“Apparently, his dog hasn’t eaten, slept, or stopped staring at the door since you left.”

I stared at my manager.

“That’s ridiculous. I only petted him for a few minutes.”

My manager shook his head.

“Olivia, you don’t understand. That dog has been with Mr. Moretti for six years. He’s trained to attack anyone who approaches without permission. Even the people who work in that man’s mansion aren’t allowed to touch him.”

I swallowed.

“Then why did he let me?”

My manager didn’t answer.

A black SUV pulled up outside.

Two men stepped out, both dressed in expensive black suits. One was tall and muscular, with a scar running from his eyebrow to his cheek.

The other approached the restaurant entrance.

“Olivia Marshall?”

I nodded cautiously.

“I’m Marcus. Mr. Moretti sent us.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Marcus glanced at my manager.

“That depends on how you define trouble.”

My stomach dropped.

“I have to work.”

“Mr. Moretti has already spoken to your employer. You’re being given the day off.”

I looked at my manager.

He nodded quickly.

“Go, Olivia. Please.”

That was when I realized nobody was going to let me refuse.

The journey across Manhattan took nearly forty minutes.

We eventually arrived at a mᴀssive iron gate overlooking a private estate.

Beyond it stood an enormous mansion surrounded by landscaped gardens, security cameras, and several armed guards.

I’d seen expensive homes before.

But this place looked like something belonging to royalty.

Marcus opened the pᴀssenger door.

“Come with me.”

I stepped onto the driveway.

Before we reached the front entrance, I heard a familiar sound.

A deep, excited bark.

Then something enormous came rushing down the marble staircase.

“ORION!”

The black hound practically launched himself toward me.

I stumbled backward.

But instead of attacking, he pressed his enormous head against my stomach and began wagging his tail.

“Oh, hello, handsome!”

I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around his neck.

Orion whined happily, licking my hands.

A few seconds later, I heard a familiar voice.

“That’s quite an interesting welcome.”

I looked up.

Dante Moretti stood at the top of the staircase.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing a tattoo that disappeared beneath his collar.

His gray eyes were fixed on me.

“Good morning, Mr. Moretti.”

“Dante.”

I blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Call me Dante.”

I slowly stood.

“Okay. Dante.”

His eyes briefly moved toward Orion.

“He hasn’t behaved like this with anyone since he was a puppy.”

I smiled.

“Maybe he just needed someone to tell him he was handsome.”

For a moment, Dante looked almost amused.

Then his expression became serious.

“Come inside. There’s something I need to show you.”

The mansion was even more intimidating inside.

A mᴀssive chandelier hung above the entrance hall. Marble floors stretched toward a grand staircase, and enormous paintings decorated the walls.

But what caught my attention was a pH๏τograph sitting on a table near the fireplace.

It showed a young woman holding a baby.

I stopped.

Something about the woman’s face seemed familiar.

Before I could examine it more closely, Dante spoke.

“Sit down.”

I followed him into a private study.

A large desk stood near the windows. Several security monitors covered one wall.

Dante poured himself a glᴀss of water.

“Would you like something?”

“No, thank you.”

He placed a thick folder on the desk.

“Olivia Marshall. Twenty-six years old. Born in Brooklyn. Raised by your grandmother after your mother pᴀssed away. Attended public school, worked three jobs before joining the restaurant.”

I stared at him.

“How do you know all that?”

“I have people who investigate things.”

“Why would you investigate me?”

He opened the folder.

“Because of your last name.”

I frowned.

“My last name?”

“Marshall.”

He removed a pH๏τograph.

It showed a younger woman standing beside a black dog.

I felt my breath catch.

The woman was holding a small child.

I recognized her immediately.

My mother.

“Where did you get that?”

Dante looked at me carefully.

“Do you recognize her?”

I reached for the pH๏τograph.

My fingers began trembling.

“That’s my mother.”

He nodded.

