Chapter 3 – A KNOCK ON MY MOTHER’S DOOR

The phone slipped from my fingers. It hit the wooden dock with a dull thud.

My mother.

My fragile, bedridden mother who could barely walk to the kitchen without her oxygen tank.

“That’s impossible,” I whispered, panic rising in my throat. “My mother hasn’t left her bedroom in three months.”

Luca didn’t hesitate. He picked up his gun, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward the driveway. “We’re leaving. Now.”

We rushed back into the mansion. The guests were standing in a terrified huddle in the foyer. Vanessa was sitting in a chair, guarded by two men. Her eyes locked onto Luca’s soaking wet clothes.

“Luca—” she started.

“Keep her here,” Luca commanded his men. “No one leaves.”

Teresa rushed forward, grabbing Luca’s wet sleeve. “Where is my granddaughter?”

“I’m going to get her, Mom,” he said gently. He looked at me. “Hannah, get in the car.”

Ten minutes later, we were flying down the dark Chicago streets in Luca’s black SUV. I sat in the passenger seat, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

Answer one: Martha the housekeeper took the baby and hid her with my mother.

Open two: Why my mother? And how did Martha even know my mother’s address?

“Mr. Moretti,” I stammered, staring at the passing streetlights. “Martha and I aren’t close. She’s my boss. She only knows my address because it’s on my employment file.”

Luca gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Your mother used to be a neonatal nurse at St. Jude’s, correct?”

I stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“Because I run background checks on everyone who works in my house,” he said grimly. “Martha knew Vanessa and Michael were looking for a child. Martha must have found the baby first, realized the danger, and needed someone with medical experience who could hide her.”

It made terrifying sense. Lily was a toddler now, but if she had been neglected or drugged to stay quiet during the smuggling, she needed a nurse.

We screeched to a halt in front of my small, rundown duplex in the suburbs. The street was dead quiet.

There were no lights on inside my house.

I fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking so badly I dropped them twice. Luca picked them up, unlocked the door, and pushed me behind him. He raised his gun and stepped inside.

“Mom?” I called out.

Silence.

The air in the house smelled wrong. It smelled like expensive cologne.

Michael’s cologne.

Luca kicked the living room door open.

My mother was asleep on the sofa, her oxygen cannula safely in her nose. She looked unharmed.

But sitting in the armchair across from her, perfectly relaxed in the dark, was a man.

He wasn’t Michael.

He was an older man with gray hair, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Resting on his lap was a little girl in a pink sweater, fast asleep.

Luca slowly lowered his gun. His face drained of all color.

“Uncle Donato,” Luca whispered.

Donato Moretti. The boss of the New York family. Luca’s greatest rival.

Donato smiled, gently stroking the little girl’s dark curls. “Hello, Luca.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Answer one: Michael didn’t have the child. Martha had given her to my mother, but Donato had found them.

Open two: How did Donato know where to look?

“Give her to me,” Luca said, his voice laced with pure menace.

Donato chuckled. “I didn’t steal her, nephew. I bought her.”

Luca stepped forward. “What are you talking about?”

Donato reached into his breast pocket with his free hand. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“Your brother Michael sold her to me,” Donato said smoothly. “Two million dollars. He said you were looking for an heir, and if I took her, you’d be weakened. But that’s not the interesting part.”

Luca stared at the paper.

“Pick it up,” Donato said.

Luca reached down and unfolded the document. I looked over his shoulder. It was a birth certificate.

Mother: Sofia Moretti.

Father: Unknown.

Donato leaned forward, his smile fading into something much darker.

“Read the date of birth, Luca.”

Luca’s eyes scanned the page. He froze.

“She’s three years old,” Luca whispered.

“Exactly,” Donato said softly. “Your sister was pregnant three years ago. Long before she ran away. Long before Vanessa came into your life.”

Donato stood up, holding the sleeping child.

“This child isn’t Vanessa’s pawn,” Donato said. “She’s the reason your sister was banished. And the person who forced Sofia out… was your own mother.”

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