Page 51

“Who is this?” one of them asks, his voice steady.
I chew on my lip before I say, “That’s...that’s my uncle. The man I told you about.” My voice trembles as I speak, but confusion swirls in my mind. “Why have got his photograph?”
West’s eyes narrow. “What are younottelling me, Amelia?”
I glance at the photo again as my memories flood back. The tense family gathering, the whispered arguments echoing in my head.
“I can’t tell you.”
“He can’t hurt you,” West adds.
“That’s a lie.” I hold my hand over my heart as grief creeps into my chest like an unwelcome friend. “My parents died, and he took everything...” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “When my parents died, he claimed they left nothing behind.”
“Except you,” one investigator mutters before clearing his throat after feeling West’s glare.
“I know who you are.” West’s intensity burns through me like a hot flame. “What I don’t know is why you’re hiding.” West pushes off his desk and steps closer, concern etched on his face. “And I promise I won’t let him hurt you.”
I sigh, lifting my face to stare at the ceiling and to stop the tears that are building in my eyes from falling. I shake my head. “Do you know his name? Do you know who he is?” I murmur as I lower my face to look at West.
West turns to one of the men behind him.
“His name is Johnny Vincent.”
I laugh. “That’s the name he uses in America. His name is Giovanni Vincenzo, and he is the head of one of the five families of the Italian mafia. His base is in Italy.”
The moment I say Giovanni’s name and mention the five families, West’s expression shifts. His discomfort is palpable, thickening the air around us.
The tension wraps around my chest, squeezing like an iron bar as reality dawns on me. This isn’t just about my past; it’s about us.
I glance at the two men, their stoic faces betraying nothing, and the urge to regain control is real. “Can you step outside for a minute?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
They exchange glances but nod, stepping out of the office without a word.
As soon as the door closes behind them, I lock eyes with West.
He sits there, arms crossed over his chest, and right now, I know he is already distancing himself from me.
“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” I start, but the words fall flat. “Or at all.”
“What do you mean?” he demands.
I take a deep breath, feeling every heartbeat thudding in my ears. “Giovanni Vincenzo isn’t really my uncle.”
West blinks at me, confusion washing over his features.
“My real name is Amelia Morelli,” I confess. “I was betrothed to his son.”
Silence fills the space between us, but I keep going before he can interrupt me.
“It was after my parents died that I found out they had agreed for me to have an arranged marriage with his son.” My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt as memories flood back. “But they changed their minds.”
West runs a hand through his hair, frustration flaring in his eyes. “And they fled the mafia and came to the US.”
“Yes!” My other life is closing in as I slowly reveal who I am. “And they died for me.”
He leans closer, elbows on the table. “You should have told me.”
“There is nothing to tell. We’re fake, West,” I say, trembling under the weight of truth spilling from my lips. “But you needto understand—this was never about hiding from you or lying to you. It’s best that nobody knows anything about me. It’s safer for me this way.”