“Her name was Elizabeth Marshall.”

“Yes.”

“Did she ever tell you about a man named Vincent Moretti?”

I shook my head.

“No. My mother died when I was ten. I was raised by my grandmother.”

Dante slowly leaned back.

“Vincent was my father.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

He turned the pH๏τograph around.

On the back, someone had written a date.

October 14, 1999.

And beneath it:

Elizabeth and Vincent. Before everything fell apart.

I looked at the pH๏τograph again.

My mother had been smiling.

And beside her stood a man whose eyes looked almost exactly like Dante’s.

“Why did you have this?”

Dante’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“Because my father kept it hidden in his personal safe. After he died, I found hundreds of letters between them.”

My heart began pounding.

“Letters?”

He nodded.

“My father had a daughter before he married my mother. He spent years trying to find her.”

I slowly lowered the pH๏τograph.

“Are you saying…”

Dante looked directly into my eyes.

“Yes, Olivia.”

He paused.

“I believe you’re my half-sister.”

The room became completely silent.

I stared at him.

Then I laughed nervously.

“That’s impossible.”

“I thought so too.”

“No. My mother would have told me.”

“Perhaps she intended to.”

I shook my head.

“Why would she keep something like that secret?”

Dante opened the folder again.

He removed a handwritten letter, carefully preserved inside a transparent sleeve.

“Because my father was murdered shortly after he tried to bring her home.”

My blood ran cold.

“What?”

Dante’s expression hardened.

“He was killed in a warehouse fire. The official report called it an accident. But my father had enemies, and someone made sure the investigation ended quickly.”

He pushed the letter toward me.

“Read this.”

The handwriting was old-fashioned and elegant.

Elizabeth,

I know I have no right to ask you to forgive me. I made mistakes, and I allowed my family to dictate the direction of my life.

But I have never stopped thinking about our daughter.

Please let me see her. I want to know whether she has your eyes.

Vincent.

I covered my mouth.

Tears blurred the page.

My mother had never told me about this man.

I had grown up believing my father had simply abandoned us.

“Why didn’t anyone find me?”

Dante looked down.

“Because the people who wanted my father ᴅᴇᴀᴅ had every reason to keep his family separated.”

I wiped my eyes.

“And Orion?”

Dante’s expression softened slightly.

“He belonged to my father.”

I looked toward the doorway.

The enormous black hound was lying outside the study, his head resting on his paws.

“When my father died, Orion stopped eating for nearly two weeks. We eventually got him through it, but he never trusted strangers again.”

I looked at Dante.

“Except me.”

He nodded.

“Except you.”

A few minutes later, Dante led me into another room.

It was a private family archive.

There were pH๏τographs, documents, and several old belongings displayed behind glᴀss.

He stopped before a wooden box.

“There’s something else.”

He opened it.

Inside was a silver necklace with a small heart-shaped pendant.

I immediately recognized it.

My mother had worn that necklace in every pH๏τograph I remembered.

My knees nearly buckled.

“Where did you get that?”

“My father kept it.”

I picked it up.

The back of the pendant contained two engraved initials.

E.M.

My mother’s initials.

But beneath them were two smaller letters.

O.M.

My initials.

I stared at the engraving.

“Olivia Marshall.”

Dante shook his head.

“Olivia Moretti.”

I looked at him.

He wasn’t smiling.

“I’m not asking you to change your name. I’m simply telling you that you may have a family you never knew existed.”

For the first time, I saw something behind his intimidating expression.

Loneliness.

A man surrounded by guards, money, and power who had spent years believing his family was gone.

I looked down at the necklace.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why did you want to see me so urgently? Because of the pH๏τograph?”

Dante hesitated.

Then he said something unexpected.

“Because of Orion.”

I frowned.

He walked to the window.

“Last night, after you left the restaurant, he refused to get into the car. He kept pulling toward the kitchen entrance.”

