I didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Lorenzo.
Leo did.
For nearly three hours.
It was apparently the longest uninterrupted sleep he'd had since birth.
The doctors came running when Lorenzo finally unlocked the nursery.
At first, nobody believed what had happened.
One specialist questioned me for twenty minutes.
Another ordered blood tests.
The head neonatal physician wanted to know what I had eaten, what medications I took, whether I had allergies, whether I'd been sick.
I answered everything.
I also endured the humiliation of explaining why I was producing milk.
"My son died three weeks ago."
The room fell silent.
Lorenzo stood near the window.
His back was turned.
The doctor softened.
"I'm sorry."
I stared at Leo.
"So am I."
Tests were performed.
Hours passed.
They found no obvious reason Leo tolerated my milk when he had reacted badly to almost everything else.
One doctor suggested it might be differences in proteins.
Another mentioned antibodies.
Nobody knew.
What mattered was that Leo had eaten.
By sunrise, he'd fed from me a second time.
That changed the rules of the mansion overnight.
I was no longer polishing tables.
I was no longer making beds.
I was moved into a bedroom across from the nursery.
A female doctor explained how to maintain my supply.
A nutritionist appeared.
So did a therapist I refused to speak to.
Then Lorenzo came into my room carrying a folder.
"Get dressed."
I stared at him.
"For what?"
"We're going to St. Vincent's."
Fear hit me so quickly I felt dizzy.
"No."
His expression changed.
"Hunter—"
"No."
I stood.
"I am not going back there."
"We need your son's records."
"You need them. I don't."
"If there was something wrong—"
"There was something wrong. My son died."
My voice cracked.
Lorenzo stopped.
I hated that I was crying in front of him.
"I held him after he died," I whispered. "Do you understand? I walked out of that hospital without him. I haven't driven down that street since."
For once, Lorenzo didn't issue another order.
He placed the folder on the dresser.
"Then I'll go."
I looked at him.
"Why do you care?"
His jaw tightened.
"Because one of my men was there."
"You said that last night."
"His name was Carlo DeLuca."
The name meant nothing to me.
"He handled security for my family," Lorenzo continued. "Sophia trusted him."
"And?"
"He was killed twelve days after your son died."
Cold crept across my skin.
"How?"
"Officially? Car accident."
"You don't believe that?"
"No."
Lorenzo walked to the window.
"Carlo had access to hospital security systems because we used St. Vincent's during Sophia's pregnancy. After the bombing, I started reviewing everyone who had access to my family's medical information."
I folded my arms.
"And you found him?"
"I found gaps."
"What does that mean?"
"Records missing. Security logs altered."
My heart started racing.
"Owen wasn't connected to your family."
"I hope not."
The way he said it made my knees weak.
Lorenzo went alone.
He returned four hours later looking dangerous.
Not angry.
Dangerous.
There was a difference.
Anger was loud.
Danger was silent.
He entered the nursery while I was feeding Leo and closed the door.
I looked at the folder in his hand.
"What did you find?"
"Your records were incomplete."
My stomach twisted.
"How incomplete?"
"Your son's bloodwork is missing."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"His doctor?"
"Transferred to Canada six days after Owen died."
That didn't make sense.
"What about the nurses?"
"One quit."
"And the others?"
"One doesn't remember your case."
I laughed bitterly.
"She doesn't remember a baby dying?"
"Apparently not."
Lorenzo put several photocopies on the table.
"There's more."
I didn't want there to be.
He showed me a neonatal intake sheet.
My name.
My date of birth.
Owen Reed.
Born 6:12 a.m.
Male.
Seven pounds, one ounce.
I stared at it.
Then Lorenzo placed another page beside it.
A transfer document.
The name was partially blacked out.
But the date was the same.
"What is that?"
"An infant was transferred out of the neonatal ward at 9:43 that morning."
My mouth went dry.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"Because the transfer authorization was signed electronically by Carlo DeLuca."
I looked at him.
"You think that was Owen?"
"I don't know."
"My son died at five seventeen that afternoon."
"I know what they told you."
