Chapter 3 - The Name Engraved Inside
Luca stared at me as if the floor had just vanished beneath him.
“Your mother?”
“Yes, sir.” I clutched my good arm across my chest. “She’s at the Oakwood Assisted Living facility. She never takes it off. She says a patient gave it to her a long time ago.”
Luca didn’t hesitate.
“Get your coat.”
“But the dinner—”
“To hell with the dinner,” Luca snapped.
He bypassed the main hall, leading me out through the kitchen’s rear exit.
Ten minutes later, we were in his black SUV, speeding toward Oakwood.
The rain had started to fall, slick and heavy against the windshield.
“My mother was a trauma nurse at St. Jude’s,” I explained softly, watching the streetlights blur. “She was working the ER the night your wife was brought in.”
Luca’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.
“Anna died on impact. That’s what the coroner said.”
“My mother always said the woman from the lake crash lived for two hours,” I replied quietly.
Luca slammed on the brakes as we hit a red light.
He looked at me, his eyes dark with a grief that hadn't aged a day.
“They lied about everything.”
We reached the facility at midnight.
The night nurse let us into my mother’s room.
She was asleep in her armchair, her frail hands resting in her lap.
Around her left wrist was the heavy, braided silver bracelet.
Luca knelt beside her chair.
He didn't wake her. He just gently reached out and touched the silver.
“It’s Anna’s,” he whispered. “My father gave this to her on our wedding day.”
He carefully turned the bracelet to check the inside clasp.
He was looking for his wife’s initials.
But as the bedside lamp caught the metal, his brow furrowed.
“This isn’t right,” he murmured.
“What is it?” I asked.
He looked up at me, his expression completely altered.
“The inscription. It doesn't say Anna’s name.”
He tilted the silver band so I could read the tiny engraved letters.
To my beloved Vanessa. Forever yours, Antonio.
My stomach dropped.
Antonio. Luca’s father.
Vanessa hadn't been giving Anna a gift on that film.
She had been returning a bribe.
Suddenly, my mother shifted in her chair.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She looked at Luca, her gaze surprisingly clear for a woman whose mind was usually lost in the fog of Alzheimer’s.
“You have his eyes,” she whispered.
Luca froze. “Whose eyes, ma'am?”
My mother pointed a trembling finger at the silver bracelet.
“The man who drove the truck that hit her,” she said. “He came to the hospital. He gave me this to keep quiet.”
May you like
She looked right at Luca.
“He looked just like you.”
