Chapter 2 - THE SISTER IN THE SHADOWS
“Elena,” Clara whispered again, her fingers trembling as she stared at the silver pendant resting against the little boy’s pale-blue sweater.
Rico Moretti did not blink. The air in the restaurant had gone completely dead. Even the clinking of silverware in the kitchen had stopped. “Say that name again,” Rico said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, hollow register. “Look me in the eye and say my dead wife’s name again.”
Clara stood up, forcing her knees to lock so she wouldn’t collapse. She met his gaze. Up close, Rico’s eyes weren’t just cold; they were shattered. The grief of a widower was something Clara understood entirely too well.
“It’s not just a name,” Clara said, her voice steadying despite the adrenaline flooding her veins. “That pendant. It has a tiny diagonal scratch across the front. And on the back, there is an engraving: Two vines, one root.”
Rico flinched. It was a microscopic movement, a tightening of his jaw, but Clara saw it. He knew the engraving.
“How do you know that?” Rico demanded, stepping so close she could smell the crisp cedar of his cologne. Dante, the massive head of security, shifted his weight, his hand resting casually near his jacket. “Elena’s jewelry was locked away. That necklace was the only thing she kept on her when she died. Who are you?”
“I gave it to her,” Clara said, the truth tumbling out before her common sense could stop it. “Seven years ago. For her twenty-first birthday.”
Rico stared at her, processing the impossible. “Elena didn’t have anyone. Her family died in a fire in Chicago when she was a teenager. She was an only child.”
Clara felt a bitter smile touch her lips. “She told you that because she promised me she would. We promised each other.” She looked down at Leo, who was watching her with wide, quiet eyes. “Elena was my older sister. And she lied to you to protect me from the world you live in.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. Rico looked from Clara’s face to the face of his son. The resemblance was there, buried in the shape of Clara’s jaw and the soft brown of her eyes. It was why Leo had stopped screaming. It was why the boy had reached out. Leo didn’t see a waitress. He saw the ghost of the mother he missed.
“You’re lying,” Rico said, though his voice lacked its previous iron.
Before Clara could answer, a sharp scuffle broke out near the coat check. Dante spun around. Marco, the restaurant manager, was pinned against the mahogany counter by one of Dante’s men. A shattered cell phone lay on the marble floor.
“He was texting, Boss,” the security guard said, dragging a struggling Marco toward the table. “Trying to delete a message.”
Rico didn’t look at Marco. He kept his eyes locked on Clara. “What message?”
Dante scooped up the cracked phone. He swiped the screen, his expression darkening into a scowl that made Marco whimper. Dante looked up, his eyes meeting Rico’s. “It said: She found the boy. Tell him.”
Clara’s blood ran cold. She found the boy. They meant her. Someone had recognized her.
Rico finally turned to the manager. Marco was sweating profusely, his knees buckling. “Mr. Moretti, I swear, I was just—”
“Who is him?” Rico asked gently. It was the gentleness of a predator.
Marco squeezed his eyes shut. “You don’t understand. He said he just wanted to keep an eye on the boy. To make sure he was safe.”
“Marco,” Rico whispered, stepping away from Clara. “Who did you text?”
“Your uncle,” Marco sobbed. “Silas.”
Rico froze. Clara saw the color drain from the untouchable mob boss’s face. Silas Moretti was Rico’s mentor, his blood, the man who had raised him after his father died.
Dante didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Rico’s shoulder. “Boss. If Silas knows she’s here, and he has men watching this place… we need to move. Now.”
Rico looked at the shattered phone, then at his three-year-old son, and finally at Clara. The rules of his world had just fractured. He reached out and grabbed Clara’s wrist, his grip like a steel vise.
“Hey!” Clara yelled, trying to pull back.
“You’re coming with us,” Rico ordered, scooping Leo into his other arm.
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“I have a life! I have a shift!”
“If Silas knows who you are, your life ended the minute you walked up to this table,” Rico said, dragging her toward the kitchen exit. He looked back at her, his eyes blazing with a terrifying promise. “My wife is dead. I am not losing her sister tonight.”
