“Où es-tu?”
“Au travail.”
« Emma, écoute-moi. »
Sa voix tremblait.
“Sortez de cette maison.”
J’ai figé.
“Pourquoi?”
“Ne posez pas de questions.”
“Maman-“
“Promets-moi que tu partiras.”
Je me suis levé.
« Comment savez-vous où je travaille ? »
Un autre silence.
Puis elle murmura :
« Parce que je sais qui est Luca Moretti. »
J’ai eu un frisson d’effroi.
“Maman?”
Elle s’est mise à pleurer.
“Chérie, je suis vraiment désolée.”
« Pardon pour quoi ? »
Ses paroles suivantes m’ont presque fait arrêter le cœur.
« Parce qu’il y a cinq ans, j’ai promis à quelqu’un que tu ne te souviendrais jamais de lui. »
L’appel s’est terminé.
Je suis resté immobile.
Puis mon téléphone a vibré.
A message from an unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed me lying in a hospital bed.
My head was bandaged.
A medical monitor stood beside me.
The date in the corner was five years earlier.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
YOUR MOTHER DIDN’T SAVE YOU. SHE HELPED THEM ERASE YOU.
I had spent twenty-six years believing my mother was the one person who would never lie to me.
Her name was Margaret Bennett.
She was fifty-nine, widowed, and suffering from a heart condition that had kept her in and out of hospitals for nearly two years.
She was the reason I worked double shifts.
The reason I skipped meals.
The reason I accepted insults from wealthy people who treated waitresses like furniture.
Everything I did was for her.
And now she had admitted that someone had made her promise I would never remember Luca Moretti.
I stared at my phone.
The photograph of the hospital bed seemed to move.
I could almost smell antiseptic.
Hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor.
Feel something cold against my arm.
Then a voice surfaced in my mind.
Don’t let him find her.
I dropped the phone.
“Emma?”
Luca stood in the study doorway.
I looked up.
“My mother knows you.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“She knows who you are.”
I showed him the message.
He read it.
His expression hardened.
“Where is she?”
“St. Catherine’s Medical Center.”
“Chicago?”
I nodded.
He took out his phone.
“Marco. I need a car.”
I grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“You’re not sending your men after my mother.”
His expression softened.
“Emma, I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
“Then what were you going to do?”
“Make sure she’s safe.”
I stared at him.
“Why should I trust you?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said something I hadn’t expected.
“You shouldn’t trust anyone simply because they ask you to.”
He stepped back.
“Come with me. Ask her yourself. I’ll stay outside if that’s what you want.”
I studied him.
For the first time, Luca Moretti didn’t look like the terrifying man everyone whispered about.
He looked tired.
Almost defeated.
And something about that frightened me more than his anger.
We reached the hospital shortly before three.
Margaret Bennett was sitting upright in bed.
When she saw me, she began crying.
Then she saw Luca.
Her face went white.
“No.”
I stopped beside her bed.
“Mom.”
She shook her head.
“No, no, no.”
Luca remained near the doorway.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
She stared at him.
“You weren’t supposed to find her.”
My chest tightened.
“Mom, what does that mean?”
Margaret covered her face.
I pulled a chair beside the bed.
“Please.”
She looked at me.
I had never seen her so frightened.
“Sweetheart, I did what I thought was right.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
She swallowed.
“Five years ago, a man came to our house.”
“Who?”
“Victor Hale.”
My stomach dropped.
“He said you had been in a terrible accident.”
I stared at her.
“What accident?”
“He showed me photographs. Medical records. He said you had suffered a serious head injury.”
“Where?”
“Switzerland.”
Luca stepped forward.
Margaret flinched.
He stopped immediately.
“Switzerland?” he repeated.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
I looked between them.
Luca’s face had changed.
“Elena disappeared from our lake house in Wisconsin,” he said.
Margaret stared at him.
“That’s not what Hale told me.”
“What did he tell you?” I asked.
She began crying.
“That you had been married to a dangerous man. That your husband had enemies. That if you remembered your marriage, those enemies would find you.”
I felt sick.
“And you believed him?”
“He had doctors. Documents. People who looked official.”
“Did you ever see me in the hospital?”
She nodded.
“Once.”
“Where?”
“A private clinic outside Geneva.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“Which clinic?”
“Saint Aurelia.”
He looked toward the window.
I saw recognition in his eyes.
“What?” I demanded.
He turned.
“That clinic was owned by a company connected to Victor Hale.”
The room fell silent.
Margaret gripped my hand.
