Chapter 1

A little over four months later, Bethany Carter woke up from a coma in a dull, cold hospital bed in the glamorous city of Florence, Italy. With no memory of who she was, retrograde amnesia was her diagnosis. Dr. Vitto, a man who, despite his advanced age, did not succumb to the deterioration of old age, passed a soft light through her eyes, finishing the routine examination.

-Very well, Miss Carter. Everything seems to be in order, but that is something that only you could confirm for me. Tell me, have you noticed anything wrong recently? - Asked the doctor.

"No, not at all," Bethany replied, sitting on the bed, wearing a hospital gown. She was a pale-skinned woman with reddish hair that fell just below her shoulders.

-Perfect. - Vitto exclaimed sympathetically, standing in a corner. -Mr. Tonali is waiting to see you. Would you like me to allow him to enter? - He asked. Bethany twisted the sheet nervously. In the last week the only contact she had had was with her doctor and some nurses. Not remembering anything about her life scared her. However, she was not going to be able to live in the hospital until she recovered her memory. She had to face what was supposed to be her life, and, according to her doctor, surrounding herself with what was once her daily life would help in her recovery process.

-Send him in,- Bethany agreed. She watched the doctor disappear behind the door.

Maybe it was her nerves, but in her judgment it took longer than she had anticipated. From what she understood, the man who was about to be admitted was her fiancé, she didn't know much else about him. She also understood that he was the only person who had been present when she woke up from the coma and the only visitor she had received in the last seven days.

Her heart raced as the door finally opened, revealing a tall man with short, thick brown hair and dark eyes. He had a strong jaw and a well-defined body. The newcomer was no less nervous than Bethany.

-My name is Ciro Tonali. -He said, offering his hand in a formal greeting. Bethany shook it. She thought that, as he was her fiancé, she would get a more affectionate greeting, a hug at least. She was surprised by his distance.

-I'm Bethany, but you already know that. - Ciro nodded. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed.

-Dr. Vitto told me that you're in better shape. I think it would be a good idea for me to take you home today. - Ciro said, handling the situation with great care. He could imagine how difficult everything was for his fiancée, the last thing he wanted was to scare her or worse.

-Yes, I think that would be fine. - Bethany said, not so convinced. - Could you answer me this: How did I end up here? Dr. Vitto mentioned that it was in a car accident, but he didn't give me any more details.

-There aren't many details to give, really. You were on your way home when some insolent drunk hit your car. The next thing I know, they called me from the hospital, and when I got there you were going into surgery. - Bethany gave herself a minute to imagine the event. It must have been worse than Ciro made it sound, otherwise she wouldn't have been in a coma for four months.

-How is he?

-The drunk? - She asked in surprise. She wasn't supposed to worry about who sent her to the hospital. Bethany confirmed her question. -I don't know, I hope in prison. - He said making her smile, he seemed to be a good man, although Bethany didn't forget that it was just the first impression. There was still a lot to know.

Before leaving the hospital, Bethany filled out some forms, and when she was done, she changed out of her hospital gown into blue spandex pants, a matching sleeveless blouse, and a black blazer. Her footwear was complemented by faux leather ankle boots with heels. Ciro had told her that he had taken everything out of his wardrobe, and that it was his style of dress. Bethany had no trouble believing him, as she loved the final result.

She walked with her fiancé through the parking lot, sweltering from the intense heat that hit Italy in the middle of the year, until they reached a mustard-colored Mustang Shelby that boasted an incalculable value. Ciro, exuding chivalry, anticipated her and opened the passenger door for her, then got behind the wheel himself.

-What do you do?- Bethany asked, putting on her seatbelt. The question made Ciro tense, but he managed to hide it.

-I'm a lawyer. -He said a little shyly. -I work in the private offices of the government.

-You're a man of law and order, - his fiancée summed up, making him laugh.

-That's one way of putting it, yes. -He said as he left the parking lot. The woman remained in doubt. The Mustang seemed much more expensive than the salary of a simple civil servant. Even with that concern tickling her curiosity, she preferred not to comment on the matter.

