Chapter 2 - The Name She BuriedChapter 2: The Girl Who Knew the DragonAlina did not answer Dante’s question.
She could not.
The dragon tattoo had climbed from the hollow beneath his collarbone to the left side of his neck, its black wings spreading beneath the open white silk. The artist had worked silver-gray scales into the ink, but it was the small red mark beneath the dragon’s jaw that had frozen her blood.
Three red drops.
She had seen that symbol once before, fourteen years earlier, on the wrist of a man who stood beside her father’s body while their apartment burned.
“Ma’am?” one of the bodyguards said.
The single word snapped the restaurant back into focus.
Plates clattered. A server laughed near the bar. Someone’s wineglass broke in the kitchen. Yet to Alina, every sound came from far away. All she could hear was her mother’s voice from a night she had spent half her life trying to forget.
Run, Lina. Don’t look back. If you see the dragon, hide.
Leo reached for her again.
The baby’s lower lip trembled, and that tiny movement broke through her terror more effectively than any command could have. He had been calm in her arms for one beautiful second. His fingers had wrapped around hers as if he recognized her. She had felt the warmth of him, the soft scent of milk and baby soap, and something inside her had answered.
Then she had seen the tattoo.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You know what it means,” Dante said.
His tone was no longer merely cold. It carried the sharp stillness of a locked door.
Alina placed the tray on the nearest empty table before her hands could betray her. “I don’t know anything.”
“You looked at my neck like it was a gun.”
“It isn’t my business.”
“You made it my business when you frightened my son.”
The accusation struck harder than she expected. She looked at Leo, who had started to whimper again. Dante held him securely, but the baby’s body leaned toward her with heartbreaking determination.
“I didn’t frighten him.”
“Then stop looking at him like you’re about to disappear.”
She lifted her eyes to Dante’s face. Up close, the scar along his cheekbone was even thinner than she had thought, a pale line that vanished into the edge of his beard. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, but there was nothing careless in them. He noticed everything.
That made him dangerous.
“I need to return to work,” she said.
“You’re done for the night.”
“My manager decides that.”
“Your manager will agree with me.”
The bodyguard nearest the aisle took one step toward the bar. A moment later, the restaurant owner, Mr. Bellini, hurried from his office with his tie crooked and his smile already prepared.
“Mr. Rosselli,” he said breathlessly. “Is there a problem?”
“Your waitress saw my tattoo and panicked.”
Bellini’s smile collapsed. His gaze moved from Dante to Alina, and then toward the four men surrounding the booth. “Lena is an excellent employee. If there was any misunderstanding—”
“Her name is Alina,” Dante said.
She had not told him that.
Bellini swallowed. “Yes. Alina.”
The realization made her stomach twist. Dante had already learned her name. Perhaps he had read it from the badge pinned to her apron, but the way he said it suggested possession rather than observation.
“She can leave,” Dante said.
“I can walk myself home,” Alina replied.
One of the guards looked toward the windows. Another touched the inside of his jacket.
Dante did not move. “Who said anything about walking?”
“You did.”
“I said you could leave. I didn’t say you could leave unprotected.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“Everyone needs protection from something.”
The words landed in the exact place where her fear lived.
Alina turned away. She could not afford a scene. She could not afford to lose another job. Most of all, she could not afford to let this man see how deeply his tattoo had reached into her past.
She walked toward the staff corridor, forcing her legs to move with steady purpose.
“Alina.”
She stopped.
Leo was crying now. Not loudly, but desperately, his little fists opening and closing toward her. Dante’s arms tightened around him.
“Why does my son know you?”
Alina stared at the white marble floor.
Because he doesn’t know me, she thought. Because babies reach for warmth. Because I look like someone he has lost. Because if I stay, your enemies may recognize me too.
She turned her head only enough to see the child over her shoulder.
“He doesn’t know me,” she said. “He just liked my finger.”
Then she disappeared through the swinging door.
In the employees’ locker room, she changed so quickly that she left one of her earrings on the bench. Her fingers shook as she pulled on her old gray coat. She stuffed the apron into her locker and closed it twice before the latch caught.
Outside, rain had begun to fall.
The city glittered under streetlamps, wet and gold. Alina walked three blocks before she realized a black SUV was moving slowly along the curb beside her.
She stopped.
The SUV stopped too.
Its rear window lowered, revealing Dante Rosselli holding Leo against his chest.
“Get in,” he said.
“No.”
“You’re being watched.”
Alina glanced behind her. At the far end of the block, a man in a charcoal coat stood beneath an awning. He held no umbrella. He was looking directly at her.
Dante’s voice hardened. “Now.”
She hated that fear forced her into the car. She hated even more that, when she climbed inside, Leo immediately relaxed against Dante and reached one hand toward her.
The door shut. The locks clicked.
“Who is he?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
The SUV pulled into traffic. Leo continued reaching across the space between them until Dante finally lowered him onto the leather seat. The baby crawled unsteadily toward Alina, and before she could stop herself, she lifted him into her lap.
He settled against her as if he belonged there.
Dante watched the transformation in silence. His son had screamed at nurses, ignored nannies, and rejected every stranger who tried to distract him. Yet against Alina’s chest, he made a soft sound and closed his eyes.
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Tell me about the dragon.”
Alina stroked Leo’s back. “Ask your tattoo artist.”
“The artist died twelve years ago.”
Her hand stopped.
Dante leaned forward. “So you do know something.”
The city slid past the tinted windows in silver streaks.
Alina looked down at Leo’s small face. He had her finger again, holding it even in sleep.
“Your dragon belonged to a man named Rafael Vale,” she said.
Every guard in the SUV went still.
Dante’s expression changed so quickly that she almost missed it. Recognition. Anger. Then something deeper and more dangerous.
“How do you know that name?”
“Because he murdered my father.”
For several seconds, no one spoke.
The SUV passed beneath a bridge, and darkness covered them all.
When they emerged, Dante’s voice was low.
“Rafael Vale was my father.”
May you like
Alina’s breath caught.
Leo slept between them, unaware that the past had just opened its mouth.
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