Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Should Have Been Dead
Matteo moved first.
Emma caught his sleeve.
“Wait.”
His head turned sharply.
The instinct in his face made her release him immediately.
Not because he threatened her.
Because for half a second, he looked like a man who had forgotten anyone else existed.
Across the museum hall, the woman stood partly concealed beyond the service door.
She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties.
Dark hair.
Thin frame.
Gray coat.
Too far away for Emma to see her face clearly.
But Matteo had already begun walking.
“Sofia!”
The woman flinched.
Then disappeared.
Matteo ran.
The controlled businessman vanished.
He crossed the marble floor with Luca behind him, pushing through startled visitors.
Emma remained beside the boy.
The child watched the doorway.
“You know her?” Emma asked.
He nodded.
“Is she your mother?”
Silence.
Emma crouched.
“You can tell me.”
“She said not to.”
The phrase chilled her.
“What exactly did she say?”
“If the black-suit man comes, don’t say my real name.”
Emma glanced toward the hallway Matteo had entered.
“And did she tell you who I was?”
Another nod.
“How?”
The boy reached into his other pocket.
This time he produced a photograph.
Emma took it.
Her heart dropped.
It was a picture of her leaving the small voice studio on North Clark Street where she recorded commercials and audiobook samples.
The photograph had been taken from across the road.
Emma stared at herself.
Same white winter coat.
Same tote bag.
Same afternoon from three weeks earlier.
Someone had been watching her.
On the back, written in black ink, were two words.
Trust her.
Emma looked at the boy.
“Who gave you this?”
“The lady.”
“Sofia?”
He nodded.
Emma’s mind raced.
She had never met Sofia Bellandi.
She had never knowingly met anyone connected to the Bellandi family.
So why did a presumed-dead woman possess surveillance photographs of her?
And why entrust a child to her?
A museum employee approached cautiously.
“Ma’am, police are on the way.”
“Good.”
“We should bring the boy somewhere private.”
The child gripped Emma harder.
“No.”
Emma looked at him.
“You want to stay here?”
“No room.”
“What room?”
“He locked me in one.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“Who?”
The boy stared toward the direction Matteo had gone.
But he did not answer.
Several minutes later, Matteo returned.
His expression had changed again.
No grief now.
No shock.
Only fury held behind absolute control.
Luca followed.
“Did you find her?” Emma asked.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“She knew the employee corridors.”
“That means she planned this.”
“Yes.”
Emma handed him the photograph.
Matteo studied it.
Then looked at Emma.
“You’ve seen Sofia before.”
“No.”
“She knew you.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know her.”
“You sang my family’s lullaby.”
“I learned it in Florence.”
“From whom?”
“An older woman named Teresa Rossi.”
Matteo stared.
“What?”
Emma’s pulse quickened.
“You know that name?”
Matteo looked at Luca.
Luca’s face showed recognition.
“Teresa Rossi,” Matteo repeated. “Where in Florence?”
“Near Santo Spirito. Why?”
“How long did you live with her?”
“Three years.”
“When?”
Emma answered.
Matteo did the math.
His expression darkened.
“That was after Sofia disappeared.”
Emma felt a chill.
“You think Teresa knew your sister.”
“I know she did.”
“How?”
“Teresa Rossi was our mother’s cousin.”
Emma stopped.
The museum noise seemed to recede.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because she never mentioned anyone named Bellandi.”
“She wouldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“Because anyone hiding Sofia would have known better.”
Emma looked down at the child.
The boy was watching everything.
Too quietly.
She softened her voice.
“Can we not do this in front of him?”
Matteo seemed to remember the child again.
He crouched.
The movement transformed him.
For the first time, Emma saw not the feared Chicago figure but a man trying not to frighten a boy.
“What’s your name?” Matteo asked quietly.
The boy swallowed.
“Milo.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Matteo’s face lost color.
“Milo what?”
The child said nothing.
Emma noticed Matteo’s hand tighten around the silver dinosaur.
“Milo was Sofia’s son’s name?” she asked.
Matteo nodded once.
Emma looked at the boy.
But the ages did not fit.
If Sofia disappeared eighteen years ago with an infant, this child could not be him.
Matteo understood her thought.
“My nephew would be eighteen.”
“So who is this?”
“That’s what somebody wants me to find out.”
Police arrived twelve minutes later.
Two uniformed officers.
Then a detective.
The museum moved them into a private administrative room.
The boy refused to sit anywhere Emma could not sit beside him.
Matteo stayed across the table.
His bodyguards waited by the door.
Detective Lena Ortiz entered with a notebook.
She was forty-something, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by famous surnames.
“Mr. Bellandi.”
“Detective.”
“You called this in?”
“My associate did.”
Ortiz looked at Emma.
“And you?”
“Emma Harper.”
“Relationship to the child?”
“None.”
“To Mr. Bellandi?”
“Definitely none.”
Ortiz’s eyebrow lifted.
Luca looked away to hide a smile.
Emma explained everything from the moment she heard the boy trying not to cry.
The lullaby.
The note.
The photograph.
The mysterious woman.
Ortiz listened without interrupting.
Then she examined the dinosaur keychain.