-And me? What do I do?

-You are a real estate agent. -He assured firmly. And with pride, he added: -The best in all of Italy.

They continued their journey in silence, which intrigued Ciro. He expected her to bombard him with many questions, that was what he had prepared himself for. Although at times he considered clarifying small details of his life, he held back, not wanting to overwhelm her. When she was ready, she herself would bring them to light.

After a little more than forty-five minutes on the road, the Mustang got lost on the outskirts of Florence and another stretch of the trip took them to a three-story mansion preceded by a porch of five hundred hectares, all protected behind a solemn iron gate. A guard who was guarding the entrance on one side, in a tiny room, opened the gate for them. To add to the protection, there were three pitbull terrier dogs who greeted the car with ferocity. Their temper diminished when they realized that it was the owner of the house.

Ciro rushed over and opened the door for her again. Bethany did not get out of the car for fear of the canines.

-Don't be afraid, they know you and love you very much. -Ciro said, waiting for her. The woman took a deep breath and carefully put one foot on the ground and then the other. Suddenly, the dogs pounced on her, but before she could get scared, she noticed how friendly they were with her. They wagged their tails from side to side and fought for her attention. Bethany, calm, greeted each one, reading their respective names on the bone-shaped tag hanging from their collars: "Azteca" "Taliban" and the female was called "Lorna"

They left them behind and continued to the mansion. Ciro tried to take her hand, but Bethany, almost unconsciously, pushed him away. A white ivory path brought them to the pinewood door that Ciro opened.

-Bienvenute, mio caro. -The Italian said in his native language. The interior of the mansion was no less ostentatious than the exterior.

The floor was made of wood and the walls were covered in an attractive orange color. Even the smallest object in that house was expensive.

-Is this your house? -He asked, still in amazement.

-Our house. -He corrected, emphasizing the first word. -Do you like it?

-Is this our house literally? Or do you mean it symbolically? - Bethany said, looking at his face. He was quite an attractive man. From the surface she understood why she had fallen in love with him.

-Does that matter?

-Yes. I want to know how successful I am in real estate. -Ciro smiled happily.

-Actually, the house is an inheritance that my father left me... - Knowing that the mansion did not belong to him tinted his face with something similar to disappointment. However, Ciro erased that horrible grimace from his beautiful face with the following: -But you gave me the Mustang just a year ago.

-Oh! -She exclaimed, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

-You don't have to worry about how successful you are, because you are. You once told me that you had achieved everything you ever set out to do.

-I don't remember,- she said in a nostalgic murmur. Ciro closed the distance and held her by her small, soft hands.

-Soon you will. You will remember your whole life and who you are... Who we are. - He consoled her, caressing the back of her hands with his thumbs. So tempted to kiss her that he would have done so, had it not been for the footsteps that distracted them both and they turned their gaze towards the ivory stairs with glass railings to discover a man with white skin and short hair, almost military cut, descending them. He was dressed with sublime elegance.

His jet-black eyes, devoid of joy, were fixed on Bethany, whose skin crawled without anyone noticing.

-Who is he? -She said in a whisper, as if she didn't want the stranger to hear her. Her fiancé waited until she was standing next to him to introduce him.

-This is Brahim, he is my brother. -He said, putting an arm over his shoulders.

The so-called Brahim was not interested in offering her a hand or even a word of welcome. He just harassed her with his eyes.

-I need to talk to you in private. - Brahim said, giving Bethany her breathing back after releasing her from his intense gaze. Ciro stopped a maid who was passing by and asked her to take his fiancée to the main room.

He then headed to the kitchen with his brother guarding him.

-I remember telling you not to look for me today. -Ciro scolded his younger brother, the difference was counted in three years.

He parked on the hail island and opened a bottle of Chardonnay, which he filled two crystal glasses with. He gave one to his brother.

-Because you were going to pick up your fiancée, yes, I remember that too. How is she?

-Bad. How did you expect him to be?

"Dead," Brahim thought, not daring to shout it out. He didn't want to anger his brother.

