Chapter 2 – FOOTSTEPS IN THE GARDEN MUD

Luca didn’t take the stairs.

He vaulted over the stone railing of the balcony, dropping fifteen feet into the soft mud below. He rolled to his feet and sprinted toward the lake.

I turned and ran back through the hallway, racing down the main stairs. Teresa was weeping in the foyer, Vanessa surrounded by guards. I burst through the back patio doors, the freezing wind tearing through my thin uniform.

By the time I reached the water’s edge, Luca had his gun drawn.

“Put her down, Michael!” Luca roared, his weapon aimed straight at his older brother’s chest.

Michael stood at the very edge of the dock. The wind whipped his expensive suit jacket. In his arms, he held a bundle wrapped tightly in a thick wool blanket.

Michael didn’t look afraid. He looked exhausted.

“You always were the hero, Luca,” Michael yelled over the howling wind. “The good son. The one who inherited the empire while I was left picking up the scraps.”

“I don’t care about the business right now,” Luca said, taking a slow step onto the wooden planks. “Give me Sofia’s daughter.”

“Sofia’s daughter?” Michael laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “You think this is about Sofia? She’s just a pawn, Luca. Vanessa needed a child to secure her marriage to you. And I needed leverage to get my rightful share of the syndicate.”

I stopped at the edge of the grass, shivering.

Answer one: Vanessa wanted the baby to trap Luca into marriage.

Open two: Why was Michael holding the baby over the water? If he needed leverage, killing the child destroyed his only advantage.

“Don’t do this, Michael,” Luca pleaded, his voice cracking. It was the first time I had ever heard the mafia boss sound entirely broken. “She’s innocent. She’s our blood.”

“She’s a complication,” Michael spat.

Then, Michael extended his arms.

He opened his hands.

The bundle dropped into the freezing black water with a heavy splash.

“No!” Luca screamed.

He dropped his gun and dove straight into the ice-cold lake. I screamed, running onto the dock. Luca broke the surface, gasping for air, frantically tearing at the water until he grabbed the wool blanket.

He pulled it tightly against his chest and swam back to the wooden pylons. I reached down, grabbing his collar to help haul him up onto the dock.

Luca laid the soaking wet bundle on the wood. His hands were shaking violently as he peeled back the heavy fabric.

I stopped breathing.

There was no baby.

Inside the blanket was a heavy landscaping brick. And resting on top of it was a heavy gold pocket watch.

Luca stared at it. I recognized it immediately. It was their grandfather’s watch—the family heirloom Michael had inherited.

“Where is she?” Luca roared, spinning around.

But the dock was empty. Michael had vanished into the shadows of the estate.

“Mr. Moretti,” I stammered, my teeth chattering as I pointed out toward the vast expanse of the lake.

A small motorboat was cutting through the black water, its lights completely off. It was already halfway across the lake, heading toward the dense woods on the opposite shore.

“He sent her across,” Luca said, his chest heaving.

Then, a faint, metallic glint caught my eye.

Lying on the wooden planks, exactly where Michael had been standing, was something small and delicate. I knelt and picked it up.

It was a wooden rosary. But not just any rosary. The beads were carved from olive wood, and the silver crucifix was bent at a strange angle.

Luca saw it in my hand and froze.

“That’s Father Thomas’s,” Luca whispered.

The family priest. The man who had baptized both Luca and Michael.

Before Luca could say another word, my cell phone vibrated in my apron pocket.

I pulled it out. It was an unknown number.

I answered it, putting it on speaker.

“Hannah?” a woman’s voice whispered.

It wasn’t Sofia.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“It’s Martha,” the voice said.

The head housekeeper. The woman who had abruptly quit two days ago without a word.

“Martha, where are you?” I asked.

“Listen to me carefully,” Martha cried, the sound of a train whistle blaring in the background. “Michael doesn’t have the girl. And neither does the priest.”

Luca grabbed the phone. “Who has my niece, Martha?”

Martha took a shaky breath.

“You need to go to Hannah’s house, Mr. Moretti. Right now. Because the person holding that child… is Hannah’s mother.”

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