Chapter 1 - I Thought I Was Meeting My Boyfriend’s Family—Until His Older Brother Saw My Necklace and Realized Why Adrien Had Really Chosen MeThree seconds after meeting my boyfriend’s older brother, every instinct in my body told me to stay away from him.
Victor Duca barely spoke to me through dinner, but when he finally leaned close enough for only me to hear and whispered, “Wrong brother, cara mia,” I realized the safe little love story I thought I was living had just become something far more dangerous.
Rain was falling sideways across Chicago when Adrien drove me through the iron gates of his family’s Lincoln Park estate.
Six months earlier, he had walked into my Wicker Park yoga studio with an injured back and a sweet smile, and somehow he had become the safest man I’d ever loved.
After everything I had survived, safe mattered.
“You’re quiet,” Adrien said.
“Just wondering whether your mother is going to hate me.”
He squeezed my hand.
“You teach grown adults how to breathe through pain. You can survive dinner with my family.”
The Duca mansion smelled of garlic, basil, red wine, and old money.
Adrien’s mother, Maria, hugged me immediately, while his father, Antonio, examined me with the unsettling concentration of a man accustomed to knowing exactly who entered his home.
There was one empty chair.
“My oldest is late,” Maria explained. “Victor thinks clocks are suggestions.”
“Victor thinks rules are suggestions,” Adrien muttered.
Something about the way he said his brother’s name stayed with me.
For fifteen minutes, dinner felt almost normal.
Then the front door opened.
Measured footsteps crossed the marble foyer, and when I turned, I forgot what Maria had been saying.
Victor Duca stood in the doorway dressed entirely in black.
He was taller and broader than Adrien, with scarred hands and a stillness that made everyone else seem strangely restless.
His eyes moved around the table once before stopping on me.
Three seconds.
That was all.
But I felt those three seconds everywhere.
Adrien stood.
“Victor, this is Lena. Lena, my brother.”
“Lena,” Victor said.
My own name sounded dangerous in his voice.
“Nice to meet you.”
He sat directly across from me.
Dinner continued, but something had changed.
Adrien’s hand rested warmly against my knee beneath the table while every nerve in my body remained painfully aware of his brother.
Victor barely spoke.
Yet whenever he did, everyone listened.
Antonio mentioned one of the family’s shipping businesses, and Victor corrected him with a quiet sentence that immediately tightened his father’s jaw.
Rosa, their younger sister, joked about something from childhood, and for half a second I saw Victor smile before the cold mask returned.
Then Rosa turned toward me.
“So, Lena, how did you and Adrien actually meet?”
“At my yoga studio,” I said. “He came in with a back injury.”
Victor’s wineglass stopped halfway to his mouth.
“An injury?” he asked.
Adrien answered before I could.
“Nothing serious.”
Victor looked at his brother.
Something silent passed between them.
The rest of dinner became increasingly uncomfortable, and afterward I excused myself to find the bathroom.
When I stepped into the hallway again, Victor was standing there alone.
My pulse jumped.
“You’re Adrien’s brother,” I said unnecessarily.
His expression didn’t change.
“And you believe Adrien is exactly what he told you he is.”
The words irritated me.
“I know him.”
“No, Lena.”
Victor stepped closer.
I should have moved away.
I didn’t.
“Six months,” he said quietly. “That’s how long you’ve been together?”
“How do you know that?”
His jaw tightened.
Then his gaze dropped toward the delicate silver necklace Adrien had given me two weeks earlier.
Victor reached toward it but stopped before touching me.
“Where did you get that?”
“Adrien gave it to me.”
For the first time all evening, genuine alarm appeared in Victor’s eyes.
He looked toward the dining room, then back at me.
“Take it off.”
“What?”
“Now.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
Victor leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Because that necklace doesn’t belong to Adrien.”
Footsteps suddenly sounded behind us.
Adrien.
Victor’s eyes remained locked on mine as he moved past me, his shoulder barely brushing mine.
Then came the whisper that made my entire body go still.
“Wrong brother, cara mia.”
“Everything okay?”
Adrien stood at the end of the hallway.
Victor kept walking.
I touched the necklace.
“Where did you get this?”
Adrien’s expression changed for barely a second.
“Why?”
“Victor says it isn't yours.”
His jaw tightened.
“My brother enjoys making people uncomfortable.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“Lena.”
