2: A New Identity

Chiara Moretti

"You are so stupid, Chiara! You should have known that Marco never loved you! He was only using you!"

"Now that you have signed the divorce papers, you have agreed to leave all your wealth to me! Let's see what you are going to do now with no money and power!"

"I don't care about that bastard you are carrying, I tried everything to make sure you didn't get pregnant but you were so stupid and ended up pregnant!"

I suddenly saw myself inside the car, driving recklessly my eyes blurred with tears and the next thing I saw was a huge trunk, I gasped and opened my eyes, realizing that I was dreaming.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a whimper escaping my throat, I have been having these dreams on repeat for some time now. It's been two weeks since I regained my consciousness.

Suddenly I heard a soft click of the door and I tilted my head to see Mr. Bianchi step inside. He approached me and without a word, he helped me transfer into the wheelchair. My limbs were still weak and uncooperative. I still couldn't move on my own.

"Ready for our walk, Ms. Moretti?" He always asked, but it was never really a choice. He just... did. And honestly, I didn't have the energy to resist and I just nodded.

He gently pushed the wheelchair towards the hospital corridors, the moment we stepped outside, my gaze fell on the window thinking about how my life had changed just with a blink of an eye, one time I was a wealthy business woman and the next I am on a wheelchair wrapped in bandages, trapped in a nightmare.

"The air is clear, you should rest."Mr. Bianchi said and stopped the wheelchair, he moved closer and I saw the faint smile on his face as he took in the scene.

Finally, unable to bear to keep shut any longer, I cleared my throat, "Why... why is my face still wrapped?" The question had been gnawing at me, I knew I had gone through burns but wasn't it time for the bandage to be removed already?

He knelt before me, bringing his eyes level with mine. He hesitated, his thumb gently brushing the back of my hand which rested limply on my lap.

"Ms. Moretti," he started, his voice softer, "I didn't want to tell you until I was certain you were strong enough. The last time... you lost consciousness." He paused, taking a breath. "Your face... it went through major trauma in the fire, and there were severe burns. An extensive surgery was performed and your face... It's been changed. You don't look the same anymore."

The words hit me, stripping the air from my lungs. Changed? My face? The face Marco once swore he loved, the face my mother had gazed at with such pride. It was gone? Panic began to claw at my throat. Was this just another layer of the nightmare? Was I truly losing everything? My vision blurred with unshed tears, and I felt the familiar waves of dizziness threatening to engulf me, just as he had described.

Before the darkness could claim me again, his voice cut through, "But there's a good part, a very good part. This isn't an ending, it's a rebirth. You didn't die in that fire like they wanted. You survived! And now, you have a new face. A new identity, if you choose it, it's a chance to reclaim everything they stole from you."

He paused, letting his words sink in. My mind, still reeling from the revelation of my disfigured face, struggled to process his next statement.

"The fire wasn't an accident, Ms. Moretti."

"What... what are you saying?"I managed to ask.

"Marco and Alesia," he continued, "They orchestrated it. They wanted to eradicate you, to make you disappear for good."

A chasm opened beneath me, swallowing me whole. Marco and Alesia! They had tried to kill me. Not just abandon me, not just betray me, but erase me. The sheer, unfathomable depravity of it left me speechless and breathless. My nails dug into the armrests of the wheelchair, a futile attempt to ground myself in a world that had just been turned inside out.

"They didn't just try to kill me, they killed my baby!"I said through a choking voice. "I was six months gone! I had three more months before I held my child but they stole that away from me."

The air left my lungs in a ragged sob. I was trying to make sense of everything, What have I done to deserve this from them, Marco knew I was pregnant but he went ahead to do what he did, My baby was murdered by the very people who should have been showering him with love.

Hot and bitter tears streamed down my temples, pooling beneath the bandages. My body shook with an uncontrollable tremor. "What had I done to deserve this? How could such malice exist? They had taken everything from me. My marital home, the sweet sister I thought I had, my face, my wealth, my power, my future, my child! What did I do to deserve all of these?!" I cried harder, unable to keep my emotions in check.

"You couldn't understand because decent people don't think like them. You are not to blame for their depravity." His grip tightened, "I will stand with you and I will make sure you get back everything they took from you. Every single thing."

I stared at him through blurred vision, trying to reconcile the stranger before me with the offer he was making. Why? Why was he doing this? He was a stranger, and we didn't know each other.

"Why?" I managed to choke out, my voice thick with tears. "Why are you helping me? We... we don't even know each other."

He held my gaze, his expression unreadable. "I'm helping you because I know no one else will truly."

My brows furrowed. "Why not?" I pressed.

A faint smile touched the corner of his lips, "You will know soon enough." He released my hand, pushing himself to his feet. He turned the wheelchair, positioning it to head back towards my room. "Think about it. Are you ready to get back everything that was stolen from you? If you are ready then I am ready to help you get everything you have lost."

I let him take me back to the room and when he turned to leave, I stopped him, "Wait!" I called out, my voice stronger than I expected. "What's your name? You never really told me what your name is."

He paused at the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He looked back at me, his eyes holding a depth that made me shiver. "Alessandro Bianchi," he stated before walking out of the room.

Alessandro Bianchi?

I tried to remember where I had heard that name. After a few minutes, my eyes went wide remembering who Alessandro Bianchi was, the one percent elite of Italy. The same man rumours that he is a mafia lord, a figure no one dared to cross, yet, on the surface, he was the most successful businessman in the country, a titan of industry, his empire vast and unyielding.

I remembered seeing him once at a gala from afar. Back then, I had still been dreaming of expanding my architectural firm, and I had foolishly hoped I might one day be significant enough to partner with men of Bianchi's stature. Never, in my wildest dreams, had I ever imagined that the man who held such power, such mystique, would be the one kneeling before me in a hospital corridor, offering to avenge my shattered life.

My hands gripped the wheelchair tightly, wondering what his true intentions. Alessandro Bianchi won't help me for no reason.