Elena stared at the photograph until it stopped looking like a stranger and started looking like a warning.
"Moretti," she said quietly. "Not Ferrante. Not Vale. My name."
"Which means if she's your mother's daughter, she's your father's too," Adrian said. "A full sister. Not an affair child. Someone your parents both chose to hide."
"Or someone my mother had before him." Elena's voice thinned. "I don't know anymore. Every version of my childhood keeps turning out to have a door I never noticed."
Her phone rang before either of them could say more.
No caller ID. A foreign country code.
She answered.
"Elena Moretti." A woman's voice. Young. Careful in the specific way of someone who'd rehearsed a sentence for years and still didn't trust it out loud.
Elena's chest tightened. "Vittor
