Chapter 2 - The Secret in Her Background
I stared at my manager.
"Impossible how?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. They wouldn't tell me."
"Then tell them I'm not coming."
"Olivia, please." His voice cracked. "You don't understand who you're dealing with."
I looked through the restaurant's glass doors.
The two men beside the SUV hadn't moved. One was watching the entrance while the other checked his phone.
I'd spent most of my adult life avoiding trouble. I paid my rent late sometimes, worked holidays, skipped meals when money was tight, and never got involved in anyone else's business.
The last thing I needed was trouble with a Mafia boss.
But before I could make another excuse, one of the men entered.
"Miss Marshall?"
I nodded cautiously.
"My name is Vincent. Mr. Moretti has requested your presence."
"Requested?"
Vincent glanced at my manager.
"He's waiting."
I swallowed.
"Can I at least finish my shift?"
"No."
Something about his expression told me that arguing wouldn't change anything.
Five minutes later, I was sitting inside the black SUV, gripping my handbag while Manhattan passed outside the tinted windows.
Vincent sat opposite me.
"Is Mr. Moretti angry?" I asked.
"No."
"Then why does everyone look like I'm being taken to my execution?"
He almost smiled.
"Because you're the first person in seven years to touch Orion without losing a hand."
I stared at him.
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
The SUV eventually stopped outside a magnificent stone mansion overlooking the Hudson River.
Two security gates opened before we reached them.
Inside, everything looked expensive enough to make me afraid to breathe.
Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Paintings that probably cost more than my entire apartment building.
Then I heard barking.
A huge black shape came racing across the entrance hall.
"Orion!"
The dog stopped directly in front of me.
His tail began wagging furiously.
Before I could react, he pushed his enormous head against my stomach and nearly knocked me backward.
"Oh, hello again, handsome!"
I laughed, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck.
For the first time since entering the mansion, the guards relaxed.
At the top of the staircase stood Dante Moretti.
He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His expression was unreadable.
"Interesting," he said.
I straightened.
"Your dog seems happy to see me."
"He hasn't been happy to see anyone."
"Maybe he needs more friends."
Dante descended the stairs slowly.
"Orion was trained to recognize threats before they reach me. He doesn't accept affection from strangers."
"Well, apparently he didn't read his training manual."
One of the guards coughed, seemingly hiding a laugh.
Dante ignored him.
"Sit down, Miss Marshall."
He led me into a private study.
A folder lay open on his desk.
My name was printed across the front.
I immediately felt uncomfortable.
"Why have you been investigating me?"
"Because my dog hasn't eaten since you left."
"That's not my fault."
"No. But it is unusual."
He opened the folder.
"Olivia Marshall. Twenty-six. Born in Queens. Raised in foster care after your mother died. No father listed on your birth certificate. No criminal record. No known relatives."
My stomach tightened.
"That's private."
"Normally, I would agree."
He turned a photograph toward me.
It showed a little girl with light brown hair sitting on a hospital bed.
I stopped breathing.
I knew that photograph.
It was my mother.
She looked younger, thinner, but unmistakably herself.
"Where did you get that?"
Dante studied my expression.
"From a box of documents belonging to my late father."
I looked at him.
"What does my mother have to do with your family?"
He slid another photograph across the desk.
This one showed a young woman holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket.
I recognized the woman immediately.
My mother.
But the baby wasn't me.
There was a handwritten note on the back.
For my son, who must never know what happened that night.
My hands began shaking.
"Who is the baby?"
Dante's expression hardened.
"That's what I've been trying to determine."
He looked toward the doorway.
"Bring him in."
A silver-haired man entered carrying a small wooden box.
Dante opened it.
Inside was an old photograph, a hospital bracelet, and a faded letter.
He placed the bracelet in front of me.
My name wasn't written on it.
Instead, there was a surname I had never seen before.
Moretti.
I looked up.
Dante's gray eyes had become frighteningly cold.
"Miss Marshall, I believe your mother knew my family long before you were born."
Then he said something that made my entire world collapse.
"She was the last person to hold my younger brother alive."
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And suddenly, I understood why he had called my background impossible.
My mother had been officially declared dead before the hospital records said I was born.
