Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Elena Valenti
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Dante's words hung in the chilly air of the penthouse like an executioner's blade.
My heart hammered against my ribs so violently that I could hear the pulse roaring in my ears.
"You have the wrong person," I said, shaking my head in stubborn defiance.
"I grew up in an orphanage in upstate New York."
"I have memories of doctors, social workers, and endless corridors of foster homes."
Dante didn't blink, his icy gray eyes dissecting every tiny tremor in my face.
"You remember what they told you to remember after the trauma shattered your mind," he countered smoothly.
He reached down into the folder and pulled out a yellowed newspaper clipping from fifteen years ago.
The headline screamed in bold black font: VALENTI ESTATE DESTROYED IN SUSPICIOUS FIRE; PATRIARCH AND DAUGHTER PRESUMED DEAD.
Below the headline was a photograph of a smiling ten-year-old girl with dark curly hair and bright, expressive hazel eyes.
I looked down at the photograph, and a strange, dizzying nausea washed through my head.
The girl in the picture had the exact same crescent-shaped birthmark just below her left collarbone that I had looked at in the mirror every morning of my life.
My hand involuntarily rose to touch my collarbone through my thin blouse.
Dante noticed the gesture immediately, and the tight lines around his mouth deepened.
"Her name was Elena Valenti," Dante said, his voice dropping to a somber, reverent octave.
"Her father, Julian Valenti, was the most respected leader this city ever knew."
"He was my mentor, the man who took me off the streets and taught me everything about honor and survival."
Orion rested his heavy chin on my lap, letting out a soft, mournful whine as if he understood every word.
"Julian wasn't just a syndicate don," Dante continued, his gaze drifting toward the floor.
"He was an expert breeder of rare Neapolitan mastiffs and tactical protection hounds."
"He trained the finest canine bloodlines in Europe and North America."
I stared down at Orion, my fingers sinking instinctively into his dense black fur.
"Orion's mother was Julian's personal shadow," Dante whispered, stepping closer to me.
"When the mansion went up in flames, the mother dog pulled a small child through the cellar window before the roof collapsed."
"The dog died on the riverbank from smoke inhalation, but the child was gone by the time my men arrived."
"We searched the freezing water for three miles downstream."
"We found nothing but a torn red ribbon that belonged to Elena's dress."
My breath hitched, and a sudden, sharp flash of memory struck my brain like lightning.
Cold black water rushing around my ears.
The smell of burning cedar and gasoline choking my lungs.
A massive black dog pushing me onto the muddy grass with her snout, whining in agony before collapsing in the reeds.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a tear slipping down my cheek as the phantom pain exploded behind my temples.
"I remember... cold water," I whispered, the words escaping my lips before I could stop them.
Dante watched me with an expression that bordered on reverence.
"Orion was only a pup when that happened, but canine instinct runs through blood and memory."
"He didn't let you touch him last night out of random affection, Elena."
He used the name with absolute conviction, sending an electric shiver down my spine.
"He recognized the bloodline of the master who saved his mother."
"He recognized you."
I looked from Dante to Orion, terrified of the truth that was unspooling before me.
"If I am who you say I am... why did whoever hid me give me a fake identity?"
Dante's eyes hardened into flint, all gentleness evaporating into cold, ruthless reality.
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"Because the man who set that fire is still alive."
"And if he finds out Julian Valenti's heir is breathing, he will burn down half of Manhattan to finish the job."
