Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind the Locked Door
Margaret Collins dropped her phone.
The sound was barely audible against the murmuring crowd, but Luca heard it.
He heard everything now.
The quick, uneven breathing of the woman standing beside him.
The frightened whisper of a child asking why everyone looked upset.
And, somewhere behind the gathering guests, the sharp click of Vanessa Hart's heels as she hurried toward the ballroom exit.
“Marco.”
His security chief stepped forward.
“Boss?”
“Make sure Vanessa stays on the property until I've spoken with her.”
Marco hesitated.
“Is there a problem?”
Luca held up the photograph.
“There's been a problem for seven years.”
He turned toward Margaret.
“Mrs. Collins, I need you to tell me the truth.”
Margaret looked at Lily.
The little girl was still standing beside the piano, holding the melting ice against her cheek.
“Not in front of her,” Margaret whispered.
Luca looked at the child.
For the first time that evening, he saw more than Isabella's eyes.
He saw a little girl who had been slapped, frightened, and surrounded by strangers.
A child who had done nothing wrong.
He knelt.
“Lily, would you like some hot chocolate?”
She considered the question seriously.
“With marshmallows?”
“However many you want.”
“Mommy only lets me have three.”
Something painful moved through his chest.
“Then three it is.”
He asked one of the older housekeepers, Rosa, to take Lily into the adjoining breakfast room. Margaret remained where Lily could see her.
Only after the child disappeared did Luca speak again.
“Tell me about Anna Parker.”
Margaret pressed her hands together.
“I've known her for almost seven years.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“At St. Catherine's Rehabilitation Center. I worked there as a nursing assistant.”
Luca's eyes narrowed.
“Rehabilitation?”
“She had suffered a traumatic brain injury. She couldn't remember her name. She could barely speak when I first met her.”
“Who brought her there?”
“I don't know. She was transferred from another medical facility. Her paperwork identified her as Anna Parker.”
“Who gave her that name?”
Margaret swallowed.
“I never found out.”
Luca studied her face.
“You're hiding something.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
The admission surprised him.
Margaret wiped her eyes.
“But not what you think.”
“Then explain.”
“About six months after Anna came to the center, she discovered she was pregnant. She was terrified. She couldn't remember a husband or a family. She didn't know where she belonged.”
Luca felt his heartbeat stumble.
Six months.
Pregnant.
Isabella had supposedly died seven years and eight months ago.
“Who was the father?”
“She didn't know.”
Margaret looked away.
“After Lily was born, Anna started remembering little things. A white piano. A garden with roses. A man with gray eyes.”
Luca gripped the back of a chair.
“She remembered me?”
“Not your name.”
Margaret's voice trembled.
“She remembered loving someone. And being afraid that someone had died.”
Luca turned toward the piano.
For seven years, he had believed Isabella had been taken from him.
What if Isabella had spent those same years believing he was dead?
“Why didn't you contact the police?”
“I did. More than once. There was no missing-person match under the name on her records. When she became well enough, Anna didn't want more investigations. She wanted a quiet life for her daughter.”
“Did she ever tell you her real name?”
“No.”
“Did she remember anything about the accident?”
Margaret's expression changed.
“Sometimes she has nightmares.”
“About what?”
“A car. Rain. Someone telling her not to look back.”
Luca went cold.
“Who?”
“She never sees the person's face.”
Margaret hesitated.
“But three weeks ago, she remembered another name.”
Luca waited.
“Ferrante.”
The word seemed to strike him directly in the chest.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know who you were until tonight. I took this catering job to help pay for Anna's medical bills. When I learned it was a Ferrante event, I thought it might mean something. I brought Lily because Anna was having a difficult day and had agreed that Lily could come with me.”
Margaret looked toward the breakfast room.
“I never expected that piano.”
Luca stared at her.
“Where is Isabella?”
Margaret flinched at the name.
“Anna lives in a small house in Tarrytown.”
“I want to see her.”
“Mr. Ferrante—”
“Tonight.”
“She has episodes of confusion. Sudden emotional shocks can trigger severe headaches. Her neurologist has warned us.”
Luca closed his eyes.
He wanted to run.
He wanted to tear through every locked door between himself and the woman in the photograph.
But Margaret's warning stopped him.
He had already lost Isabella once.
He would not risk hurting her because he couldn't control his desperation.
