Chapter 2 - The Heiress Who Was Already Buried
Emergency lights came on three seconds later.
Dante already had his gun in his hand.
"Doors."
Marco and the guards moved instantly.
One covered the rear corridor.
Another checked the elevator.
Luca remained beside Mara.
She had crouched behind the salon chair, wrapped in her own enormous hair like armor.
"Nobody gets in or out," Dante ordered.
Marco checked the security tablet.
"Camera feed is dead."
"Building?"
"Only this floor."
Dante looked toward the ceiling.
Someone had known exactly where Mara was.
Someone had known the private number.
And someone had known the story they had barely begun uncovering.
That narrowed the possibilities in ways Dante did not like.
Mara slowly stood.
"You said I could leave."
Dante turned.
"I did."
"Then unlock the door."
"No."
Her expression hardened.
"You lied."
"Someone just threatened to kill you."
"Maybe because you brought me here."
"Possible."
"Then I'm safer outside."
"No."
"That's not your decision."
Dante hated that she was right.
He also knew he would rather have her hate him alive than forgive him dead.
"You can hate me until sunrise," he said. "After that, I'll open the door myself."
"You don't own me."
"No."
"Then stop acting like it."
"I'm acting like someone who doesn't intend to watch another Bellacorte daughter die."
Mara froze.
"Another?"
Dante realized what he had said.
The Bellacorte family tragedy had not ended with Serena.
Her mother, Helena, died two years after the boating accident.
Official cause: overdose.
Her father, Charles, died of a heart attack four years later.
Her older brother, Julian, disappeared from public life and took control of the family holding company through trustees.
Three years later, he sold half the empire and moved to Switzerland.
At least, that was the public story.
Dante had never trusted it.
Mara noticed the silence.
"What happened to them?"
Dante holstered his gun.
"Your—Serena's mother died."
"How?"
"Overdose."
Mara looked sick.
"And her father?"
"Heart attack."
"Brother?"
"Alive, as far as anyone knows."
"Where?"
"Europe."
Mara stared at the old photograph again.
The family she did not remember looked back at her.
For the first time, she touched Serena's face.
Her fingertip trembled.
"I don't feel anything."
"You don't have to."
"I should."
"If you're her."
Mara looked at him sharply.
Dante nodded.
"We don't decide this because of a birthmark and a necklace."
"Then what?"
"DNA."
She laughed once without humor.
"Of course."
"You don't have to do it."
"Somebody threatened to kill me because they think I'm her. That seems like a reason."
Dante looked at Marco.
"Call Dr. Keller."
Marco hesitated.
"He retired."
"Call him anyway."
Dr. Samuel Keller had performed discreet medical work for families like Dante's for thirty years.
He asked no questions.
More importantly, he could be trusted.
Or Dante had once believed so.
Tonight, he trusted almost no one.
While they waited, Luca offered to wash a small section of Mara's hair.
She refused at first.
Then she looked at the filthy strands covering her body.
"What would you have to do?"
"Nothing drastic," Luca said. "No cutting unless you tell me. I'll work slowly. One section."
"Why?"
"Because your scalp could be infected. Because there might be injuries under this. And because carrying this much tangled weight probably hurts."
Mara stared at him.
"You noticed?"
Luca gave her a faint smile.
"I'm a stylist. Hair is literally my job."
For the first time, Mara relaxed around someone.
"One section."
Luca nodded.
Dante moved to the far side of the room to give her privacy.
Mara noticed that too.
He pretended he did not.
As Luca worked, Dante and Marco searched old Bellacorte records from secure archives.
The official accident report said Serena had been aboard the family yacht, Celestine, with two crewmen and one security officer.
A storm warning had been issued.
The yacht struck something six miles offshore.
Three bodies were recovered.
Serena's came last.
Identification had relied on dental records because of prolonged exposure.
Dante stared at the report.
"Who signed the identification?"
Marco scrolled.
"Dr. Malcolm Avery."
Dante knew the name.
Avery had been the Bellacorte family physician.
He died seven years ago.
Convenient.
"What about DNA?"
"None."
"Why?"
"Report says dental confirmation was sufficient."
Dante leaned back.
Twelve years ago, powerful families could make uncomfortable questions disappear.
His own family had done worse.
"Find the autopsy."
"Already trying."
Behind them, Luca suddenly said, "Mara?"
Everyone turned.
He had cleaned one section behind her left ear.
A thin scar was visible.
Not random.
Surgical.
Mara reached toward it.
"What is that?"
Luca stopped her hand gently.
"Old incision."
Dante approached.
"How old?"
"I can't tell. Years."
Mara looked alarmed.
"Why would I have surgery there?"
Dante thought about memory loss.
"Head injury?"
Luca frowned.
"Possible."
Mara's fingers moved through the newly cleaned hair.
Then she felt something else.
A tiny hard ridge beneath her scalp.
She winced.
"Ow."
Luca leaned closer.
"Don't touch it."
"What?"
"I'm not sure."
Dante crouched beside the chair.
"Could it be metal?"
Luca looked at him.
"Maybe."
Mara went still.
The front elevator chimed.
Every gun came out.
Marco checked the hallway monitor.
"Dr. Keller."
Dante exhaled.
"Let him in."
Keller entered carrying a black medical bag.
Seventy years old.
Silver hair.
Calm eyes.
He looked at Mara.
Then at Dante.
"Your message was unusually dramatic."
"Take blood."
"Whose comparison sample?"
Dante had already thought of that.
The Bellacorte estate had maintained medical records.
But getting a clean family DNA reference might take days.
Then Keller surprised him.
"I treated Helena Bellacorte."
Dante stared.
"You have samples?"
