Chapter 4 - THE NAME AND THE COMMAND
Luca’s hand did not lower. His eyes remained fixed on the tiny crescent-shaped mark, tracing its exact curvature, its precise orientation against the jawline. It was a mark he had kissed a thousand times in the dark; a mark he had traced with his thumb on private balconies overlooking the Mediterranean; a mark he had described to coroners, medical examiners, and private investigators across two continents.
Slowly, his gaze drifted forward, locking into Mara’s hazel eyes with an intensity so ferocious, so desperate, that it felt as though he were trying to tear open her skull to see the thoughts inside.
"What’s your full name?" Luca asked, his voice dropping into a breathless, razor-sharp whisper.
"Mara," she replied, her chest heaving as she held Sofia against her heart. "Mara Collins."
Luca’s lips parted slightly, a dark, bitter, agonizing disbelief twisting his features.
"That wasn’t always your name," Luca said flatly.
Mara shook her head, tears of frustration and confusion welling in her eyes. "Yes, it is! I have a driver’s license. I have a social security card. I work for Premier Staffing in Long Island City. I had an accident three years ago on the Interstate—I lost some time, but my records are clear! I don't know who you are, I don't know who this baby is, and I don't know why you're looking at me like this!"
The mention of the accident three years ago was the final hammer strike.
Luca turned his head sharply toward Vincent, his command exploding through the room like a thunderclap.
"Vincent. The safe. Bring me the black file."
Vincent did not ask a single question. He did not hesitate. He spun on his heel and moved rapidly toward the concealed door behind the pantry screen, his heavy leather oxfords clicking urgently against the parquet floorboards.
The other five men at the table remained frozen, their expressions shifting from stoic professionalism to sheer, unadulterated panic. They knew what was in the black file. They knew the blood that had been spilled to compile it, and they knew the bodies that had been buried in the wake of the tragedy that had nearly destroyed the Moretti family three years prior.
Mara clutched Sofia tighter against her chest. The baby let out a tiny, soft coo, reaching up with her small, chubby hand and patting Mara’s cheek, her little fingers leaving a warm, damp touch against Mara's skin.
"Please," Mara pleaded, looking up at the imposing man towering over her. "Let me give her to one of your men. Let me just go home. I won't say anything about this room. I swear to you."
Luca looked down at her, his expression a devastating mix of ruthless authority and raw, bleeding heartbreak.
"You're not going anywhere, Elena," Luca whispered softly.
Mara blinked, a cold chill running down her spine.
May you like
"That... that isn't my name," she breathed.
Luca did not answer. He simply watched her breathe, waiting for the past to arrive in paper and ink.
