Chương 1 - THE WAY THE BABY KNEW ME
Leo reached for me with both hands.
Not the necklace.
Not the menu.
Me.
His little fingers opened and closed urgently, his body leaning so far out of Dante Rosselli’s arms that Dante had to tighten his hold.
The restaurant noticed.
Of course it did.
Aurelia noticed when a fork fell at table twelve.
It definitely noticed when the most feared man in Boston suddenly looked confused by a nine-month-old baby.
“Leo.”
Dante’s voice was quiet.
The baby ignored him.
His gray eyes stayed on me.
Then he made a sound.
“Na.”
I stopped.
The room stopped with me.
Dante looked down at his son.
“What did you say?”
Leo reached harder.
“Na.”
My skin prickled.
It was nothing.
Baby noise.
One syllable.
Random.
Except my mother had called me Lena.
And the last thing she had said before disappearing eight months ago was:
If you ever see men with dragons on their skin, Lena, you walk the other way.
I stepped back.
Leo began to cry.
Not loudly.
Worse.
A broken, confused cry.
Like I was abandoning him.
Dante’s face changed.
He shifted Leo against his chest.
“Easy.”
The baby fought him.
“Na!”
Every eye in the restaurant seemed fixed on us.
Mr. Carrillo appeared beside me.
“Alina.”
His voice had that warning tone managers used when waitresses accidentally became the center of organized crime mythology.
“I’m getting the wine.”
I turned.
Leo screamed.
Full volume now.
The jazz trio stumbled.
A woman near the bar gasped.
Dante stood.
“Wait.”
I froze.
His bodyguards did not move.
They did not need to.
The entire restaurant obeyed that voice.
Dante looked at me.
“Have you met my son?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I don’t need to.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I’ve never seen him in my life.”
Leo stretched one arm toward me, tears running down his cheeks.
Dante studied my face.
Then my name tag.
“Alina Valdez.”
“Yes.”
“Who calls you Lena?”
My blood went cold.
No one moved.
I heard the bass player adjust one string across the room.
I swallowed.
“My mother.”
Something changed in Dante’s expression.
Fast.
Gone almost before I caught it.
“What is her name?”
I stared.
“That’s a strange question.”
“What is her name?”
My fear turned into anger.
“Maria Valdez.”
Dante stopped breathing.
Not metaphorically.
I saw it.
His chest went still.
One of the bodyguards looked at him.
The other looked at me.
Then Dante said a name I had not heard in years.
“Marisol.”
I felt the floor tilt.
“What?”
His eyes remained on mine.
“Your mother ever use the name Marisol?”
I could not answer.
Because she had.
Not publicly.
Not often.
When I was little, one old Christmas card arrived addressed to Marisol Vega.
My mother had torn it in half before I could read the return address.
When I asked, she said:
People make mistakes.
After that, we moved.
I had been eleven.
Dante saw the answer in my face.
He sat back down slowly.
Leo’s crying softened.
“Bring her a chair.”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
One bodyguard moved anyway.
I held up my hand.
“I’m working.”
Dante looked around the restaurant.
“Not anymore tonight.”
My anger sharpened.
“You don’t employ me.”
Mr. Carrillo appeared.
“Alina, take the chair.”
I turned on him.
“You cannot be serious.”
His face had gone pale.
“Please.”
There was fear in his eyes.
Not for his restaurant.
For me.
I looked back at Dante.
He seemed tired again.
Dangerous, yes.
But tired.
Leo whimpered.
Then reached.
I hated that a baby made the decision.
I sat.
Not close enough to touch Dante.
Close enough for Leo.
The baby immediately lunged.
Dante stopped him.
His gaze met mine.
“May he?”
I blinked.
That question surprised me.
He could apparently make an entire restaurant rearrange itself but asked before handing me a child.
“Yes.”
Dante passed Leo carefully.
The moment Leo reached my arms, he stopped crying.
Completely.
He pressed his face against my chest.
One tiny fist caught in my apron.
Then he sighed.
Like he had found something.
My heart did something painful.
“Oh,” I whispered.
Leo smelled like baby soap and warm milk.
He touched my necklace.
Then ignored it.
His hand moved to my face.
My cheek.
My nose.
My hairline.
Exploring.
Searching.
Dante watched every movement.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That is clearly not nothing.”
His jaw tightened.
“He does that with one person.”
“Who?”
Dante looked at Leo.
“His mother.”
My arms went cold.
I nearly stood.
Leo tightened his fist in my apron.
“I’m not his mother.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His eyes sharpened.
“Yes.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
He did not answer.
I looked down at Leo.
There was a faint birthmark behind his left ear.
Half moon.
My breath stopped.
No.
Impossible.
I touched my own neck.
The mark was hidden beneath my hair.
Same place.
Same shape.
My mother called it our moon.
She had one too.
I felt suddenly sick.
Dante noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His expression hardened.
“You are bad at lying.”
“So are you.”
The bodyguard nearest him nearly reacted.
Dante did not.
Instead he looked at my neck.
I turned my face away.
Too late.
He saw me touch the spot.
“What is there?”
I stood.
Leo protested.
“I need to work.”
Dante stood too.
“Alina.”
“No.”
I handed Leo back.
He began crying instantly.
The sound tore through me.
I hated that.
I hated all of it.