I remembered the dog’s heartbreaking whine.

“He wanted to follow me?”

“Yes.”

Dante turned around.

“Then, when we brought him home, he went straight to my father’s old room. He hasn’t slept there in years.”

I looked toward the hallway.

“Maybe he remembers my mother.”

Dante nodded slowly.

“That’s what I thought.”

He paused.

“There’s one more reason I wanted to meet you.”

My stomach тιԍнтened.

“What?”

He placed another pH๏τograph on the desk.

This one showed my mother standing outside a hospital.

Beside her was a young man wearing a military uniform.

I recognized the date written on the back.

It was the year before I was born.

Dante pointed toward the young man.

“Do you recognize him?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

“His name was Michael Reed.”

“Who was he?”

Dante’s expression became cold.

“He was my father’s personal driver.”

I looked at the pH๏τograph.

“Why is he important?”

“Because he was the last person seen with my father before the warehouse fire.”

I slowly raised my eyes.

Dante continued.

“Three days ago, my investigators discovered that Michael Reed is still alive.”

My heart began racing.

“Where?”

Dante looked at me.

“Somewhere in New Jersey.”

“And what does he have to do with me?”

He placed a final document on the desk.

It was a copy of an old birth certificate.

My name was written across the top.

Olivia Elizabeth Marshall.

But the father’s name section had been left blank.

Dante tapped the document.

“My father filed a second birth registration before he died. It was never processed.”

I stared at him.

Then he said:

“Someone deliberately removed his name.”

Just then, Orion suddenly stood up.

His ears pointed toward the entrance.

A low growl rolled through his chest.

Dante immediately turned toward the security monitors.

“What is it?”

Marcus’s voice came through the intercom.

“Boss, we’ve got a problem.”

Dante picked up the phone.

“Talk.”

“There’s a vehicle outside the east gate. It has been circling the property for the last twenty minutes.”

“Whose vehicle?”

“We’re checking.”

A second later, Marcus added something that made Dante’s expression change.

“The driver has requested to speak with Olivia.”

I froze.

“Me?”

Dante looked at me.

“Do you know anyone who would come looking for you here?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

Marcus’s voice returned.

“Boss, the man says his name is Michael Reed.”

Dante slowly lowered the phone.

The room seemed to grow colder.

I looked at the pH๏τograph of my mother.

Then at the man who might have been my brother.

And finally at the enormous black dog standing protectively beside me.

“Let him in,” Dante ordered.

Marcus hesitated.

“Sir, are you sure?”

“Bring him to the front hall. Search him first.”

Dante turned toward me.

“Stay beside me.”

A few minutes later, the front doors opened.

An elderly man entered, leaning heavily on a wooden cane.

His face was lined with age.

His hair was completely white.

But when his eyes landed on me, he stopped walking.

The cane slipped from his hand.

“Good Lord…”

I stepped forward.

“Are you Michael Reed?”

He nodded.

Then he looked at Dante.

“I see you found her.”

Dante’s expression hardened.

“Why are you here?”

The old man looked back at me.

“Because your mother made me promise something twenty-six years ago.”

My throat тιԍнтened.

“What promise?”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small envelope.

It was yellowed with age.

My name was written across the front.

Not Olivia Marshall.

But:

Olivia Elizabeth Moretti.

I took a step backward.

The old man began crying.

“Your mother didn’t hide your father’s idenтιтy because she hated him, sweetheart.”

He looked directly at Dante.

“She hid it because she knew who had ordered his murder.”

Dante’s hand тιԍнтened into a fist.

“Who?”

Michael Reed swallowed.

Then he spoke six words that made Dante turn completely still.

“The man responsible is your own uncle.”

I looked at Dante.

His face had gone pale.

And somewhere behind us, Orion began barking furiously at the closed front doors.

Because apparently, the nightmare my family had buried twenty-six years ago had finally found its way back into the Moretti mansion.

END OF PART 2