"I may have archived pathology slides. If they still exist."
"How long?"
"If I drive to my old lab tonight? Four hours."
"Do it."
Mara raised her hand.
"Wait."
Everyone looked at her.
She addressed Keller.
"If it says I'm Serena, what happens?"
Keller glanced at Dante.
Mara immediately said, "Don't look at him. I'm asking you."
The doctor respected that.
"It means biologically you would be Helena Bellacorte's daughter."
"Does it prove anything else?"
"No."
"Does it give me memories?"
"No."
"Does it make me suddenly belong to those people?"
"No."
Mara nodded.
"Good."
She extended her arm.
"Take it."
The blood draw lasted less than a minute.
Keller packed the vial.
Before leaving, he glanced at the scar behind Mara's ear.
"How long have you had that?"
"She doesn't know," Luca said.
Keller examined it.
His face tightened.
"What?"
The doctor looked at Dante.
"I have seen incisions like this before."
"For what?"
Keller hesitated.
Mara's voice sharpened.
"Tell me."
"Implantation."
"What kind?"
"Older experimental neurostimulation devices. Memory treatment. Trauma cases. Mostly abandoned."
Mara gripped the chair.
Dante asked, "Could something still be under the skin?"
"Possibly."
"Can you scan it?"
"Not here."
"Tomorrow."
"If you insist."
"I do."
Mara glared at Dante.
"He means if I insist."
Dante corrected himself.
"If Mara wants it."
She studied him.
"Tomorrow."
Keller left.
The salon became quiet again.
Luca resumed cleaning a narrow section.
Mara closed her eyes.
Warm water ran over strands that perhaps had not felt shampoo in years.
Dirt spiraled into the basin.
Slowly, brown became chestnut.
Then beneath layers of neglect, a richer color emerged.
Dante remembered Serena's hair under ballroom lights.
Same shade.
He looked away.
He did not want resemblance to become evidence.
Evidence could lie.
Memory could lie.
Grief could lie worst of all.
At 2:14 a.m., Marco found the autopsy report.
"Got it."
Dante leaned over his shoulder.
The file had been scanned badly.
Several pages were missing.
But one detail remained.
Serena Bellacorte's body had been described as having a crescent-shaped birthmark beneath the left hairline.
Mara read over his shoulder.
"So the body had it too."
Dante frowned.
"Apparently."
"Then I'm not her."
Not necessarily.
But he did not say it.
Mara seemed almost relieved.
"I knew it."
Marco kept reading.
Then stopped.
"What?"
He enlarged the page.
"There's an amendment."
Dante read it.
The birthmark notation had been added forty-eight hours after the original autopsy.
Different ink.
Different signature.
Mara's relief disappeared.
"Why would someone add it later?"
"To make the body match Serena," Dante said.
Silence.
The implications were ugly.
The yacht accident may have been staged.
The recovered body may have belonged to another young woman.
Dental records may have been falsified.
And someone had gone to the trouble of retroactively adding Serena's birthmark to the report.
Mara stood.
"I need to know where I came from."
"We will."
"No. Not eventually. Now."
Dante looked at her.
"What do you remember before Philadelphia?"
She closed her eyes.
"Water."
"What else?"
"A white room."
"Hospital?"
"Maybe."
"People?"
"A man."
"Face?"
"No."
"Voice?"
Mara's breathing quickened.
"He kept saying I was lucky."
"Lucky to survive?"
"I don't know."
She pressed her palms against her eyes.
"There was a name."
"What name?"
"I can't—"
"Don't force it."
Mara opened her eyes.
"You were the one forcing me ten minutes ago."
"I learn."
That earned him another almost-smile.
Then she whispered, "Avery."
Dante stopped breathing.
"What?"
"The man said Avery."
Marco stood.
"Malcolm Avery?"
"I don't know."
Dante felt cold.
The doctor who had identified Serena's corpse.
The same doctor whose name appeared in the accident records.
Perhaps the same man present after Mara woke without her past.
Marco opened his laptop.
"Malcolm Avery owned a private neurological clinic outside Philadelphia."
Mara stared.
"Where?"
"Chestnut Hill."
Her face changed.
"I know that place."
Dante leaned forward.
"How?"
"There was a stone gate."
Marco searched images.
He turned the screen.
An abandoned estate appeared.
Gray stone.
Iron gate.
A faded sign.
AVERY NEUROLOGICAL INSTITUTE.
Mara stepped backward.
"No."
"What do you remember?"
"I was there."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Her hand flew to the scar behind her ear.
"He told me my name was Mara."
Every person in the room became silent.
Dante said, "Who did?"
"I can't see his face."
"Then don't try."
"He told me Serena was dead."
Mara's eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall.
"He said Serena had drowned."
Dante felt something inside him lock into place.
Mara whispered, "Why would he tell me that unless—"
A violent knock struck the salon door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nobody moved.
Marco checked the camera.
The hallway was empty.
Another knock.
This time from the rear service entrance.
Dante drew his gun.
One guard approached carefully.
Something slid beneath the door.
A white envelope.
Marco picked it up.
On the front, written in black ink, were two words:
SERENA BELLACORTE.
Mara stared.
Dante opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
It had been taken less than an hour ago.
Through the salon window.
Mara in the chair.
Luca behind her.
Dante standing beside her.
On the back was a handwritten message.
Dante read it once.
Then again.
Mara whispered, "What does it say?"
He turned the photograph around.
IF SHE REMEMBERS THE BOAT, KILL HER BEFORE SHE REMEMBERS WHO PUSHED HER.
Mara's lips parted.
Then someone outside the locked rear door whispered her real name.
May you like
"Serena."
The handle slowly began to turn.