“I said I’ve never seen him.”
Dante took his son.
“I believe you.”
“That makes one thing.”
“But you know something.”
I grabbed my order pad.
“I know my table needs wine.”
“Marisol Vega.”
I stopped.
The name sat between us.
My mother’s hidden name.
I turned slowly.
“What do you know about her?”
Dante’s face became unreadable.
“How long has she been gone?”
Eight months.
I had never said she was missing.
My skin went cold.
“How do you know she’s gone?”
One of his men looked away.
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Alina.”
“Tell me how you know.”
The restaurant had returned to fake conversation.
Nobody was actually listening to their dates.
Every person within twenty feet was listening to us.
Dante looked around.
Then at the owner.
“Private room.”
The owner moved instantly.
I did not.
“I’m not going anywhere private with you.”
Dante’s expression did not change.
“Good.”
That surprised me.
“We’ll talk here.”
He sat again.
So did his guards.
Leo cried against his shoulder.
Dante rubbed his back.
I remained standing.
“Your mother contacted me nine months ago.”
I forgot how to breathe.
“What?”
“She called a number almost no one has.”
“Why?”
“She asked for protection.”
My knees weakened.
I sat.
“What kind of protection?”
Dante looked at Leo.
“For him.”
I stared.
“For your son?”
“Yes.”
“What does my mother have to do with your baby?”
Dante’s face turned harder.
“She delivered him.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Not as a doctor.”
I shook my head.
“My mother is a home health aide.”
“Now.”
“What do you mean now?”
“Marisol Vega was a nurse.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She never went to nursing school.”
“She did.”
“You’re lying.”
“I have records.”
My chest tightened.
“Why would she lie about that?”
Dante’s eyes held mine.
“Because twenty-six years ago she worked for my family.”
I stood again.
This time the chair nearly fell.
Dante did not move.
“My mother told me to stay away from men with dragon tattoos.”
His hand lifted unconsciously toward the ink at his neck.
“She told me people with that mark were dangerous.”
“She was right.”
The honesty stunned me.
“You have one.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would she call you for help?”
Dante looked toward the window.
Rain had started.
Boston traffic moved beyond the glass.
“Because she knew I was not the man she was afraid of.”
“Who was?”
A pause.
Dante’s face changed.
“My brother.”
I stared.
“Your brother?”
“Matteo.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
The word came flat.
Not grief-free.
Grief-controlled.
“How?”
“Five years ago.”
“That doesn’t answer how.”
“No.”
I hated that he could make a refusal sound like a locked door.
“What does any of this have to do with Leo?”
Dante looked down at his son.
For the first time, fear appeared.
Real fear.
“Leo’s mother disappeared the night he was born.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Her name is Sofia.”
“Your wife?”
“No.”
His voice became quieter.
“She was my niece.”
The world stopped.
“Your niece?”
“Matteo’s daughter.”
I stared at the baby in his arms.
“You’re not his father.”
“Legally, I am his guardian.”
“But everyone calls him your son.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it keeps him alive.”
I sat back down.
Nothing made sense.
Dante continued.
“Sofia came to me seven months pregnant. She said someone had been watching her.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“She had Leo two months later?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A safe apartment.”
“My mother delivered him.”
“Yes.”
“How did she know Sofia?”
Dante looked at me.
“That is what Marisol refused to tell me.”
My pulse raced.
“What happened after?”
“Sofia vanished six hours after Leo was born.”
“Vanished how?”
“No forced entry.”
“No note?”
“One.”
He took out his phone.
Opened a photograph.
A handwritten note.
KEEP HIM AWAY FROM THE DRAGON.
I felt sick.
My mother’s warning.
Same language.
“Which dragon?”
“That was the problem.”
Dante looked at the tattoo at his neck.
“The symbol belongs to my family.”
“All of you?”
“Men initiated into the old organization.”
“So Sofia could have meant anyone.”
“Yes.”
“Then why keep Leo with you?”
“Because Marisol handed him to me.”
My chest tightened.
“What did my mother say?”
Dante’s eyes did not leave mine.
“She said, ‘If I disappear, find Lena.’”
I stopped breathing.
The restaurant dissolved around me.
Noise.
Light.
Music.
Gone.
My mother had known this man.
Known this baby.
Known I would somehow matter.
“What else?”
Dante hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“She said Leo would recognize you.”
My hands went cold.
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so.”
Leo turned his head.
Saw me.
Reached again.
Quietly this time.
“Na.”
I looked at Dante.
“What did my mother do to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she show him pictures of me?”
“Possibly.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
His phone vibrated.
He looked down.
His face changed.
“What?”
He stood.
The bodyguards stood too.
Dante showed me the screen.
A photograph had just arrived from an unknown number.
My mother.
Maria.
Marisol.
Alive.
Standing beside a Boston newspaper dated that morning.
My hands began shaking.
Below the image was one sentence.
BRING LENA TO PIER NINE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO SHE REALLY IS.
I stared.
Dante took the phone back.
“No.”
“What?”
“You’re not going.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“That is my mother.”
“It’s a trap.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
His eyes hardened.
“Because Pier Nine belongs to a man who should have been dead for five years.”
My stomach turned.
“Your brother?”
Dante looked at Leo.
Then at me.
“No.”
May you like
His voice dropped.
“Your father.”
