Page 68 of Lorenzo

Donna looks toward the car.

“Mocha, out,” she commands.

Immediately, the barking stops and the dog stops trying to break through the window.

Alessio steps forward slowly.

He bends, picks up the photograph, and studies it again.

His eyes move over the woman’s face.

Then he looks at me.

After that, he looks at Donna.

“No,” he says.

His voice is quiet and confused.

“It’s not.”

Confusion cuts through my anger.

“Alessio, what are you talking about?”

He keeps staring at the photograph.

“This isn’t her.” He tilts his head, studying the woman’s face from another angle.

Edoardo steps closer. “You had a few drinks that night. Maybe you’re remembering something wrong.”

“No.” Alessio’s answer is forceful. “I was not drunk. I remember that night perfectly. This is not her.”

I look at the photograph again.

“But it is,” he says slowly. He shakes his head. “It looks like her.” His eyes move over the image. “That’s her dress. That’s the room.”

He looks back up at Donna.

“I don’t understand.”

I look back at her too.

“I am sorry I had to show you the picture like that,” she says, “but I needed to see your reaction.”

She steps forward.

“The woman in that picture is Genevieve Sorel.” Donna reaches into her bag and pulls out another picture.

I see it's another still from that night. One of Genevieve and Alessio in the elevator.

“The woman in this picture,” she says, handing it to Alessio as well. “is Rachel Monroe.”

Alessio's eyes look at both pictures, and I see the confusion in them deepen. The puzzle pieces in my head slowly start falling into place.

“Twins,” I say quietly, thinking of Matteo and Tomasso, and the way they look almost exactly alike with a few subtle differences.

Donna nods. “The woman you met at the club, the one you took to that room, was Rachel Monroe. Genevieve Sorel was the one they found dead.”