Chapter 2
I did not forget the rabbit.
I tried.
I signed contracts.
Reviewed security reports.
Listened to Marco explain why a man named Davide Russo had decided lying to me was better than breathing honestly.
Still, the rabbit stayed in my mind.
Gray fabric.
Blue stitching.
One missing ear.
A memory I could not hold.
That bothered me more than Lucia’s defiance.
Memories were weapons.
If I could not hold one, it meant someone had taken it from me.
Marco stood across from my desk, speaking about Russo, but his eyes kept drifting toward the door.
I set my pen down.
“Who did you text?”
He paused.
“What?”
“After Serena left the hall.”
His expression barely moved.
But I knew him.
I had seen him lie to police, priests, and killers.
This was different.
This was personal.
“My aunt,” he said. “She likes funny stories.”
“Try again.”
He sighed.
“Damiano.”
My name in that tone meant he wanted mercy before giving me truth.
I stood.
“Who did you text?”
Marco looked toward the window.
“Someone who might know where that rabbit came from.”
My pulse slowed.
“Why?”
“Because I recognized it.”
The room went quiet.
I stepped around the desk.
“From where?”
Marco closed his eyes for one second.
“Your mother’s old photo albums.”
My chest tightened.
“My mother burned those.”
“Not all.”
I moved closer.
“Whose rabbit was it?”
He did not answer.
I grabbed the front of his jacket and slammed him against the bookcase.
Books hit the floor.
“Whose?”
Marco did not fight back.
That scared me.
“Sofia’s,” he said.
The name tore through the room.
Sofia Conti.
My little sister.
Dead at five.
Taken in a car explosion outside my father’s Brooklyn house.
At least, that was what I had been told.
I remembered smoke.
Shouting.
My mother screaming.
Blood on my hands that no one explained.
I did not remember the rabbit.
But my body did.
My hands released Marco.
He straightened his jacket slowly.
“You should have told me,” I said.
“I wasn’t sure.”
“Do not insult me with caution.”
“I was ten when she died, Damiano. You were twelve. Memories bend.”
“Not yours.”
He looked at me then.
No smile.
No shield.
“No. Not mine.”
A knock came at the office door.
Serena stood outside with Lucia beside her.
The child held the rabbit tightly, looking bored with danger.
Serena looked terrified.
“Mr. Conti,” she said. “Mrs. Bellini said you wanted me?”
Marco’s face changed.
“Mrs. Bellini?”
I looked at him.
“Your mother?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“She came faster than expected.”
I opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
Serena hesitated.
Lucia stepped in first.
“Is this where you do boss things?”
I looked down at her.
“Yes.”
“It’s dark.”
“Most boss things are.”
She considered that.
“Needs curtains.”
Marco coughed into his fist.
Serena whispered, “Lucia, please.”
An older woman entered behind them.
Rosalia Bellini.
Marco’s mother.
She had been a maid in my father’s house before she became the closest thing to family Marco had left.
She looked at the rabbit in Lucia’s arms and made the sign of the cross.
My blood went cold.
“You know it,” I said.
Rosalia’s eyes filled.
“I sewed the blue paws myself.”
Serena took one step back.
“I don’t understand.”
Rosalia moved closer to Lucia.
“May I see, little one?”
Lucia looked at Serena.
Serena nodded reluctantly.
Lucia held out the rabbit but did not release it fully.
Smart girl.
Rosalia touched the missing ear.
“She bit this off when she was teething,” she whispered.
“Who?” I asked.
Rosalia looked at me.
“Your sister.”
The air left my lungs.
Serena’s face went pale.
She grabbed the back of a chair.
“What sister?”
I turned to her.
“Where did you get that rabbit?”
Serena pressed a hand to her chest.
“My husband gave it to Lucia before he died.”
“What was his name?”
“Matteo.”
“Last name?”
She swallowed.
“Vitale.”
Marco cursed softly.
I knew that name.
Vitale was not just a family name.
It was a buried problem.
My father had once gone to war with Salvatore Vitale, then made peace so fast people stopped asking why.
I stepped closer.
“Where is Matteo buried?”
Serena’s eyes hardened.
“Why?”
“Because that rabbit belonged to my dead sister.”
Lucia hugged it back to her chest.
“It’s mine.”
I crouched.
“Yes. It is. But it may know a story we need.”
Lucia frowned.
“Rabbits don’t talk.”
“No,” I said. “People lie. Rabbits remember.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“That makes sense.”
Serena whispered, “Matteo said his mother gave it to him.”
“What was his mother’s name?”
Serena’s lips trembled.
“He never told me. He said she died when he was small.”
Rosalia covered her mouth.
I turned to Marco.
“Find everything on Matteo Vitale.”
Marco was already reaching for his phone.
Then Lucia spoke.
“Daddy had a picture.”
Everyone froze.
Serena looked down.
“What picture?”
May you like
Lucia hugged the rabbit tighter.
“The one under Bunny’s belly.”