The room tilted.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I don't trust their records."
I stood so quickly Leo startled.
His face crumpled.
Immediately my anger disappeared.
I rocked him.
"Shh. I'm sorry."
Lorenzo watched.
Something painful passed through his eyes.
After Leo settled, Lorenzo spoke again.
"I hired investigators."
"No."
"Hunter—"
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Give me hope."
My voice shook.
"I survived because I accepted that Owen was dead."
"Did you see him after?"
The question felt cruel.
"Yes."
"Did you identify him?"
"I held him."
"Was his identification bracelet visible?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
I remembered the blanket.
The hat.
His tiny face.
My tears.
I couldn't remember seeing his wrist.
Lorenzo noticed.
"DNA?"
"No."
"Photographs?"
"Stop."
"I'm asking because—"
"I said stop."
Leo began fussing again.
I stood and paced.
Then Lorenzo's phone rang.
He glanced down.
His expression hardened.
"What?"
He listened.
"Send it."
His eyes lifted to mine.
"What happened?" I asked.
He ended the call.
"The hospital found security footage."
I couldn't breathe.
"From Owen's birth?"
"Part of it."
"What does it show?"
Lorenzo didn't answer immediately.
"Tell me."
"It shows Carlo entering the neonatal corridor."
"That's not enough."
"No."
He stared at me.
"It also shows him leaving."
Something about his face frightened me.
"With what?"
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
"A newborn transport carrier."
My knees buckled.
He caught my arm before I fell.
"No."
"Hunter."
"No."
My heart pounded.
"Where did he take it?"
"We don't know."
"Find out."
"I will."
"Find out now."
Lorenzo stared at me.
For the first time, I understood why powerful men feared him.
His face became completely still.
"I already have everyone looking."
For the next two days, the mansion felt like the center of a storm.
Men arrived at all hours.
Phones rang behind closed doors.
Vehicles came and went.
Lorenzo barely slept.
Neither did I.
I fed Leo every few hours.
And every time I looked at him, I wondered whether somewhere in the world my own son might still be breathing.
Hope was unbearable.
Grief was simpler.
Grief had an ending.
Hope didn't.
On the third night, I found Lorenzo alone in the kitchen.
He was staring at his phone.
"What?"
He looked up.
"We found Carlo's widow."
"And?"
"She gave us something."
My fingers tightened around the doorway.
"What?"
"A key."
"To what?"
"A storage locker in Queens."
I couldn't move.
"When are we going?"
"We aren't."
I stared at him.
"Excuse me?"
"It could be dangerous."
"I don't care."
"I do."
The words surprised both of us.
He looked away.
"I'll go."
"No."
"Hunter."
"If my son's name is inside that locker, I'm going."
He studied me.
Then nodded once.
An hour later, we arrived at a storage facility near Queens Boulevard.
Two security vehicles followed.
Lorenzo opened the unit.
Inside were three boxes.
No weapons.
No money.
Just paperwork.
A laptop.
And a small insulated medical carrier.
My chest tightened.
Lorenzo opened the first box.
Hospital records.
The second contained photographs.
Then I saw one.
A newborn wearing a white knit cap.
My knees nearly gave out.
"That's the hat."
Lorenzo looked at me.
"What?"
"The hospital gave Owen that hat."
I grabbed the photograph.
The infant's face was turned sideways.
A handwritten date was visible at the bottom.
The morning Owen was born.
My hands shook so badly the picture rattled.
Lorenzo opened the laptop.
It was password protected.
His technician began working.
I kept searching.
At the bottom of the third box, I found an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
HUNTER REED.
I stopped breathing.
"Lorenzo."
He came beside me.
I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Three sentences.
The first said:
The Reed baby was never supposed to be involved.
My vision blurred.
The second:
Someone changed the order.
And the third:
If Lorenzo Rossi learns what happened at St. Vincent's, everyone connected to Sophia's death will be exposed.
I stared at Lorenzo.
He stared back.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed instantly.
"What do you mean the nursery alarm went off?"
My blood froze.
Leo.
Lorenzo ran.
And I ran after him.
---