“Where did you get it?”
He walked toward me.
“My grandmother owned several pieces like that.”
“Several?”
“Yes.”
“Victor seemed pretty certain.”
“He's dramatic.”
Victor had seemed many things.
Dramatic wasn't one of them.
Adrien reached for my hand.
“Come back inside.”
I didn't move.
“Why did Victor ask how long we've been together?”
“I don't know.”
“He knew it was six months.”
“I probably mentioned it.”
“You barely talk about him.”
“That doesn't mean I don't talk to him.”
Something inside me shifted.
A small thing.
But important.
For six months, Adrien had always been easy.
Warm.
Open.
Patient.
Now every answer arrived half a second too quickly.
I removed the necklace.
Adrien stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking it off.”
“Because Victor told you to?”
“Because I want to know why he told me to.”
I placed it in my clutch.
Adrien’s expression hardened.
Then disappeared beneath the familiar smile.
“Fine.”
That frightened me more than anger would have.
We left twenty minutes later.
The ride home was silent.
When Adrien stopped outside my building, he reached for me.
I leaned away.
His hand froze.
“What?”
“I need a night.”
“Because Victor said five words?”
“Because you answered none of my questions.”
He stared through the windshield.
“My family is complicated.”
“So is everyone’s.”
“Not like mine.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can't.”
“Can't or won't?”
“Both.”
I opened the door.
“Lena.”
I turned.
“I love you.”
Six months earlier, those words would have settled me.
That night, they sounded like a request to stop asking questions.
I stepped out.
“Good night, Adrien.”
I locked my apartment door behind me.
Then I removed the necklace from my clutch.
It was beautiful.
A narrow silver chain holding an oval pendant surrounded by tiny black stones.
Adrien had given it to me after dinner two weeks earlier.
He said it belonged to his grandmother.
I had believed him.
Under my desk lamp, I noticed something I had never seen before.
The back of the pendant wasn't smooth.
There was an engraving.
I tilted it.
Three letters.
V.D.C.
My stomach tightened.
Victor Duca?
No.
The third letter made no sense.
I turned the pendant sideways.
A seam ran around the edge.
I pressed my thumbnail against it.
Nothing.
Then I twisted.
The oval opened.
Inside was a photograph.
Tiny.
Faded.
A woman with dark hair stood beside a younger Victor Duca.
Victor looked perhaps twenty-eight.
He was smiling.
Actually smiling.
The woman was pregnant.
On the opposite side was an inscription.
VICTOR & CATERINA
Beneath it:
SEMPRE.
Always.
I nearly dropped the necklace.
Adrien had told me it belonged to his grandmother.
It had belonged to Victor.
And a woman named Caterina.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
DO NOT CALL ADRIEN.
Another message arrived.
DO NOT CALL VICTOR EITHER.
Then a photograph.
Me.
Entering my yoga studio three weeks earlier.
Another.
Leaving my grocery store.
Another.
Standing beside Adrien outside my apartment.
Someone had been following me.
My skin went cold.
The final message arrived.
ASK ADRIEN WHY HE CAME TO YOUR STUDIO BEFORE HIS BACK WAS EVER INJURED.
I called him.
I knew the message told me not to.
I didn't care.
Adrien answered immediately.
“Lena?”
“Was your back actually injured?”
Silence.
That was enough.
I closed my eyes.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Before or after you decided to come to my studio?”
Another silence.
“Adrien.”
“Before.”
“You knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“How?”
“Lena, listen to me.”
“No. You listen.”
My voice shook.
“Did you choose my studio randomly?”
“No.”
“Did you know my name before meeting me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I can't explain this over the phone.”
“Try.”
“You aren't safe.”
A laugh escaped me.
“Apparently I've been dating the reason.”
“No.”
“Then tell me.”
He exhaled.
“Your mother wasn't named Evelyn Moretti.”
Every thought stopped.
“What?”
My mother had died when I was seventeen.
Evelyn Moretti.
Single mother.
Nurse.
Never talked about my father.
“What are you saying?”
“Her legal name before you were born was Evelyn Caruso.”
I gripped the counter.
“So?”
“Her sister was Caterina Caruso.”
I looked at the open pendant.
Victor.
Caterina.
Pregnant.
“My aunt?”
“Yes.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Why have I never heard of her?”
“Because she died.”
“How?”