“What’s the letter mean?”
“Could be my initial,” Matteo said.
“Convenient.”
“It’s also how my sister marked things.”
Ortiz looked up.
“Your dead sister.”
“Missing sister.”
“Declared legally dead fourteen years ago.”
“Legal paperwork doesn’t make a body.”
Something passed between them.
History.
Emma noticed.
Ortiz clearly knew more about Matteo than she wanted to reveal.
She turned to Milo.
“Sweetheart, where did you come from today?”
The child stared at Emma.
Emma nodded encouragingly.
“Home.”
“What home?”
“With Miss Sofia.”
Matteo’s shoulders went rigid.
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Miss Sofia is the woman from the museum?”
Milo nodded.
“Is she your mother?”
“No.”
“Your aunt?”
“No.”
“Teacher?”
“No.”
“What is she?”
Milo thought.
“She kept me safe.”
The room went silent.
“Safe from whom?” Ortiz asked.
Milo looked toward Matteo.
Then shook his head.
Ortiz tried another question.
“Where are your parents?”
The boy’s face changed.
Emma intervened.
“That’s enough.”
Ortiz studied her.
Emma did not care.
“Look at him.”
Milo’s breathing had started to accelerate.
Emma took his hand.
She hummed the lullaby.
His shoulders relaxed again.
Ortiz watched.
Then looked toward Matteo.
“He reacts to that song.”
“So do I,” Matteo said.
The detective’s phone rang.
She stepped aside.
While she spoke quietly, Matteo leaned toward Emma.
“Teresa Rossi. Is she alive?”
Emma shook her head.
“She died two years ago.”
“Did she leave you anything?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Documents. Letters. Jewelry. Anything unusual.”
Emma thought.
Teresa had left her a few small items.
A recipe book.
A ceramic music box.
Several handwritten songs.
And an old leather suitcase Emma had never bothered opening because the lock had jammed.
She almost mentioned it.
Something stopped her.
“No.”
Matteo watched her.
Emma realized he knew she was lying.
He did not expose her.
Ortiz ended the call.
Her expression had changed.
“We may have an identity on the woman.”
Matteo stood.
Ortiz held up a hand.
“Sit.”
“Is it Sofia?”
“We pulled security footage from the east corridor.”
“And?”
“We ran facial comparison against the old missing-person file.”
Matteo’s voice lowered.
“And?”
Ortiz looked directly at him.
“It’s not your sister.”
Emma frowned.
Matteo said nothing.
Ortiz turned the laptop.
A still image showed the woman in the gray coat.
The face was clearer now.
Matteo stared.
Luca stepped closer.
“Who is she?”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ve never seen her.”
Ortiz tapped another key.
“We did.”
A second image appeared.
A mugshot.
Same woman.
Different hair.
Different name.
“Her name is Rebecca Vale,” Ortiz said. “Former pediatric nurse. Arrested six years ago in Indiana for falsifying adoption records.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“Adoption records?”
Ortiz nodded.
“She disappeared before trial.”
Milo suddenly pushed away from the table.
“No!”
Everyone turned.
The boy began crying.
“She’s not Rebecca!”
Emma pulled him close.
“Okay. Okay.”
“She’s Sofia!”
“Why do you call her Sofia?”
“Because that’s her name!”
Matteo’s phone vibrated.
He checked it.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Emma’s apartment building.
Taken minutes ago.
Beneath it:
SHE HAS WHAT BELONGS TO US.
Matteo looked at Emma.
“What?”
He showed her.
All color left her face.
“My apartment.”
Ortiz grabbed her coat.
“We’re going now.”
Emma stood.
Milo clung to her.
Matteo looked at Luca.
“Send Marco.”
“No,” Ortiz snapped. “Nobody sends anybody. Police go first.”
Matteo ignored her.
Emma’s mind went to Teresa’s locked suitcase.
She had moved it from Florence to Chicago.
Carried it through three apartments.
Never opened it.
Suddenly, the old woman’s final words returned.
Keep what I gave you until somebody sings the second verse.
At the time, Emma believed Teresa was confused from medication.
Now she was not so sure.
Twenty-five minutes later, Emma stood outside her apartment while police checked every room.
Nothing appeared stolen.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Until she entered her bedroom.
The closet door stood open.
The suitcase was on her bed.
Emma froze.
“I didn’t put that there.”
Matteo stepped beside her.
The old leather case had been forced open.
Inside lay handwritten music.
Photographs.
A sealed envelope.
And a black velvet pouch.
Emma reached toward the envelope.
Her name was written across the front.
EMMA HARPER.
Underneath it, in Teresa Rossi’s handwriting:
Give this only to Matteo Bellandi.
Matteo looked at Emma.
She looked at him.
Then Milo’s voice came from behind them.
“There’s something under the suitcase.”
Emma lifted it.
A photograph was taped to the bottom.
She pulled it free.
Matteo took one look and staggered backward.
The image showed a young Sofia Bellandi holding a newborn.
Standing beside her was Teresa Rossi.
And beside Teresa was Emma’s mother.
May you like
On the back were five words.
EMMA MUST NEVER KNOW WHY.
