Chapter 1 – THE TRUTH IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Gabriel stared at the photograph of the little boy.
The dining room was completely silent, except for the crackle of the fire where Isabella’s letter had almost burned.
“Dominic,” Gabriel’s voice was dangerously calm. “Who is this child?”
Dominic’s hands trembled against the edge of the mahogany table. He looked at Elias Romano, who was slowly backing toward the dining room doors, then back to his brother.
“He’s seven years old, Gabriel,” Dominic whispered. “Do the math.”
Gabriel’s breath hitched.
I watched as the most feared man in Chicago lost all color in his face. His fingers brushed the image of the boy’s dark hair—hair exactly like Gabriel’s. Eyes exactly like Lily’s.
“My son?” Gabriel choked out.
Victoria let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. “It’s a lie! Gabriel, she’s a tramp who ran off and had another man’s baby. She’s trying to extort you!”
“Shut up, Victoria,” Dominic snapped, a sudden authority in his voice I had never heard before. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, tarnished silver rosary.
He placed it on the table.
Gabriel’s eyes locked onto it. I recognized it from cleaning his private study. It was a replica of the one Gabriel’s grandfather had brought from Italy.
“Isabella gave this to him,” Dominic said softly. “She named him Leo. After our father.”
Lily stepped closer to Gabriel, her small hand gripping his sleeve. “Daddy? I have a brother?”
Gabriel couldn’t look away from the rosary. He picked it up, the silver beads slipping through his large fingers. “You knew,” he said to Dominic, the betrayal thick in his throat. “You knew I had a son, and you let me grieve for six years.”
“I was keeping them alive!” Dominic shouted, his composure breaking. “Elias told me if I ever breathed a word to you, he would have Isabella and the baby killed! He owned the police in her precinct. He owned the judges. I had no power, Gabriel. The only thing I could do was drive her out of the city that morning in January. I gave her all my savings and told her to run.”
Elias scoffed, adjusting his cuffs. “A touching fairy tale. Gabriel, your brother is clearly covering for his own affair with your wife.”
The reversal hit the room like a physical blow.
Guests gasped. Victoria turned to her father, her eyes wide. “Dad?”
“Think about it, Gabriel,” Elias sneered. “Dominic sneaks her out. Dominic hides her. Dominic suddenly produces a child. Who do you think the real father is?”
Gabriel stood frozen. The seed of doubt was a venomous thing, dropped right into the open wound of his heart. He looked at Dominic.
Dominic didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream. Instead, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and rolled up his left sleeve.
There, etched into his forearm, was a jagged, ugly burn scar.
“I got this three years ago,” Dominic said quietly. “When one of Elias’s men found Isabella’s apartment in Detroit. I took a blowtorch to the arm to buy her time to get out the fire escape with Leo.” Dominic looked his brother dead in the eye. “I have never touched your wife, Gabriel. But I have bled for your family.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. The doubt vanished, replaced by a terrifying, cold fury.
He turned to his security chief. “Marco.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Lock the doors. No one leaves this house. Not Elias. Not Victoria.”
Elias’s face finally cracked. “Gabriel, you can’t hold us hostage. I have men outside.”
“Your men work for me now,” Gabriel said. He knelt down to Lily, gently touching her cheek. “Claire, take Lily to my private study. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me or Marco.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I took Lily’s hand. She was clutching her stuffed rabbit, Mr. Buttons, so tightly her knuckles were white. We hurried up the grand staircase.
Once inside the study, I locked the heavy oak doors and threw the deadbolt. Lily sat on the leather sofa, her eyes wide.
“Claire?” she whispered. “Are Victoria and her daddy going to hurt my new brother?”
“No, sweetheart,” I promised, sitting beside her. “Your father won’t let them.”
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
It was an unknown number.
I hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”
“Claire?” The voice was breathless, panicked, and female.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“It’s Isabella.”
My blood turned to ice. “Mrs. Moretti?”
“Listen to me,” Isabella pleaded, the sound of sirens wailing in the background of the call. “Dominic gave me your number in case of an emergency. He said you were the only one who actually loved Lily. Please, you have to tell Gabriel.”
“Tell him what? Where are you?”
“They found us,” Isabella sobbed. “Elias’s men. They found the apartment in Milwaukee.”
“Are you safe? Is Leo with you?”
A choked, guttural cry came through the speaker.
“They took him, Claire! They took my baby!”
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