Chapter 2 - The Song My Mother Never Taught Anyone Else
I had served babies before.
Most reached for anything shiny, moving, or forbidden.
Earrings. Hair. Forks. Other people’s food.
So I smiled at Leo and touched my necklace.
“You like this?”
He ignored it.
Instead, he leaned so far toward me that Dante had to tighten an arm around his waist.
Leo made the sound again.
“Ah!”
Then his tiny face crumpled.
Not with fear.
With frustration.
He wanted me.
Dante studied him.
“He doesn’t do that.”
I looked at the two bodyguards.
Neither appeared to know what response would keep me alive.
“Maybe he likes waitresses.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Brunettes?”
“No.”
“People carrying menus?”
Dante almost smiled again.
Leo stretched harder.
I should have walked away.
Instead, instinct made me offer him one finger.
His hand closed around it.
Everything stopped.
Leo stared at our joined hands.
Then he laughed.
It was a bright, delighted sound that seemed completely wrong at a table surrounded by armed men.
The jazz trio continued playing, but half the restaurant was watching us.
Dante was watching hardest of all.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The question erased my smile.
“Your waitress.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
My stomach tightened.
Before I could answer, Leo pulled my finger toward his mouth.
I gently rescued it.
“I’m Alina Valdez. I work here five nights a week and I’m trying very hard not to get fired because your son has apparently decided I’m tonight’s entertainment.”
“He’s my grandson.”
I blinked.
“Oh.”
Something changed in Dante’s face.
Pain passed through it quickly.
“My daughter’s son.”
There was no mother at the table.
I decided not to ask.
“Warm milk,” I said.
I turned away.
Leo screamed.
Every conversation around us died.
It was not ordinary fussing. His whole body stiffened as he reached after me.
Dante stood immediately.
One bodyguard moved too.
I froze.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”
I returned.
Leo stopped.
Instantly.
I stared at him.
Dante stared at me.
“That,” I said, “is weird.”
“Yes.”
He sat again.
I spent the next twenty minutes doing my job under the strangest surveillance of my life.
Every time I crossed the dining room, Leo followed me with his eyes.
When I disappeared into the kitchen, he fussed.
When I returned, he calmed.
Eventually I brought his bottle.
Dante tested the milk against his wrist with practiced efficiency.
“You’ve done that before,” I said.
His eyes flicked upward.
“I raised a daughter.”
Something in his tone warned me away from the subject.
I should have listened.
Instead I found myself humming.
I did it without thinking.
Four soft notes.
A little descending melody my mother had hummed while cooking, folding laundry, brushing my hair.
Leo’s bottle slipped from Dante’s hand.
It struck the tablecloth.
Dante went completely still.
I stopped humming.
“What?”
His chair scraped backward.
“Where did you hear that?”
Every nerve in my body tightened.
“Hear what?”
“That song.”
“It isn’t really a song.”
“Where?”
“My mother used to hum it.”
Dante’s face changed.
For the first time, I saw something stronger than authority in him.
Fear.
“What is your mother’s name?”
“Why?”
“Her name.”
I stepped backward.
The bodyguards looked at Dante, not me.
“Maria Valdez.”
His eyes closed.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
“You know her.”
It was not a question.
Dante looked at Leo.
Then at me.
“How long has Maria been missing?”
My blood went cold.
I had not told him she was missing.
Eight months of police reports.
Eight months of calling hospitals.
Eight months of checking unidentified-patient databases at two in the morning.
Eight months of wondering whether my mother had walked away voluntarily or whether something terrible had happened.
“How do you know she’s missing?”
Dante rose.
“We shouldn’t discuss this here.”
“No.”
“Alina.”
“Don’t say my name like you know me.”
People nearby were pretending not to listen.
Mr. Carrillo stood near the bar looking ready to faint.
Dante lowered his voice.
“If Maria disappeared, you may be in danger.”
I laughed once.
It sounded brittle even to me.
“From whom?”
His gaze shifted toward the front windows.
“Possibly the same people she spent twenty-seven years hiding you from.”
My fingers went numb around my order pad.
“What are you talking about?”
Leo reached for me again.
This time, I did not touch him.
“Tell me how you know my mother.”
Dante hesitated.
Then he reached into his jacket.
One bodyguard murmured, “Boss.”
Dante ignored him.
He removed a worn leather wallet.
From behind several cards, he pulled a photograph.
Not a phone photograph.
A real one.
Old.
Creased.
He placed it on the white tablecloth.
My breath disappeared.
My mother stood in front of a harbor, at least twenty-five years younger, her dark hair blowing across her face.
Beside her stood Dante.
He had no silver in his hair.
No scar.
And between them was a little girl of perhaps three.
Me.
I recognized the yellow sweater because the same sweater existed in a photograph in my mother’s apartment.
Except in our copy, Dante had been cut out.
I stared at him.
“What is this?”
Dante’s voice became almost gentle.
“Your mother worked for my family.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She did more than work for us.”
My eyes went to the dragon tattoo.
My mother’s warning echoed again.
Walk the other way.
“Was she involved with you?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“Then why do you have a picture of me?”
Dante looked toward Leo.
The baby was watching me with those strange gray eyes.
“Because your mother once saved my daughter’s life.”
A chill traveled over my skin.
“And twenty-seven years later,” Dante continued, “my daughter died trying to find yours.”
I forgot how to breathe.
“What?”
“Her name was Sofia.”
His voice cracked slightly on the name.
“Sofia Rosselli. Leo’s mother.”
I looked at the baby.
The room tilted.
Dante caught my elbow.
I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand dropped.
“My mother never mentioned anyone named Sofia.”
“She was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Dante’s eyes hardened.
“From my brother.”
Before I could ask another question, the restaurant’s front window exploded.
People screamed.
Glass sprayed across white tablecloths.
Dante grabbed Leo and dropped behind the table.
His men drew weapons.
I hit the floor.
Another crack sounded from outside.
A wineglass shattered inches above my head.
Dante seized my wrist and dragged me behind the marble column.
“Stay down.”
“What’s happening?”
His expression answered before his words did.
“They found you.”
Then my phone vibrated inside my apron.
Unknown number.
I stared at the screen.
A photograph had arrived.
My mother sat tied to a chair.
Alive.
May you like
Beneath the photograph were six words.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT MARIA.
