Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO KNEW MY REAL NAME
The caller hung up before Dante’s men reached my apartment.
Rachel was gone.
No blood.
No signs of a struggle.
Just her phone on the kitchen table.
And a message written across my bathroom mirror in red lipstick:
ASK DANTE WHO KILLED ELENA.
I turned toward him.
He stood behind me.
Motionless.
“Who killed her?”
“I don’t know.”
“That wasn’t what they wrote.”
“I can read.”
“Then answer me.”
His eyes hardened.
“My father ordered Elena brought to him the night she disappeared.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“He believed she had betrayed him.”
“Had she?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I found her evidence years later.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So your father falsely accused her.”
“Yes.”
“And she disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“And now I’m supposed to trust you?”
“No.”
That stopped me.
Dante looked around my small apartment.
“You should trust evidence.”
“At least we agree on something.”
Marco found a camera hidden inside the smoke detector.
It had recorded my bedroom for nearly three weeks.
I felt physically sick.
“Whoever installed it knew your routine,” he said.
Dante’s expression became murderous.
“Restaurant employees?”
“Possible.”
“Landlord?”
“Possible.”
“Rachel?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
Marco remained careful.
“Possible.”
I hated him for saying it.
Because he was right.
Rachel had moved in four months earlier.
Friendly.
Funny.
Always asking questions about my mother.
I had assumed she was curious.
Now every conversation felt different.
Marco searched Rachel’s room.
Almost nothing personal.
No family photographs.
No old mail.
No medication.
No childhood belongings.
Then he found three passports.
All with different names.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
“Who is she?”
Dante picked up one passport.
“Not Rachel Adams.”
The third passport contained a name that meant nothing to me.
Isabella Rossi.
Dante stopped moving.
“What?”
I asked.
He turned the passport.
“She’s Elena’s daughter.”
I stared.
“No. You said Elena had a baby daughter.”
“Yes.”
“That was supposed to be me.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Apparently she had two.”
Marco searched the old case.
The original missing-person report had been incomplete.
Elena gave birth once before Olivia.
A daughter named Isabella.
Father unknown.
Isabella had been eight when Elena vanished.
I remembered Rachel telling me she grew up in foster care.
“Why would my sister spy on me?”
“We don’t know if she is your sister.”
I looked at Dante.
“But she thinks she is.”
My phone buzzed.
Another text.
This time from Rachel’s number.
I’M SORRY.
Then:
I WAS SUPPOSED TO WATCH YOU, NOT LOVE YOU.
My eyes filled.
A final location appeared.
An abandoned church in Queens.
Dante immediately said:
“You’re not going.”
I looked at him.
“My roommate may be my sister.”
“It’s a trap.”
“Obviously.”
“That does not make it safer.”
“I’m still going.”
His jaw flexed.
Orion walked between us and sat against my leg.
Dante stared at the dog.
“Traitor.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
We went with security.
The church was empty.
Except for Rachel.
She sat in the front pew.
Alive.
Untied.
Waiting.
I stopped.
“Rachel?”
She turned.
Her eyes were red.
“I’m sorry.”
I moved toward her.
Dante caught my arm.
Rachel noticed.
“Let her come.”
“Not happening,” Dante said.
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“You really are just like your father.”
His grip loosened.
She looked at me.
“My real name is Isabella Rossi.”
“Are you my sister?”
Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
My throat closed.
“Why were you watching me?”
“Because our mother asked me to.”
Silence.
Dante went still.
I whispered:
“Our mother is alive?”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“Then how?”
“She left instructions before she died.”
“When did she die?”
Rachel looked at Dante.
“Five years ago.”
He stared.
“Elena survived for twenty years?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
May you like
Rachel’s eyes filled with hatred.
“In a prison your father built.”
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