Chapter 2 - THE PENDANT OF A DEAD WOMAN
The ambulance took Sofia to Northwestern Memorial.
Matteo was examined at Bellavere first and later brought to the hospital by Dante’s physician, largely because Dante refused to accept the word “fine” until a doctor repeated it twice.
Sofia’s injuries were painful but not catastrophic.
A badly bruised shoulder.
Several shallow cuts.
Muscle trauma across her back.
No fracture.
No serious head injury.
The physician wanted to keep her for observation for a few hours.
Sofia’s first question was whether the hospital visit would be covered by workers’ compensation.
The nurse looked at her with the expression medical professionals used when someone asked about money before asking about pain.
“We’ll sort that out.”
Sofia almost laughed.
People who said that usually had health insurance.
A Bellavere representative arrived forty minutes later.
Not Douglas.
Assistant manager Kevin Morse.
He carried a clipboard.
“I’m really sorry about what happened.”
Sofia was sitting upright with an ice pack on her shoulder.
“Is Matteo okay?”
“He’s fine.”
“Good.”
Kevin placed forms on the tray table.
“The restaurant needs an incident statement while everything’s fresh.”
Sofia took the pen.
Then stopped.
One paragraph had already been typed.
According to the language, Sofia had “made sudden contact with the VIP table while carrying service items immediately before the fixture detached.”
She read it twice.
“I didn’t touch the table.”
Kevin shifted.
“It’s standard preliminary language.”
“It says I caused it.”
“It doesn’t say caused.”
“It says I hit the table before it fell.”
“That’s what management believes may have happened.”
Sofia put down the pen.
“I was six feet away.”
“Sofia, nobody is blaming you.”
“You literally typed the blame.”
Kevin lowered his voice.
“Douglas wants paperwork handled quickly. Insurance gets complicated.”
“Then Douglas can come explain it himself.”
A voice from the doorway answered:
“He won’t.”
Dante Moretti entered.
No entourage this time.
Only one man remained outside.
Dante’s black jacket was gone because it lay folded on Sofia’s chair.
He wore a white dress shirt beneath his vest, sleeves still buttoned.
He looked somehow more dangerous without the jacket.
Kevin stood immediately.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Dante took the prepared statement from the tray.
He read it.
Then looked at Kevin.
“Did you witness the accident?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Crane?”
“Not directly.”
“So why are you asking her to sign a version nobody saw?”
Kevin swallowed.
“It’s just preliminary.”
Dante tore the paper once.
Then again.
He placed the pieces neatly on the tray.
“Leave.”
Kevin hesitated.
“I work for Bellavere.”
Dante looked at him.
“Not in this room.”
Kevin left.
Sofia stared.
“You can’t just threaten my managers.”
“I didn’t threaten him.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Dante almost smiled.
Almost.
“How do you feel?”
“Like a ceiling fell on me.”
“Part of one did.”
“Thank you for the clarification.”
This time, something definitely moved at the corner of his mouth.
Sofia disliked that she noticed.
She touched the pendant unconsciously.
Dante’s eyes followed.
“May I see it?”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
Sofia continued.
“You’ve been staring at it since the restaurant. So until you explain why, no.”
Dante took a chair.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then:
“My sister had one.”
Sofia’s fingers tightened around the pendant.
“A similar one?”
“The same one.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“My mother had it as long as I can remember.”
“What did she tell you about it?”
“That it belonged to her family.”
“What family?”
“She never said.”
Dante looked toward the window.
Chicago lights reflected in the glass.
“My grandfather commissioned two pendants.”
Sofia waited.
“One for my mother. One for my sister Luciana when she turned sixteen.”
“The symbol?”
“Old Moretti family mark. Long before any company existed.”
Sofia looked down.
The metal was worn smooth near the edge.
She remembered her mother rubbing it between two fingers whenever nervous.
“This could be a copy.”
“It could.”
Dante did not sound convinced.
“How old would your sister be?”
“Fifty-five.”
“My mother was fifty-four when she died.”
Dante’s eyes snapped back to her.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“What did she die from?”
“Cancer.”
“And your father?”
“Dead too.”
“How?”
Sofia’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
Dante leaned back.
“You saved Matteo. I owe you honesty.”
“That would be a nice change from today.”
“My sister Luciana died twenty-eight years ago.”
Sofia frowned.
“I’m sorry.”
“She was twenty-seven.”
The number struck her.
Same age Sofia was now.
Dante continued.
“She was pregnant.”
Sofia went still.
“How far along?”
“I was fourteen. Nobody told me much.”
“Did you see her after she died?”
Dante’s face became unreadable.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Closed casket.”
Sofia felt something unpleasant move through her stomach.
Dante said:
“The accident was in Wisconsin. Her car went off a rural road and burned.”
“Was the body identified?”
“My uncle handled everything.”
“What uncle?”
“Vittorio Moretti.”
The name meant nothing to Sofia.
Dante studied her reaction carefully.
She hated it.
“What?”
“You genuinely don’t know the name.”
“No.”
Dante nodded slowly.
That appeared to matter.
The door opened.
Matteo slipped inside before anyone could stop him.
He carried a paper cup.
“Papa said I can’t stay long.”
Sofia smiled.
“Your papa sounds bossy.”
Matteo looked at Dante.
“He is.”
Dante actually smiled then.
Small.
Human.
Matteo approached the bed.
“I brought you orange soda.”
Sofia laughed despite the pain.
“You found somebody in the kitchen?”
“I told them you saved me.”
“That probably helped.”
Matteo put the cup beside her.
Then his eyes moved to the pendant.
“My aunt has that in a picture.”
Dante became still.
Sofia looked at him.
“What picture?”
Matteo shrugged.
“The lady in Papa’s office.”
Dante’s expression warned him.
But the child continued innocently.
“The dead lady.”
Sofia looked down at the pendant.
Dead lady.
Her mother had been alive for twenty-five years after Luciana Moretti supposedly died.
Someone was wrong.
Either Dante had mistaken a piece of jewelry for something extraordinary—
or Sofia’s mother had spent most of her life hiding who she really was.
Before she could ask another question, her phone vibrated.
A text from Douglas Crane.
DO NOT RETURN TO BELLAVERE UNTIL WE DISCUSS YOUR EMPLOYMENT STATUS.
Sofia stared.
Dante noticed.
“What?”
She showed him.
His face chilled instantly.
“He’s firing you?”
“Looks like it.”
“For saving my son.”
“Restaurants have strange performance standards.”
Dante stood.
“Don’t answer.”
“I need that job.”
“You need a lawyer.”
“I can’t afford one.”
Dante looked at her pendant again.
Then at Sofia.
“You can now.”
Her expression hardened.
“I didn’t save your son for money.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t buy me.”
For the second time that night, Sofia surprised him.
Dante slowly nodded.
“Fair.”
He moved toward the door.
Then stopped.
“There is one thing I want from you.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow, I want to show you a photograph.”
Sofia’s pulse quickened.
“Of Luciana?”
“Yes.”
“And if she looks like my mother?”
Dante stared at her for a long moment.
May you like
“Then somebody buried a woman who never died.”
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