

“Are you my grandma?” she asked.

Teresa completely broke down, nodding her head and sobbing into her hands.

Luca knelt in front of his daughter again.

“Lily,” he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady. “You said Vanessa… the lady in the red dress… told you not to come here. When did she tell you that?”

Lily sniffled.

“Yesterday. When I was by the gates. She came outside and grabbed my arm. It hurt.”

Luca’s jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth would shatter.

“But how did you get here, sweetheart?” Luca asked. “Where is your mommy?”

Teresa suddenly went very still.

“Luca,” Teresa whispered, her voice filled with a terrible dread. “If Isabella is alive… why didn’t she come to the gates herself? Why send a seven-year-old child alone?”

The question hung in the air, cold and heavy.

Lily reached into the pocket of her yellow cardigan.

“Mommy couldn’t come,” the little girl said, her lip trembling. “She said she couldn’t walk anymore.”

My stomach dropped.

Lily pulled out a wrinkled, dirty piece of paper.

“She told me to find the lady who sings,” Lily whispered, looking around the room.

She turned her large, dark eyes toward me.

Because I was the only person in the house who hummed while I worked.

Lily walked over and held out the paper to me.

My hands shook as I took it.

It wasn’t a note.

It was a hospital identification bracelet, cut with scissors.

But it wasn’t from an old hospital stay.

The date printed on the plastic was yesterday.

And underneath the date, printed in bold black ink, was a name that made the blood drain entirely from my face.

It didn’t say Isabella Moretti.

It said Margaret Collins.

My mother.