Chapter 5 - THE CHILD IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
The warehouse became strangely quiet.
Richard Vale watched the television with a satisfied expression.
“Interesting, isn't it?”
I couldn't take my eyes off the photograph.
The little girl appeared to be around five years old.
Dark brown hair.
Blue eyes.
A small scar above her left eyebrow.
And a silver pendant around her neck.
I recognized that pendant.
It had belonged to my mother.
I had given it away years earlier.
To a child.
A child I had been told had died.
“Who is she?” I whispered.
Vale switched off the television.
“Someone who should never have existed.”
He motioned toward the guards.
“Get her into the vehicle.”
I struggled as they pulled me upright.
“Tell me who that girl is!”
Vale turned.
“Your sister.”
My world stopped.
I had grown up believing I was an only child.
My mother had died when I was seventeen. My father had disappeared long before that. There had never been another child in our home.
“That isn't possible.”
“Your mother gave birth to another daughter. She was taken into protective custody after your father's death.”
“Why?”
“Because your father worked for people who didn't forgive betrayal.”
Vale opened the warehouse door.
“Your family has been connected to the Rossi organization far longer than you realize.”
I was shoved into the back of an SUV.
During the drive, I kept thinking about the pendant.
My mother had worn it every day until the night she died.
It contained a tiny photograph of our family.
I had never seen another copy.
Now a little girl was wearing it.
And Taylor Rossi had recognized her.
That was why he had looked frightened.
Not because Margaret had appeared on television.
Because of the child.
The SUV stopped outside a private airport.
Vale climbed into the vehicle beside me.
“Your sister is being moved tonight. Once she arrives in New York, everything becomes much easier.”
“You're going to use her against Taylor.”
“I'm going to use her against everyone.”
I looked at him.
“Why does Taylor care about her?”
Vale smiled.
“Ask him.”
The vehicle began moving again.
Then the driver suddenly slammed on the brakes.
A black motorcycle appeared in front of us.
The passenger window shattered.
A man in a dark jacket reached inside and pulled me toward the broken glass.
I screamed.
The next seconds were chaos.
Gunshots.
Shouting.
The smell of burning rubber.
Someone dragged me across the pavement.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying behind a concrete barrier.
A familiar voice spoke.
“Alex.”
I turned.
Vincent Gallow.
Taylor's right-hand man.
He held a pistol in one hand and pressed a blood-soaked cloth against his other arm.
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving your life.”
“Where's Vale?”
“Gone.”
“Isabella?”
“Alive. We found her an hour ago.”
I tried to stand.
Vincent stopped me.
“You need to listen.”
“I need answers.”
“You'll get them.”
“Who is that little girl?”
His expression changed.
“Her name is Sophie.”
I stared at him.
“Who is she?”
Vincent looked away.
Then he said something I wasn't prepared to hear.
“She's Taylor's daughter.”
My knees nearly gave way.
“That is impossible.”
“Taylor didn't know about her.”
I shook my head.
“Why would Margaret have her?”
“Because your mother was the person who delivered her to Margaret's family before she died.”
I couldn't breathe.
My mother.
Taylor's daughter.
My sister.
The pieces began moving inside my mind.
But one question remained.
“How did my mother know Taylor?”
Vincent looked directly at me.
“Because your mother worked for his father.”
Before I could ask another question, a second vehicle pulled alongside us.
The rear door opened.
Taylor stepped out.
His suit was torn.
His knuckles were bruised.
And his eyes were fixed on me.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he approached.
“Alex.”
I stepped backward.
“Don't.”
His jaw tightened.
“You're coming with me.”
“No.”
“Vale is hunting you.”
“I'd rather die than return to your penthouse.”
His expression cracked.
“I know.”
That answer stopped me.
Taylor glanced toward Vincent.
“Tell her.”
Vincent lowered his head.
“Tell me what?” I demanded.
Taylor looked at me.
“Sophie isn't the only person Vale has been hiding.”
He reached into his jacket and removed a photograph.
It showed a woman standing beside a hospital bed.
A woman with my mother's face.
Beneath the photograph was a date.
May you like
Six months after the funeral I had attended.
My mother had never died.
