Chapter 2 - The Fiancée Who Never Forgave
Vanessa looked at Sophia's flour-covered apron, then at the fresh pasta on the counter.
A slow smile touched her lips.
"How charming," she said. "Dante, darling, I didn't realize we'd started hiring kitchen girls as personal companions."
Sophia lowered her eyes, but Dante's expression hardened.
"She's my mother's companion. You know that."
"Of course." Vanessa removed her sunglasses. "Although I imagine Mama would be happier with someone who understands her position."
Elena appeared in the doorway, leaning on her silver-handled cane.
"I understand my position perfectly," she announced. "I'm the only person in this house who remembers when you were still asking permission to sit at the grown-ups' table."
Pierre coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.
Vanessa's smile stiffened.
"Signora Moretti, how lovely to see you looking so well."
"Then stop looking surprised."
Sophia had to bite the inside of her cheek.
Dante noticed.
For one brief second, the severity left his face.
Vanessa noticed that, too.
And she hated Sophia for it.
"Actually, Dante, we need to discuss the engagement party," Vanessa continued. "My father expects the announcement to happen at the end of the month. The invitations are already being prepared."
"Then prepare them."
"I also want the staff changed before the event. I won't have strangers wandering around while our families are negotiating a future together."
Her gaze landed on Sophia.
"Especially strangers with questionable backgrounds."
Sophia felt the insult like a slap.
"My background is perfectly respectable," she said before fear could silence her.
Vanessa turned slowly.
"Did I ask you to speak?"
"No," Sophia answered. "But you insulted me in front of everyone, so I thought I should clarify."
Silence fell over the kitchen.
Dante stared at Sophia with an expression that was almost admiration.
Vanessa's cheeks flushed.
"You have absolutely no idea who you're speaking to."
"I know exactly who you are," Sophia replied. "You're a guest in this kitchen. If you want something, Pierre can help you."
Pierre suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
Vanessa took one step toward Sophia.
Dante moved between them.
"Enough."
His voice was quiet, but the entire room seemed to shrink around it.
"Vanessa, my mother is eating again. Sophia stays."
"And what else stays?" Vanessa whispered, her eyes fixed on his face. "Your interest in her?"
Dante didn't answer quickly enough.
That was all Vanessa needed.
She turned toward the door, pausing beside Sophia.
"Enjoy your little victory. Girls like you always mistake a powerful man's attention for affection."
Then she left.
Sophia released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"That went well," Elena remarked.
Dante ignored his mother's sarcasm.
"Sophia, come to my study after dinner."
"Why?"
"Because I want to talk to you."
"About the fact that your fiancée hates me?"
"About the fact that you just challenged her in front of my entire kitchen staff."
Sophia crossed her arms.
"Would you have preferred that I apologize for existing?"
His jaw tightened.
"No."
The answer came too quickly to be calculated.
That evening, Sophia entered Dante's study and found him standing beside a wall of windows overlooking the dark water.
A photograph sat on his desk.
It showed a younger Elena standing beside a dark-haired man outside a stone farmhouse. Elena looked barely twenty. The man had one hand resting on her shoulder.
Sophia stopped.
She recognized the expression on Elena's face.
It was the same expression her grandmother used to wear whenever someone mentioned a place she had loved and lost.
"Who is he?" Sophia asked.
Dante glanced at the photograph.
"My father."
"Your father?"
"Adriano Moretti. He died when I was thirteen."
Sophia studied the image more closely.
Behind the couple, partly obscured by an old olive tree, stood another woman holding a little girl.
The girl's face was indistinct.
But the woman wore a small gold medallion shaped like a sunburst.
Sophia's heart lurched.
She had seen that medallion before.
Her grandmother had kept one in a locked wooden box for as long as Sophia could remember.
"What is it?" Dante asked.
Sophia shook her head.
"Nothing. I just thought I recognized something."
Dante picked up the photograph.
"My father was murdered. The official story was that he betrayed the family and paid for it."
"Do you believe that?"
"I believe people have spent twenty years making sure I never learn what actually happened."
He looked at her.
"And tonight, Vanessa made an interesting observation. She said you have a questionable background. My investigators couldn't find much about your mother's family. Your father has a gambling problem, but your grandmother's records are almost nonexistent."
Sophia felt the warmth drain from her face.
"My grandmother was a seamstress."
"Maybe she was."
"Are you accusing her of something?"
"No. I'm telling you that someone erased her history."
He stepped closer to the desk.
"Do you have anything that belonged to her? Letters, photographs, jewelry?"
Sophia thought of the small wooden box hidden in her apartment, beneath the loose floorboard beside her bed.
She had not opened it in years.
"My grandmother told me never to give her things to strangers," she said carefully.
Dante's mouth curved slightly.
"Wise woman."
Then his expression became serious.
"Listen to me, Sophia. Whatever your grandmother knew, someone believes it's worth killing to keep hidden."
Before she could answer, Enzo appeared at the open doorway.
His face was pale.
"Boss. We have a problem."
Dante turned.
"What?"
Enzo looked directly at Sophia.
"Someone broke into her apartment in the Bronx an hour ago."
Sophia's breath caught.
"Was anything stolen?"
"Nothing valuable," Enzo said. "No television. No money. No electronics."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"Then what were they looking for?"
Enzo swallowed.
"A wooden box, according to the neighbor. The intruder tore the place apart searching for it."
Sophia felt the floor tilt beneath her.
The box was gone.
And inside it was a photograph of her grandmother standing beside a young Elena Moretti.
May you like
But on the back of that photograph, in handwriting Sophia had never understood, were seven words that suddenly mattered more than her own life.
If Dante ever asks, tell him nothing.