“Call her,” he said quietly. “Ask whether she's willing to meet someone who may know her past.”
Margaret retrieved her phone.
Before she could dial, Marco returned.
“Boss. Vanessa left through the service entrance. Her driver picked her up.”
Luca looked at him.
“I told you to keep her here.”
“She was gone before I reached the door.”
Luca's expression darkened.
“Find out where she went.”
Marco nodded.
Then added, “There's something else.”
“What?”
“Security says Vanessa was making a phone call near the west terrace after the girl started playing.”
“To whom?”
“We're checking.”
Luca looked at Margaret.
“Make the call.”
She dialed.
It rang six times.
Then a woman's voice answered.
“Margaret?”
Luca stopped breathing.
Seven years vanished.
The ballroom.
The guests.
The bloodless expression on Marco's face.
Everything disappeared except that voice.
Soft.
Familiar.
Alive.
“Anna,” Margaret said gently. “Lily is safe. She's having hot chocolate.”
“Why are you calling so late?”
Margaret glanced at Luca.
“Something happened at the party.”
“Is Lily hurt?”
“Someone frightened her, but she's all right now.”
Luca closed his eyes.
The voice on the phone sharpened with maternal fear.
“Margaret, tell me what happened.”
Margaret hesitated.
“There's a man here who thinks he might know you.”
Silence.
Then:
“What man?”
Margaret looked at Luca.
He took a step closer.
“May I?” he whispered.
She held out the phone.
Luca lifted it to his ear.
His hand was shaking.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was no response.
Then the woman whispered:
“Who is this?”
Luca's throat tightened.
“Isabella?”
The line went silent.
He heard a faint gasp.
Something struck the floor on the other end.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Isabella, please.”
Then came a sound he would remember for the rest of his life.
A woman sobbing.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just one broken breath.
And then she whispered:
“Luca?”
His knees nearly gave way.
“Yes.”
A long silence followed.
Then she said something that turned his blood cold.
“They told me you were dead.”
The call disconnected.
Twenty-eight minutes later, Luca's armored SUV turned onto a quiet residential street in Tarrytown.
Margaret sat in the passenger seat.
Lily was asleep beside Luca, her small head resting against a folded blanket.
Marco followed in a second vehicle.
They stopped in front of a modest white house with blue shutters.
The house from the photograph.
Luca stared through the windshield.
A porch light glowed above the front door.
A child's bicycle leaned against the fence.
Small flowerpots lined the steps.
Isabella had once lived in a mansion with thirty-two rooms.
Now she lived here.
And somehow, the sight of that tiny house hurt him more than anything else.
Margaret turned.
“Please remember what I told you.”
Luca nodded.
“I won't force her to remember.”
He gently woke Lily.
“Sweetheart, we're home.”
Lily blinked.
Then smiled.
“Mommy!”
She scrambled out of the vehicle with Margaret's help and ran toward the porch.
The front door opened.
A woman stepped into the light.
Long dark-brown hair.
Emerald-green eyes.
A delicate face Luca knew better than his own.
She wore a pale cardigan over a simple cotton dress.
She looked older.
Thinner.
There was a faint scar near her hairline.
But she was unmistakably Isabella.
Luca stepped out of the car.
The woman saw him.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Lily ran into her arms.
“Mommy! The nice man brought me home!”
Isabella held her daughter tightly.
But her eyes never left Luca.
He approached slowly.
Every step felt unreal.
“Isabella.”
Her lips trembled.
She shook her head.
“No.”
He stopped.
“It's me.”
“No,” she whispered again. “You can't be.”
Luca felt tears burning behind his eyes.
“I'm here.”
She took one step backward.
Then another.
Lily looked between them.
“Mommy?”
Isabella pressed a hand against her temple.
“I remember your voice.”
Luca didn't move.
“I remember your eyes.”
Her breathing quickened.
“And I remember blood.”
Margaret rushed forward.
“Anna, sweetheart, sit down.”
But Isabella was staring past Luca now.
At the second vehicle.
At Marco.
At the dark street.
Suddenly, her expression transformed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Terror.
She seized Lily's hand.
“Get inside.”
“Mommy?”
“Now!”
Luca stepped forward.
“Isabella, what's wrong?”
She looked directly into his eyes.
May you like
And screamed:
“Don't trust your family! They're the ones who tried to kill us!”
