Chapter 5 - Luca MorettiI didn't believe him.
I couldn't.
Luca Moretti had supposedly died seven years ago.
Yet Dante was telling me his brother stood outside my apartment.
My apartment.
The place where I thought I was safe.
I suddenly felt sick.
“What does he want?”
Dante picked up his gun.
“That is what we're going to find out.”
We left immediately.
The convoy moved through the city like a silent blade.
I sat beside Dante.
Neither of us spoke.
Matteo remained at the estate.
For once, Dante's men had convinced him not to follow.
When we reached my building, everything looked normal.
Too normal.
The street was empty.
My neighbor's window was open.
A bicycle leaned against the fence.
A newspaper lay near the steps.
Then I saw him.
Across the street.
Black coat.
Dark hair.
Scar above his eyebrow.
Luca Moretti.
He looked directly at me.
My breath caught.
Dante stepped out of the car.
“Luca.”
His brother smiled.
“Hello, Dante.”
Then the entire street disappeared.
Only those two men existed.
“You're alive.”
“You're disappointed?”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“You watched my son.”
“I watched many things.”
“Why?”
Luca looked at me.
Then back at Dante.
“Because she was supposed to die.”
I froze.
Dante moved.
His gun appeared instantly.
“Say that again.”
Luca smiled.
“She wasn't supposed to survive.”
Dante aimed directly at him.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Why was she there?”
Luca's gaze returned to me.
“Ask her.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Dante turned toward me.
Luca took one step backward.
“She remembers.”
“What does she remember?”
Luca smiled.
“You haven't asked the right question.”
Then a car exploded at the intersection.
The blast threw everyone to the ground.
I hit the pavement.
Dante covered me with his body.
Glass rained from nearby windows.
Smoke filled the street.
Men shouted.
Gunfire erupted.
Dante grabbed my arm.
“Run!”
We sprinted toward the SUV.
Behind us, Luca disappeared.
Dante's men fired into the smoke.
But he was gone.
Inside the SUV, I couldn't breathe.
Dante stared at me.
“You knew him.”
“No.”
“You reacted before he said your name.”
“I didn't know him.”
“Then how did you recognize him?”
“I don't know.”
He leaned closer.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes became harder.
“Look at me.”
I did.
He searched my face.
Then he whispered:
“You've seen Luca before.”
“No.”
“Then why are you afraid of him?”
I couldn't answer.
Because the truth was beginning to surface.
A memory.
Seven years ago.
A rainy night.
A hospital corridor.
A man with blood on his shirt.
A little boy crying.
And me standing nearby.
I closed my eyes.
Dante noticed.
“What did you remember?”
I opened my eyes.
“I don't know.”
“Try.”
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“No!”
The word burst from me.
The SUV went silent.
Tears burned my eyes.
“I don't remember.”
Dante sat back.
For the first time, he looked less like a mafia boss and more like a man trying to solve the death of someone he loved.
“What happened seven years ago?”
“I don't know.”
He stared at me.
Then he said something that made my blood freeze.
“Because seven years ago…”
He placed a photograph in my lap.
It showed a hospital corridor.
A young woman.
Standing beside a bed.
The woman was me.
My hands went numb.
“No.”
May you like
Dante whispered:
“That woman is wearing your face.”
