Chapter 2 - The Secret Beneath the Blue Sock|
I stood in the empty restaurant, staring at the little blue sock in my hand.
Seven years.
For seven years, I had believed my mother was dead.
I had visited her grave every birthday, every Christmas, and every Mother's Day, leaving flowers beside a headstone that carried her name.
Now someone was telling me that everything I knew about her death was a lie.
"Avery?"
Greg's voice pulled me back to the present.
I turned toward him, my fingers tightening around the folded note.
"Who left this?"
He glanced at the paper.
"What?"
"This note, Greg."
My voice sounded strangely calm.
"Who put it beside the register?"
He shifted uncomfortably.
"I didn't see anyone."
"Someone had to bring it."
"People come through here all night."
I stared at him.
The restaurant had security cameras covering every entrance, every register, and every dining table.
Greg knew that.
And judging by the way he avoided my eyes, he knew something else.
"Show me the cameras."
His face changed.
"Avery, you're being unreasonable."
"Then prove it."
He looked toward the kitchen.
For the first time since I'd started working at Belladonna, my manager seemed genuinely afraid of me.
Not because I had any power.
Because I had asked a question he didn't want to answer.
"The cameras weren't working tonight," he finally said.
A cold sensation spread through my stomach.
"All of them?"
"Maintenance issue."
"Convenient."
His jaw tightened.
"Go home, Avery."
I slipped the note into my pocket.
Then I picked up my purse and walked out without another word.
Outside, Manhattan glittered beneath a cold November sky.
Cars moved through the wet streets, and laughter spilled from a bar across the avenue.
The world looked completely normal.
That somehow made everything worse.
I walked three blocks before realizing someone was following me.
A black SUV crawled along the curb.
My pulse quickened.
I crossed the street.
The SUV followed.
I stopped beneath a streetlamp and turned.
"If you're going to kidnap me, could you at least introduce yourself first?"
The passenger window lowered.
The older bodyguard from Table Twelve looked out.
"My name is Marco."
"Congratulations."
"Mr. Moretti asked me to make sure you reached home safely."
I stared at him.
"Does Mr. Moretti always assign security to waitresses?"
"Not usually."
"Then tell him I'm not interested."
Marco hesitated.
"Miss Bennett, someone was watching you inside that restaurant."
I felt the blood leave my face.
"Who?"
"We don't know yet."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
At least he was honest.
He reached into his jacket and produced a small white envelope.
"Mr. Moretti wanted you to have this."
I didn't move.
"If that's money, tell him to keep it."
"It's an address."
He held it out.
"And a telephone number you can use if you need help."
I took the envelope reluctantly.
Then I pulled the folded note from my pocket.
"Did he write this?"
Marco read the sentence.
Something hardened behind his eyes.
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
"Then how does somebody know about my mother?"
Marco looked at me for several seconds.
"That's something you should ask Mr. Moretti."
Before I could answer, his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, then at my face.
"Please go straight home."
I didn't like how he said please.
I liked it even less when he drove away without explaining.
My apartment occupied the fourth floor of a narrow building above a laundromat.
The hallway smelled like detergent and old carpet.
Normally, that smell meant home.
Tonight, it meant I was alone.
I climbed the stairs, unlocked my door, and reached for the light switch.
Then I froze.
The lamp beside my couch was already glowing.
I never left that lamp on.
My bedroom door stood open.
The drawers of my dresser had been pulled out.
Clothes covered the floor.
Someone had been inside my apartment.
I backed toward the hallway.
Then I heard a noise behind me.
"Looking for something?"
I spun around.
Mrs. Dawson, my elderly neighbor, stood outside her apartment holding a baseball bat.
I almost cried from relief.
"June, somebody broke in."
"I know, honey."
Her expression was grim.
"I heard them about twenty minutes ago."
"Did you call the police?"
"Twice."
"Did they come?"
"Not yet."
She glanced toward my apartment.
"Funny thing, though."
"What?"
"The man who came out wasn't carrying anything."
I looked past her.
"What did he look like?"
"Gray coat, dark hair, expensive shoes."
She lowered her voice.
"And he had a little silver star tattooed on his wrist."
My fingers flew to the pendant at my throat.
A star.
My mother's star.
June noticed.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Suddenly, the hallway seemed too small.
I went inside long enough to retrieve my mother's old jewelry box from beneath my bed.
The intruder had searched through everything.
Except that box.
I opened it with trembling hands.
Inside lay a photograph I hadn't looked at in years.
My mother stood in front of a brick building, smiling beside a younger brunette woman.
On the building's sign were three words.
NORTH STAR CENTER.
I had never noticed them before.
On the back, in my mother's handwriting, was a date from eight years earlier.
Underneath it, she had written:
Some families are made by blood.
Others are made by the people who refuse to leave.
My phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
I almost ignored it.
Then the message arrived.
Stop asking about Elena Bennett, or you'll join her.
A second message followed.
And stay away from Luca Moretti's child.
I looked down at the blue sock still clutched in my hand.
Suddenly, I understood something terrifying.
Whatever had happened to my mother wasn't finished.
And somehow, an innocent little boy had become part of it.
I opened Marco's envelope.
Inside was a number and an address on the Upper East Side.
For the first time that night, I didn't hesitate.
I dialed.
A man answered after the first ring.
"Luca Moretti."
I swallowed.
"This is Avery Bennett."
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
"What happened?"
I looked at my destroyed apartment.
"Someone broke into my home."
Another silence.
This one was different.
Dangerous.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Where are you now?"
"With my neighbor."
"Stay with her."
"Luca, somebody knows about my mother."
His breathing stopped for one brief second.
Then he said something that made my knees weaken.
"Avery, there's something you need to understand."
"What?"
"Your mother didn't die seven years ago."
I pressed my hand against the wall.
"How do you know that?"
May you like
His answer came quietly.
"Because my wife was looking for her when she was killed."
