Chapter nine

THE NAME BURIED WITH THE DEAD

“Ask him why he named you Amelie.”

The message remained on Gio’s phone.

I couldn’t stop staring at it.

My name had always felt like the one thing nobody could take from me. Now even that seemed to belong to someone else.

“Play the video again,” I whispered.

Gio did.

My mother’s frightened face appeared on the screen. Daniel sat behind her, tied to a metal chair.

Then her voice returned.

“Vittorio Locatelli isn’t the man who stole you. Your biological father has been dead for twenty-four years.”

The recording ended.

“Tell me she’s lying,” I said.

Gio looked at me.

“I can’t.”

“Then take me to the place where I was born.”

He studied my face before nodding.

“We leave in twenty minutes.”

St. Catherine’s Maternity Clinic stood behind a row of old oak trees in Chicago. Its white walls were peeling, the windows boarded, and the rusted sign above the entrance barely readable.

I stepped out of the car.

“This is where I was born?”

“According to the records,” Gio replied.

Inside, dust covered the reception desk. A broken trolley stood in the hallway, and faded medical posters hung crookedly on the walls.

At the end of the corridor, we found the maternity records room.

Rafael forced the lock.

Someone had searched it recently. Drawers hung open, and old documents littered the floor.

I crouched beside a damaged register.

DELIVERY REGISTER — OCTOBER 2002.

My birthday.

I searched the entries until I found Isabella Locatelli’s name.

Two babies.

One male. One female.

Both born alive.

My fingers trembled as I turned the page. A name had been violently crossed out, but beneath the ink, I could still make out the letters.

AMELIE VITTORIA LOCATELLI.

“Gio.”

He leaned over my shoulder.

“Vittoria is the feminine form of Vittorio,” he whispered.

My stomach twisted.

Attached to the register was a handwritten instruction:

Female infant to be transferred under the authority of Daniel Pearce. No further documentation without approval from Mr. Locatelli.

At the bottom was a signature.

VITTORIO LOCATELLI.

“Your father ordered my transfer,” I said.

Gio studied the signature.

“It appears so.”

I searched the bottom drawer and discovered a small cassette recorder. A note had been taped to it.

For Amelie, when she is old enough to understand.

My hands shook as I pressed play.

Static filled the room.

Then Daniel’s voice emerged.

“Isabella, if you’re hearing this, I’ve failed to keep my promise.”

I stopped breathing.

“I know you believe I stole your daughter. But you don’t understand what happened that night. Your daughter was never supposed to leave this clinic alive.”

Gio went completely still.

Daniel continued.

“Vittorio discovered something about the child. He wanted her removed before anyone could uncover the truth. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I took her, gave her another identity, and raised her as my own.”

My eyes burned.

“Amelie, if you’re listening, I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

The recording clicked off.

I stared at the machine.

Daniel had lied about everything, yet perhaps he had also saved my life.

“Was he telling the truth?” I asked.

Gio shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

Before I could respond, footsteps sounded in the corridor.

Rafael raised his weapon.

A man in a dark coat appeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Locatelli,” he greeted calmly.

Gio pointed his gun at him.

“Who are you?”

“Someone who’s been waiting for you.”

The stranger looked at me.

“Amelie Pearce. Or should I say Amelie Vittoria Locatelli?”

“Who sent you?”

He smiled.

“Your father.”

“Which one?”

His smile widened.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

He placed an envelope on the floor.

“Your mother wanted you to have that.”

“Where is she?”

“Alive. But if you want answers, ask him what happened to Elena.”

Before Gio could stop him, the stranger disappeared down the corridor.

I opened the envelope.

Inside was a photograph of a young woman standing outside the clinic. She had dark hair, my eyes, and a crescent-shaped birthmark beneath her left shoulder.

On the back was a name.

ELENA LOCATELLI.

And beneath it:

THE FIRST DAUGHTER WAS NEVER MISSING. SHE WAS BURIED.

Gio returned moments later.

I held up the photograph.

“Who is Elena Locatelli?”

His face changed.

“My sister.”

I stared at him.

“I’m your sister.”

“Yes.”

“Then who is she?”

He looked at the photograph.

“Someone my father told me never existed.”

Suddenly, the cassette recorder crackled.

My mother’s voice filled the room.

“If you’ve found Elena’s photograph, then you know the truth about the first daughter.”

I turned towards it.

“Vittorio didn’t steal you because he wanted to destroy you, Amelie. He stole you because you were the only person who could prove Elena was still alive.”

A pause followed.

Then her voice dropped.

“And if you’re hearing this, it means the woman you believe to be your mother has been lying to you.”

The tape stopped.

Gio’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

ELENA LOCATELLI.

His fingers tightened around the device before he answered.

“Hello, little brother.”

A woman’s voice.

Gio went pale.

“Who is this?”

A soft laugh came through the speaker.

“You know who I am.”

Then she spoke directly to me.

“Amelie, if you want to know why your mother disappeared, come to the wedding tomorrow.”

“Where is my mother?”

“She’s standing right beside me.”

My heart hammered.

“Let me speak to her!”

There was a rustling sound.

Then a familiar voice broke through.

“Amelie?”

“Mama?”

She began to cry.

“Listen carefully, darling. Whatever happens tomorrow, you must not marry Gio.”

I looked at him.

He was staring at the phone.

“Why?” I whispered.

My mother’s next words shattered everything.

“Because the man you’re about to marry isn’t your brother.”

The call ended.

Neither of us moved.

Then another message appeared.

THE WEDDING WILL TAKE PLACE AT MIDNIGHT.

A photograph followed.

Daniel was kneeling on the floor, a gun pressed against his head.

Standing behind him was a man I had spent my entire life believing was dead.

VITTORIO LOCATELLI.

My blood turned cold.

The dead had returned.

And tomorrow, someone was going to make sure the truth was buried with them.