Silence.
“Adrien?”
“In a car explosion.”
My knees weakened.
“When?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
The year my mother died.
I sat down.
“My mother died from cancer.”
“No.”
The word was soft.
My entire body went cold.
“No?”
“She had cancer.”
“Yes.”
“She died in a hospice outside Milwaukee.”
“No, Lena.”
I stood so fast the chair fell backward.
“Don't.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don't you dare rewrite my mother's death.”
“She wasn't in hospice.”
“I visited her.”
“You visited a woman you believed was your mother.”
My hand went numb around the phone.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Your mother had already disappeared.”
“No.”
“The woman in hospice was her friend.”
“No.”
“She was protecting you.”
“No!”
I threw the phone onto the couch.
It landed with Adrien still speaking.
I paced.
My memories attacked me.
Mom losing weight.
Mom saying treatment wasn't working.
The hospice room.
The scarf covering her hair.
Her face thinner than I remembered.
Her refusing to let me stay overnight.
I had been seventeen.
Terrified.
Grieving before she was gone.
Had I looked carefully?
Of course I had.
Hadn't I?
The woman had sounded like my mother.
But cancer changes voices.
Pain changes faces.
And I had wanted desperately to believe what I was told.
I picked up the phone.
“If my mother didn't die there, where is she?”
“We don't know.”
“Who is we?”
“My family.”
I looked at the necklace.
“What does Victor have to do with Caterina?”
Silence.
“Adrien.”
“She was his wife.”
The room became perfectly still.
The pregnant woman in the photograph.
My aunt.
Victor's wife.
“Was she pregnant when she died?”
“Yes.”
“With Victor's child?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“We were told Caterina and the baby died in the explosion.”
“Told by whom?”
“My father.”
Antonio.
The man who had studied me at dinner.
“And my mother?”
“She disappeared the same night.”
“Why?”
“We think she saw something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
At least that answer was honest.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“Why me?”
“What?”
“Why did you find me?”
“Because three years ago Victor reopened Caterina's death.”
My heart pounded.
“He discovered the explosion wasn't an accident.”
“Who caused it?”
“We don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then why were you watching me?”
“We found your mother's name in Caterina's safe-deposit records.”
“And?”
“She left something to Evelyn.”
“What?”
“We don't know.”
I almost screamed.
“Adrien.”
“There was a key.”
My gaze dropped automatically toward the pendant.
“What key?”
“That's why I gave you the necklace.”
Everything stopped.
“You gave me Victor's dead wife's necklace because you thought it contained a key?”
“Yes.”
“You were using me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Not after—”
“Don't.”
I knew exactly what he was going to say.
Not after I fell in love with you.
As though love erased how it began.
“Did you date me because of Caterina?”
“At first, I needed to get close.”
My eyes burned.
“At first.”
“Yes.”
“Was the back injury fake?”
“No.”
“Was asking me for coffee?”
He didn't answer.
“Was our first date?”
“Lena—”
“Our first kiss?”
“No.”
“Was sleeping with me part of getting close?”
“God, no.”
I believed the pain in his voice.
It didn't help.
“You had six months to tell me.”
“I know.”
“You told me you loved me.”
“I do.”
“You met my friends.”
“I know.”
“You slept in my bed.”
“I know.”
“You let me tell you about my mother.”
His breathing changed.
“I know.”
“And every single time, you knew there was a possibility she hadn't died the way I believed.”
“Yes.”
Something inside me broke quietly.
Not dramatically.
That was worse.
“Don't come here.”
“Lena.”
“If you come near my apartment tonight, I call the police.”
“I understand.”
“And don't send Victor.”
“I won't.”
I ended the call.
Then someone knocked.
Three times.
Slow.
I froze.
I walked toward the door without making noise.
Looked through the peephole.
Victor.
Of course.
I opened the door only with the security chain attached.
“I told Adrien not to send you.”
“He didn't.”
“Go away.”
“I will.”
He looked at the chain.
“But first I need to know whether you opened the pendant.”
I stared.
“How do you know?”
“Because Caterina designed it.”
His voice changed when he said her name.
Not much.
Enough.
I held up the necklace.
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“She was my aunt.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“Not until tonight.”
“Adrien did.”
Victor's jaw tightened.
“How much did he tell you?”
“Enough.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“You don't get answers from me.”
