Chapter Seven: The Safe House

He stepped closer.

Crowding her against the balustrade.

“The Rosalia Marino I’m thinking of had a birthmark. A small crescent moon behind her right ear.”

Her hand flew instinctively to the spot where her own birthmark lay hidden beneath her hair.

Vincenzo’s eyes darkened.

“So it’s true.”

“This is crazy,” she whispered.

“You can’t just kidnap me and my brother because of some mob feud that happened before I was born.”

“Kidnap.”

He looked genuinely offended.

“I’m trying to protect you, Lucia. If Salvatore confirms who you are, you’ll disappear. And not to a comfortable safe house with your brother.”

“And why should I trust you? You’ve been lying since the moment I walked through your door tonight.”

“As have you.”

His fingers brushed her cheek.

Surprisingly gentle.

“Your grandmother never told you the truth about your heritage, did she? About why she really left Sicily.”

She shook her head.

Tears threatening.

“She told me they left for a better life in America. Normal immigrant story.”

“She left because she was smuggled out after the attack on your family. Antonio Marino was my father’s most trusted adviser until he was accused of betrayal. The fire that supposedly killed your family was set as punishment.”

A pause.

“Except someone helped your grandparents escape.”

Her knees weakened.

“This can’t be real.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you proof. Tonight, you need to trust me.”

His hands gripped her shoulders.

“Every minute you remain in public view puts you at greater risk.”

A movement at the edge of the garden caught her eye.

A figure retreating into shadows.

Vincenzo noticed her distraction and turned.

His body instantly shifting to shield hers.

“Marco,” he called softly.

His security chief materialized from nowhere.

“We’re leaving through the back. Have the car brought around.”

“What about the other guests? Your father?”

“Make my apologies. Family emergency.”

Vincenzo’s arm wrapped around her waist.

Guiding her down the terrace steps toward a path that led away from the main grounds.

“I need to get my things from the apartment,” she protested weakly.

Struggling to process everything.

“We’ll send someone. Nothing there is worth your safety.”

“My brother’s medical records. His backup medications.”

“Give Marco the address. He’ll handle it.”

Everything was moving too fast.

One moment she was singing Sicilian lullabies.

The next she was being hustled through dark gardens.

Her entire identity in question.

Her future uncertain.

“My brother will be terrified,” she said as Vincenzo helped her into a different car.

Sleeker than the one that had brought her. More powerful. Windows tinted so dark they appeared solid black.

“Marco will explain what he needs to know. Nothing more.”

Vincenzo slid in beside her.

The door closing with a soft thud that felt like a prison gate shutting.

The driver pulled away without being told where to go.

They already had a plan.

This wasn’t improvisation.

“How long have you known?” she asked as the estate disappeared behind them.

“About my grandmother.”

“I suspected when I heard you sing. The lullaby is unique to a specific region in Sicily. Passed through certain families.”

His hand found hers in the darkness.

Warm and steady.

“When you said her name, I became nearly certain. Tonight was meant to confirm my suspicions.”

“By parading me in front of your enemies.”

“By giving Salvatore enough rope to hang himself.”

His thumb traced circles on her palm.

“Did you see his reaction?”

She nodded slowly.

Remembering the sudden alertness in the older man’s eyes.

“By tomorrow, he’ll have confirmed his suspicions. By tomorrow night, he would have sent someone for you.”

Vincenzo’s grip tightened.

“I had to move first.”

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