Chapter 7 - MY FATHER'S NAMEThe photograph had been taken outside my elementary school.
I wore a yellow backpack.
My mother held my hand.
A man stood across the street.
My father.
Daniel Hayes.
I had not seen his face since I was thirteen.
“He worked for Vittorio,” Matteo said.
The words destroyed something inside me.
We were at Luca's house.
Matteo had been examined by doctors.
He was thinner than I remembered.
But alive.
Alive mattered.
“My father abandoned us.”
“No,” Matteo said.
“He disappeared.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He pushed a file toward me.
Daniel Hayes had been an undercover federal investigator.
He entered Vittorio's network twenty years earlier.
Then his identity was exposed.
“He left to protect you,” Luca said.
I looked at him.
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
He sat beside me.
“But I know what men do when they believe distance can protect someone.”
His eyes told me he was talking about himself.
I looked away.
“Is my father alive?”
Matteo did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“He died in Berlin.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
“Saving evidence.”
“The ledger?”
“Yes.”
My entire life suddenly had invisible architecture.
My father.
My mother.
Matteo.
Frankfurt.
None of it was coincidence.
Vittorio had watched me because he feared what my father taught my mother.
Martin hired me because Vittorio's people finally found me.
The dinner was a test.
They wanted to know whether I could understand the language.
I had proven it.
Spectacularly.
“I spilled wine on a man and restarted a twenty-year investigation.”
Marco shrugged.
“I've seen worse strategies.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
Luca found me outside later.
The lake was dark.
“You should sleep.”
“You say that like sleep is available.”
He stood beside me.
“I'm sorry about your father.”
“I barely remember him.”
“That doesn't make it easier.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then I looked at him.
“You kissed me.”
“Yes.”
“You were on morphine.”
“I remember.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“For you?”
“For my dignity.”
He smiled.
I had never seen Luca smile this much before me.
That thought frightened me.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Vittorio goes to trial.”
“And you?”
His smile disappeared.
“The government wants my cooperation.”
“Will you give it?”
“Yes.”
I was surprised.
“My father's organization ends with me.”
“Luca—”
“No.”
He looked at the water.
“I spent years telling myself I was different because I had rules.”
His voice hardened.
“No children. No trafficking. No drugs near schools.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Rules don't clean blood.”
I touched his hand.
He looked down.
“I want out,” he said.
“Can you get out?”
“I don't know.”
That was the most vulnerable thing Luca had ever said.
I threaded my fingers through his.
“We'll find out.”
He stared at our hands.
“We?”
“Yes.”
“You're reckless.”
“You're annoying.”
“You slapped me.”
“You deserved it.”
“You kissed me.”
“You started it.”
He pulled me closer.
“Then I'll finish it.”
The second kiss was gentler.
That scared me more.
Because violence was temporary.
Gentleness made promises.
Three days later, those promises nearly died.
May you like
Vittorio escaped federal custody.
And the first place he went was my apartment.
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