Something like approval flickered across his face.
“Good.”
“What?”
“Keep that instinct.”
I almost slammed the door.
“Lena.”
“What?”
“The pendant isn't jewelry.”
“I know there's a photograph.”
“Behind the photograph.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Remove it.”
I hesitated.
Then opened the pendant and carefully lifted the tiny picture.
Underneath was a brass disc no larger than my fingernail.
Stamped into it:
317
Victor closed his eyes.
“What is it?”
“A locker number.”
“Where?”
“Union Station.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
The same answer Adrien had given.
Apparently Ducas were genetically committed to being infuriating.
Victor looked down the hallway.
“We need to leave.”
“No.”
“Someone has been following you.”
My stomach dropped.
“How do you know?”
“I've been following them.”
That was somehow worse.
“Excuse me?”
“For four days.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrien brought Caterina's necklace out of my father's safe.”
“Your father had it?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew?”
“No.”
Victor's eyes turned cold.
“I believed it burned with her seventeen years ago.”
I understood.
The moment he saw it at dinner, he realized someone had lied.
“Your father.”
“Possibly.”
“Adrien stole it?”
“Yes.”
“And gave it to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see whether someone would react.”
I stared.
“You people are insane.”
“Frequently.”
“And you think someone reacted?”
Victor looked toward the stairwell.
“Three men have been photographing you since Tuesday.”
My mouth went dry.
“The messages?”
“Not me.”
“Adrien?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because whoever sent them knows about Evelyn.”
“You know about my mother?”
“Enough to know you shouldn't stay here.”
“I am not going anywhere with you.”
“Good.”
He reached into his coat.
I stepped backward.
Victor immediately stopped.
Slowly, he removed a business card and slid it through the gap beside the door.
“Detective Mara Ellis. Organized Crime Division.”
I looked down.
“She knows?”
“Some.”
“Call her yourself.”
“You're telling me to call police?”
“Yes.”
“Aren't you supposed to be—”
“What?”
I stopped.
“Mafia?”
Victor almost smiled.
“That word is useful to newspapers.”
“And inaccurate?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised me.
“I've done things I'm not proud of, Lena.”
“Crimes?”
“Yes.”
“Violence?”
His face hardened.
“Yes.”
“Then why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
The answer came instantly.
“Trust evidence.”
He nodded toward the card.
“Call Ellis.”
Then he stepped backward.
I watched him.
“What did you mean?”
“When?”
“Wrong brother.”
For the first time, Victor looked uncomfortable.
“I shouldn't have said it.”
“That's not an explanation.”
“No.”
“Did you mean Adrien was wrong for me?”
“Partly.”
“And the other part?”
His eyes moved to the pendant.
“Caterina used to say something when I was being an idiot.”
“What?”
“Wrong brother, cara mia.”
I frowned.
“She called you brother?”
“No.”
“She was talking about my brother.”
“Adrien?”
“He was nineteen.”
Victor looked away.
“She used to joke that she had married the serious Duca when she should have waited for the charming one to grow up.”
My chest tightened.
“So you repeated her words?”
“When I saw her necklace on you.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
For once, he seemed genuinely uncertain.
“You looked like Evelyn.”
I went still.
“You knew my mother?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
Victor looked at me.
“Well enough to know she would be furious that you're standing in a hallway arguing with me instead of calling the detective whose card is on your floor.”
I picked it up.
“Victor.”
He stopped.
“Do you think my mother is alive?”
His face changed.
“I don't know.”
“Do you hope she is?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the elevator.
“Because she was the last person who saw my wife alive.”
Then he left.
I called Detective Ellis.
Twenty minutes later, police were inside my apartment.
An hour after that, they found a camera mounted across the alley pointed directly at my windows.
At 2:13 in the morning, Detective Ellis returned from the hallway.
“Ms. Moretti?”
I looked up.
“Yes?”
“You need to see this.”
She held a photograph.
Security footage from the building across the street.
A woman wearing a hood had entered three nights earlier.
Her face was partially visible.
I stared.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar beside her mouth that I didn't remember.
But I knew those eyes.
My eyes.
My mother's eyes.
The timestamp was seventy-two hours old.
Detective Ellis said something.
I didn't hear her.
May you like
Because the woman I had buried twenty-two years earlier had been standing across the street from my apartment three nights ago.
And she had been watching me.
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