S
Maya nearly dropped her phone. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The photo was a little blurry, but she knew that face. That scar over the left eyebrow—she remembered it. This was the man who’d taught her to tie her first skates when she was just a kid.
“It’s him,” she whispered. Her voice barely made a sound.
“Who?” Julian leaned over, squinting at the picture. He looked totally lost. “I don’t know this guy.”
“It’s Marcus Rossi,” David said. Suddenly, he sounded afraid in a way Maya had never heard before. He moved closer, eyes locked on the phone. “He’s my brother. Maya’s other uncle. But everyone thinks he died twelve years ago, in that fire at the rink. I saw the news. I saw the burned-out car.”
“Then who’s standing in front of the chapel?” Maya stared at the screen. The man in