-I'm sorry to bother you today, but there are things that are beyond my control. -Ciro made a gesture, urging him to speak. The faster he got out of there, the sooner he would return to his fiancée. -There's a problem at the company. The truck that was transporting the shipment was detained at the border with Spain.

- Truck? I had explicitly designated three workers to carry it. The Spanish government restricts shipments if they exceed the stipulated quantity. - Brahim shrugged, finishing his Chardonnay in one gulp.

-What do you expect me to do? - Brahim said.

-There's nothing you can do. The Spanish won't return the shipment. - Ciro was thoughtful. - Call José Miguel and let him know about the problem.

-Do we refund it?

-No. -He said hurriedly. -Tell him that he will have the order by next week.

Brahim walked around the island and stood behind his brother. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little.

- Do you notice how indispensable you are in the company? One day without you and everything falls apart. - He gave her a kiss on the nape of the neck and said: - I'll let you continue with your fairy tale.

-Goodbye,-Ciro said, sounding happier than he intended.

The youngest of the Tonali brothers approached the exit without hesitation. The three dogs were excited to see him, but Brahim ignored them. To him, they were not creatures capable of love, they were only driven by their survival instinct. He opened the door of his silver Roll Royce and took his sunglasses out of a pocket in his pants. He turned to look at the balcony that overlooked his brother's room, seeing his sister-in-law standing there.

Even behind the black lenses of his glasses, Bethany could see the intensity of his gaze, warning her as if she were in danger. She was relieved when Brahim hid inside his Rolls Royce. She didn't move until she saw him leave the property.

She returned to the room and looked around. There was nothing that made her feel at home. Not one object, or scent. She felt alien.

(...)

Manhattan was a chaotic city, full of traffic and crime of all kinds, at least that's how James, the chief journalist at the newspaper publishing house where he worked, labeled it, earning a limited salary that the city consumed in the blink of an eye.

He was driving his sixteen-year-old daughter to Young American High School, silently cursing the traffic jam that had trapped his gasoline-powered sedan. His cell phone rang with a call that James quickly ended. It didn't stop his daughter, sitting in the seat next to him, from reading the call sign.

-Who's Michael?- Lauren asked. -He's been trying to get in touch with you all morning and you won't call him back.

-He's... an old friend from work. He's visiting town and wants to see me. - He said hesitantly, failing in his attempt to fool his daughter.

He dropped her off at the entrance of the high school and kissed her goodbye with two kisses, one on each cheek, one he said was from his mother. Then he drove to the other end of town, as far away from the areas Lauren could roam. He came to a seedy bar, with poor lighting and an unpleasant atmosphere. The drunks stared at him when he entered, knowing he was not from the neighborhood. James tried not to challenge any of them with his look that, according to his wife, was sometimes defiant.

It took him a while to notice the dark-skinned, bald man sitting at one of the tables in the back. He approached him and escorted him to the table.

-James Beghue, right? - Confirmed the man who stank as if he had already consumed three beers, at least.

-It's right.

-Well, tell me, what do you want? -He got straight to the point.

-Did you receive the photos I sent to your email?

-Yeah.

-That woman was declared dead four weeks ago, but I won't be sure until I see her cold, lifeless body with my own eyes.

-Are you asking me to locate a corpse? -said the private detective, displeased.

-I'll pay whatever it takes. - James said, acting as if he was asking for something conventional. Michael thought about it, investigating a corpse was not what he usually did in his job, but he couldn't deny that it intrigued him. The truth was that he was already tired of finding out if a housewife's husband was cheating on her with his secretary or some sister. And in the end, the price James was offering him was an extra motivator.

-What is the name of the deceased?

-Anne Johnson, but she will definitely change it.

-Why would I do that?

-It's none of your business. -He was blunt. The pact was sealed after James assured him that he would give him an advance payment once he left that bar. -And another thing, don't call my cell phone. If you have something to tell me, let me know by email.

- Why? Is it some ex-lover? Are you afraid your wife will find out?

-It's my daughter I'm worried about,- James said, keeping his explanations to himself.