Chapter 4

“That’s impossible,” I said, standing up so fast the room spun. “I was in the dining room the entire time. I don’t even own a cell phone right now, mine broke two weeks ago!”

Luca didn’t hesitate. He pulled a sleek black handgun from the holster at his waist and clicked off the safety.

The sound was terrifyingly loud in the quiet bedroom.

“Stay here,” he ordered, his eyes locking onto mine. “Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me.”

“Luca, no!” I panicked, stepping toward him. “What if it’s a trap?”

He paused, reaching out to cup the side of my face. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, rough and familiar. “I lost you once, Emily. I will burn this entire city to ash before I let anyone hurt you again.”

He kissed my forehead, turned, and walked out the door with Marco.

I rushed to the heavy oak doors, slammed them shut, and threw the deadbolt.

My heart hammered in my ears as I backed away, pressing myself against the edge of the bed where Grace slept peacefully, completely unaware of the nightmare unfolding around us.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

The silence in the massive house was suffocating. I paced the floor, my eyes darting to the shadows in the corners of the room.

Finally, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Emily. Open the door.”

It was Luca.

I scrambled to unlock the deadbolt and threw the doors open.

Luca stood there, his gun put away, but his face was drained of all color. He looked like he had seen a ghost. In his hand, he held a small, weathered leather box.

I recognized it instantly.

It was my mother’s jewelry box. The one I kept hidden in my duffel bag down in the servant’s quarters.

“Did you find whoever sent the text?” I asked, my voice trembling.

Luca shook his head slowly. He walked into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“The room was empty,” he said, his voice flat. “The window was open. Whoever was in there slipped out through the gardens. But they left this on your pillow.”

He held out the leather box.

I took it, my hands shaking. “This is mine. I keep a few photos of my mother in here. And my old rosary.”

“Open it,” Luca said softly.

I popped the tiny brass latch.

The photos of my mother were gone. The rosary was gone.

Instead, resting on the faded velvet lining, was a folded piece of official hospital stationary.

I pulled it out and unfolded it.

It was a birth certificate.

But not Grace’s.

It was my birth certificate. Dated twenty-seven years ago.

I stared at the paper, confusion warring with a creeping sense of dread.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered, reading the faded typed letters.

MOTHER: Maria Vance. (My mother. A waitress who died of cancer when I was sixteen.)

FATHER: Arthur Vance. (The man who raised me. The man who faked his death and sold me to the Morettis.)

“Look at the bottom, Emily,” Luca instructed gently. “The amended seal.”

I looked down. There, stamped in red ink from the State of Illinois, was an amendment stamp dated three weeks after I was born.

AMENDMENT TO PATERNITY.

BIOLOGICAL FATHER:

I read the name. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak.

I looked up at Luca, my vision swimming with tears of pure shock.

“No,” I choked out. “No, that’s… that’s a lie.”

Luca’s eyes were filled with a sorrow so deep it broke my heart.

“It explains everything,” Luca whispered. “It explains why my mother hated you. Why she faked your father’s death to get rid of you. Why she couldn’t stand the thought of me marrying you.”

I looked back down at the name printed in stark black ink.

BIOLOGICAL FATHER: Lorenzo Moretti.

Luca’s deceased father.

“Emily,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “My father… is your father.”

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