Chapter 2 - The Photograph That Should Not Exist
The photograph slipped from Vincent Voss's hand and landed on the marble floor.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Not the guests.
Not the staff.
Not even Vincent.
Because the man who had spent his entire life making other people afraid was staring at me like he had just seen a ghost.
I looked down.
My breath stopped.
The photograph showed a younger version of me.
Sixteen years old.
Standing behind a chain-link fence.
My face was bruised.
My hair was messy.
My hands were covered in dirt.
But that wasn't what made my heart freeze.
It was the person standing beside me.
A woman.
A woman I had not seen in ten years.
A woman who was supposed to have disappeared forever.
My mother.
I felt the entire restaurant disappear around me.
The voices.
The music.
The sound of glasses moving across tables.
Everything became distant.
"Where did you get that?"
My voice came out quieter than I expected.
Vincent didn't answer immediately.
He picked up the photograph slowly.
His eyes never left mine.
"That is what I should be asking you."
I hated the way he said it.
Like he already knew something I didn't.
Like he had been holding a piece of my life that I had spent years trying to find.
I stepped forward.
"Give it to me."
For the first time that night, Vincent hesitated.
Not because he was afraid of me.
Because he was deciding something.
Then he folded the photograph and placed it inside his jacket.
"No."
The answer was simple.
Cold.
I felt anger rise in my chest.
"You don't get to show me a picture of my mother and then walk away with it."
Several people nearby looked confused.
Nobody had expected the conversation to change.
Minutes earlier, they had been watching a waitress challenge a powerful man.
Now they were watching something else.
A secret.
Vincent looked around.
"Not here."
I laughed once.
A short, humorless sound.
"You think I care about where this happens?"
His jaw tightened.
"You should."
"Why?"
His eyes moved across the room.
Every person watching suddenly looked away.
That was when I understood.
Vincent wasn't worried about the scene.
He was worried about who was listening.
"You have no idea what you just stepped into."
I stared at him.
"Funny."
I crossed my arms.
"Ten minutes ago, you thought I was just a waitress."
Something changed in his expression.
A small flicker.
Regret.
Maybe.
Or recognition.
"That was before I knew who you were."
Those words bothered me more than they should have.
Because I didn't know who I was either.
Not completely.
Not anymore.
For years, I had built my life around one simple truth.
My mother abandoned me.
That was the story everyone gave me.
That was the story I forced myself to believe.
When I was sixteen, I woke up in a hospital after the worst night of my life.
Nobody explained why my mother was gone.
Nobody explained why her apartment was empty.
Nobody explained why every person I asked suddenly became uncomfortable.
They just told me to move on.
So I did.
Or at least I tried.
I changed cities.
Changed jobs.
Changed everything except the memories.
And now Vincent Voss was standing in front of me holding the one thing I had spent a decade searching for.
The truth.
"Tell me what happened to her."
My voice was steady.
But inside, everything was shaking.
Vincent looked at me carefully.
"Your mother wasn't who you thought she was."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Give me vague answers."
I stepped closer.
"I've spent ten years hearing people tell me half-truths."
His expression became serious.
"Then maybe you should listen before you decide what the truth is."
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Because that was exactly the kind of thing powerful people said.
They wanted you to believe they were the only ones who understood the world.
But Vincent wasn't looking at me like he was superior.
He looked like he was warning me.
And that scared me more.
A waiter quietly approached from behind.
"Ms. Mercer?"
I turned.
The young man looked nervous.
"There is someone asking for you at the front entrance."
I frowned.
"Who?"
He swallowed.
"He wouldn't give a name."
Vincent immediately changed.
It was subtle.
Most people wouldn't notice.
But I did.
His shoulders tightened.
His eyes moved toward the entrance.
"What did he look like?"
The waiter looked confused.
"Older man. Gray coat. Didn't say much."
Vincent went completely still.
And then he whispered something I barely heard.
"No."
I looked at him.
"You know him?"
Vincent didn't answer.
That was my answer.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
The confident mafia boss from minutes earlier was gone.
The man standing beside me now looked like someone who had just realized a nightmare from his past had returned.
I grabbed his arm.
"Who is he?"
Vincent looked at my hand.
Then back at me.
"Someone who should never have found you."
My fingers tightened.
"Found me?"
The question hung between us.
Because that was the part I couldn't ignore.
I had spent ten years trying to disappear.
I changed my hair.
Changed my address.
Stopped keeping close relationships.
I became invisible.
But somehow, someone had found me.
Vincent looked toward the entrance again.
"We need to leave."
I almost smiled.
"You're giving orders again?"
His expression remained serious.
"This isn't a game, Riley."
"Neither was my life."
That stopped him.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then Vincent reached into his jacket and pulled out the photograph again.
He turned it over.
My eyes followed.
On the back were words written in faded black ink.
Three words.
Three words that made my stomach drop.
Because I recognized the handwriting.
My mother's handwriting.
"Protect Riley Mercer."
I forgot how to breathe.
Vincent watched my reaction.
"You've never seen this before?"
I shook my head slowly.
"No."
A thousand questions rushed through my mind.
Why would my mother write that?
Who was she protecting me from?
Why did Vincent have this?
Before I could ask, the lights in the restaurant flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The room went dark.
People gasped.
Someone screamed.
Then emergency lights turned on.
Red.
Dim.
Unsettling.
And when the lights returned, Vincent was no longer holding the photograph.
I looked at his empty hand.
Then at the floor.
It was gone.
My eyes moved across the room.
Everyone was still there.
Nobody had moved.
Except one person.
A man standing near the entrance.
Gray coat.
Older.
Watching me.
I felt the same cold feeling I had felt ten years ago.
The feeling that came right before something terrible happened.
Vincent stepped in front of me.
Protecting me.
Not threatening me.
Protecting me.
That scared me more than anything.
"Riley," he said quietly.
I looked at him.
"What?"
His eyes stayed locked on the man at the door.
"Whatever you do..."
He paused.
"Do not let him know you remember."
The man at the entrance slowly smiled.
May you like
Then he spoke my name.
And I knew the past I buried was standing right in front of me.
