Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(31)

My throat thickens. “Try again.”

“I always double-check myself,” Matteo adds. “You could be an Italian-American who lives here.”

“I don’t speak the language,” I argue.

“You don’t remember speaking the language,” Kayden corrects.

“I don’t speak the language,” I assure him. “I might not remember everything but I get strong feelings about things. I do not speak Italian.” I eye Matteo. “Do they fingerprint for driver’s licenses? Wouldn’t I be on file here if I lived here?”

“No fingerprints,” Kayden replies. “Just a signature.”

I look between them. “This is crazy. I have to have a passport.”

“You might have had one,” Matteo responds, “but you don’t now. You might have been erased.”

“What does that mean, ‘erased’?”

“It means,” Kayden explains, “that someone as talented as Matteo could have been hired to wipe out your records.”

“Are you telling me that even if I remember who I am, I don’t exist?”

Kayden holds up his hands. “Back up. We don’t know you were erased. We’re just talking through reasons you might think you have a passport but you don’t.”

“And if we find out who you are,” Matteo adds, “I can re-create your identity.”

I gape at him. “Re-create my identity? Forgive me if that isn’t comforting.”

Kayden rotates the bar stool around, his hands coming down on my arms. “You aren’t a stack of documents. No one can erase who you are.”

“They don’t have to. I did it for them. My fingerprints were my link to my past. My way of finding me.”

“We both know you can find you, when you’re ready.”

“I don’t have a switch the way you seem to think I do. I can’t just flip it. Why would someone wipe my identity?”

“For all any of us know, you had your identity wiped.”

My lips part in shock. “Why would I do that?” I ask, but even as the question leaves my mouth, I picture myself opening that box and revealing that gun.

He pushes off the stool, his hands settling on his hips. “You were running when I found you,” he reminds me.

“From the Italian mafia,” Matteo adds. “That’s a good reason to disappear.”

“And you colored your hair,” Kayden says. “You knew you were on the run before you lost your memory.”

Again, I see a flickering image of that box and that gun. “What now?” I ask, rotating to face the table again.

“We keep working on my plan,” Kayden says, motioning to Matteo.

Matteo responds by sliding the folder in my direction. “This is your new identity,” he announces. “It’s what Gallo will find when he pulls your fingerprints.”

“New identity,” I repeat, tension stiffening my spine. “I don’t even know my real identity.”

“That’s the point,” Kayden explains. “If you don’t have an identity, Gallo and Niccolo will keep focusing on you. We need you to become someone distinctive that shuts down all interest in you from all directions.”

It makes sense. I don’t like it, but it makes sense. “Yes. Okay.”

Kayden jumps on my acceptance, already moving ahead. “A few important details. Since you’re sure your name is Ella—”

“It is Ella,” I say, jumping on his hint of doubt. “My name is Ella.”

“Then we can be certain that anyone looking for you will be searching by the name Ella,” Matteo interjects.

“So no more Ella,” I say, knowing there is no other way. Not with a mobster after me.

“Yes and no,” Kayden confirms while Matteo announces, “Your new legal name is Rae Eleana Ward.”

Kayden’s hand comes down on my shoulder, and I look up at him as he adds, “We went with Eleana so you could use Ella as a nickname. It’s a bit of a stretch to turn your middle name into a nickname, but it’s still doable.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my throat thick with emotion, and I’m pretty sure I just lost all objectivity with this man, who seems to have understood my need even before I did.

His eyes soften, and I watch what’s left of his anger evaporate. “The hospital staff said you need stability and the familiar. Right now, that’s me and your name.”

My brow furrows. Is he trying to tell me I did know him before that alleyway?

He squeezes my shoulder, drawing my gaze to his. “No,” he says softly, for my ears only, as if I’ve spoken my question. “That’s not what I’m saying, and right now”—he releases me and taps the folder—“everything you need to know about your new identity is inside this. Study it and know it before you let Gallo trap you, because if you make a mistake, he will catch you.”

“And when he says everything,” Matteo interjects, “he means everything. I backtracked to make it look like you arrived here from the United States two weeks ago, including flight data. And since a passport allows you to be here for ninety days, no one will question you being here for quite some time.”

“Does this mean I’ll have an actual passport?” I ask, wondering if I can travel to the States and put distance between me and Niccolo.