Chapter 2 - THE FACE HE HAD SEEN BEFORE
“Yes,” Lily answered enthusiastically. “I sing louder than anybody in my class.”
Dominic looked at her for a long moment.
“What song?”
“‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’ Mrs. Carter says I have a special voice.”
“Then Mrs. Carter sounds like a sensible woman.”
“She is. Except she makes us eat vegetables.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Then Lily tilted her head.
“You look sad.”
The smile disappeared.
“Do I?”
“A little.”
“Maybe I'm tired.”
“My mom gets tired, too. But she smiles when she's sad because she doesn't want me to worry.”
I closed my eyes.
“Lily, sweetheart, why don't you look at the other dresses for a minute?”
“But—”
“Please.”
She reluctantly stepped toward the boutique window.
Dominic watched her go.
Then he looked at me.
“How old is she?”
“Seven.”
“When's her birthday?”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I'm asking you a question.”
“And I'm asking why you need to know.”
The two men near the sedan had stopped pretending not to watch us.
Dominic noticed my expression.
His voice lowered.
“Six years ago, I knew a woman who had the same eyes as your daughter.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
He stepped closer.
“She had the same little crease beside her left eyebrow. The same way of biting her lower lip when she was nervous.”
I instinctively touched my daughter's shoulder.
Dominic's gaze followed the movement.
“What's her father's name, Elena?”
There it was.
The question I had spent six years dreading.
Not because I was ashamed of Lily.
Because I knew what the answer could cost us.
I could have lied.
I could have told him her father was a man from another city, someone who had died before she was born.
But Dominic Moretti had built his reputation on knowing when people lied.
And I had spent fourteen months learning how dangerous it was to underestimate him.
“You know his name,” I whispered.
His jaw tightened.
“Say it.”
I looked at Lily, who was pointing excitedly at a green dress behind the glass.
Then I looked back at the man I had once loved enough to risk everything.
“Dominic Moretti.”
For several seconds, he did not move.
His face lost every trace of color.
One of his men approached.
“Boss?”
Dominic raised a hand without looking away from me.
The man stopped.
“Six years,” Dominic said finally.
I said nothing.
“You let me believe you were dead.”
My throat tightened.
“I was told you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“Who told you that?”
I looked away.
“Does it matter now?”
“Yes.”
His voice was so controlled that it frightened me more than shouting would have.
“Because if someone used my name to keep me away from my own daughter, I intend to find out who.”
I felt anger rise through the fear.
“Your daughter?”
He flinched.
I had never seen Dominic Moretti flinch before.
“You don't get to claim her because you finally recognized her face,” I said. “You weren't there when she had pneumonia at eleven months. You weren't there when she cried for a father she had never met. You weren't there when I had to choose between buying groceries and paying for her medicine.”
His eyes darkened.
“I didn't know.”
“You didn't ask.”
The words struck harder than I intended.
For a moment, we stood facing each other while the city rushed around us.
Then Lily came running back.
“Mom! That lady says the red dress comes in my size!”
She stopped when she saw our faces.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I immediately knelt beside her.
“No, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong.”
Dominic crouched too, keeping enough distance not to frighten her.
“Lily, would you like to try on the red dress?”
Her eyes widened.
“Really?”
“If your mother agrees.”
She looked at me.
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to take her hand, walk away, and return to the small life I had fought so hard to build.
But the dress was hanging just beyond the glass, and Lily was seven years old.
For once, I wanted her to be allowed to want something without apologizing for it.
“Go ahead,” I whispered.
She squealed and hurried inside.
Dominic remained beside me.
“I need to speak with you.”
“You've had six years.”
“Then give me ten minutes.”
I looked toward the boutique.
“Five.”
He nodded.
May you like
“Five.”
And for the first time in six years, Dominic Moretti asked me to tell him the truth.
