Chapter 1 Welcome To New York

GWEN

"Get your hands off me, you wanker!" I snap at the man dragging me down the bleach-scented hallway.

Still half-asleep, with exhaustion weighing on my shoulders, it dawns on me that I'm being arrested for jewelry theft.

But when did I even have the time or nerve to steal from the high-security jewelry store where I work?

"Oh yeah, who do you think you are?" He growls back, tightening his hold on my upper arm, no worse than the metal handcuffs on my wrists. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."

A high-pitched baby cry erupts. I look at the second male officer holding Mikey in his arms. He returns a stern look, as if daring me to speak.

In a matter of minutes, I'm sitting inside a cold interrogation room. My skin turns pale, while my chest pounds.

Was Mikey safe? Or were those idiot cops scrolling through their smartphones instead of watching him?

Finally, a tall man walks in, and I quickly stand.

"You have the wrong person!" I say desperately. "Can you at least let me call a lawyer or anyone?"

He points a finger back at the chair. "Please sit down."

I suck in a deep breath and sink back into the chair.

I stare at him as he flips through an official blue folder. Detectives weren't supposed to be this attractive. My eyes drop to his Rolex. I can't believe a New York detective could afford one like his.

"Now, let's get down to business, Miss Moscowitz?" He asks, raising a brow.

I narrow my eyes at him. "That's not my last name."

He smirks a bit. "Incredible. O'Brien then. We can settle this nice and easy if you tell me who you sold the Ciccotelli's Medallion to."

My mouth drops open. "I haven't stolen anything."

"That medallion is worth tens of millions in the black market," he informs. "So tell me how you could afford that penthouse in Manhattan?"

I quickly blink as I try to process the question. "I don't understand. Are you talking about my sister's penthouse?"

"Don't lie to me, Genevieve." He sneers as he leans forward. "You're not fooling me with your cheap acting skills. You have the choice to confess or spend the rest of your life in jail."

I search his face with confusion; a sudden chill runs through my skin.

Did he just call me Genevieve?

Now that I think about it, he looks sort of familiar; perhaps I'd seen him on a billboard ad in Times Square.

"What did you say your name was again, Detective?" I ask.

Suddenly, the angry police officer from earlier casually strolls into the room and sighs at the other man.

"Mr. Ciccotelli, I thought I told you to let me handle the interrogation," the police officer says. "You've just tampered with the entire investigation."

I widen my eyes at Ciccotelli. "Wait a second, you're the Thomas Ciccotelli?"

Thomas shoots me a look. "Still playing games, huh, Tanya?"

I look behind me, then back to Thomas. Why is he calling random names? "Do you have dementia or something?"

Thomas rolls his eyes and turns to the officer. "I don't care about what you do; just make sure she confesses to the crime so I can get that medallion back."

The officer presses his lips together and faces me.

"It's very vital you tell us where your sister is, Gwendolyn," he says.

I can feel my palms grow moist with sweat, and an empty hole bores deeper in my heart.

So, the police are actually after my sister.

Thomas raises a brow at him. "Her name's Genevieve."

"Apparently, we made a mistake. I just checked this lady's records with immigration and child protective services." The officer hands Thomas another folder, and he opens it and rubs his mouth before breaking into a laugh.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he barks. "Genevieve and Gwendolyn are identical twins?"

While Thomas is suspended in disbelief at the existence of twins, everything that has happened in the last few months comes back to me.

"She's missing," I reveal.

Both men stare at me.

"At the hospital, I just left to get some tea, but when I got back to Genevieve's room, she was gone," I whisper, as water uncontrollably fills my eyes. "She left her phone and Mikey behind. I-"

"Hold on a second," Thomas interrupts in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that all this time, you weren't pretending to be Genevieve?"

Thomas then swings his head at the startled cop in fury and slams the folder to the table. "You amateurs can't even do your job properly!"

"I told you to be patient."

"The hell I will; that medallion has been in the family for centuries. I've been waiting since October for this moment!"

Something clicks in my mind. If the theft happened around October, then Genevieve's sudden wealth and the penthouse all make sense now.

I can't believe it.

She stole the medallion.

My breath slows down upon realization.

"Oh my God, you're him!" I say. "Michael Angelo?"

Thomas eyes me. "What?"

"That's the baby's name." I gasp. "Obviously, Genevieve didn't mean to name him after the artist. It's because Mikey's father is Italian-American."

Thomas's face visibly creases. "What are you talking about?"

"You slept with Genevieve, didn't you?"

Thomas's shoulders shift uncomfortably as his eyes trail away. "I suppose, but it was all part of her grand scheme to steal from me with that fake name."

A snort breaks out of my lips. "You are the most selfish prick I've ever met. She tried to tell you about the pregnancy, but you turned her away. You abandoned your own child!"

His low, bitter chuckle takes me by surprise. "She told you... Or you were actually there?"

I swallow deeply, suddenly feeling foolish. Genevieve just showed me unread texts, and I never even tried to send one myself because I'd been upset.

"Now, why would I spend months searching for Genevieve if she claims I'm the father?" He inquires in a low tone. "You and your sister are the classic terror twins. You won't get a single cent out of me using this fake baby scam."

Leaping up from my chair, I struggle to wrap my hands around Thomas' neck, but the police officer quickly holds me back as I growl with rage, while Thomas backs into a wall.

* * * * * * * *

Around twenty minutes past eight, the police released me from custody. Just before I can threaten to sue the department for unfair breaking, they make it clear: I'm not to leave town until Genevieve is found.

Mikey is thankfully calm and fluttering his eyes to sleep. Unlike him, my body shivers with anxiety.

Suddenly, the loneliness of being in a new country wraps around me, with Genevieve gone and the baby being all that I have left. I wanted to pour my frustrations on someone, like Thomas Ciccotelli, for example.

Looking up, I catch Thomas, who's about to climb into the back of a black Mercedes.

"Oh no, you don't!" I call on him.

He looks at me, and I hurry to his side while breathing hard.

"Stay away from me," Thomas warns.

"Do you have any idea what you've just put me through?" I ask.

"Come on," he sighs dramatically as his eyes move up and down to my worn-out running shoes. "All you need is a hairbrush and a bottle of beer to cheer yourself up-"

"I am talking about your son, you buffoon," I hiss.

Thomas jerks back, his face twists in a wince at the sight of Mikey, like a vampire before the blazing sun.

Then Thomas simply shrugs off his embarrassing reaction with a quick smile and says, "Trust me, Red, this kid isn't mine."

"Hmm," I smile back. "Have you ever heard of a paternity test?"