I stared at Lorenzo.
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer.
That made it worse.
Leo had stopped feeding and fallen asleep against me, his tiny cheek warm against my skin.
Lorenzo looked at him, then at the monitor.
The numbers were still stable.
“Put him down carefully.”
“No.”
The word came out faster than I intended.
Both guards tensed.
Lorenzo looked at me.
I immediately realized I had just refused one of the most feared men on Long Island.
But grief does strange things to fear.
“I’m not putting him down until somebody tells me what you meant.”
Lorenzo’s face remained unreadable.
“Hunter.”
“You asked who told me my daughter died.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The doctor from earlier entered after being summoned by the nurse.
He looked shocked when he saw me holding Leo.
“What happened?”
“He ate,” Lorenzo said.
The doctor froze.
“What?”
“Check him.”
I handed Leo over reluctantly.
The medical team moved quickly.
Vitals.
Bloodwork.
Temperature.
Weight.
Everyone expected his body to reject what he had taken.
He didn’t.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Leo slept.
No vomiting.
No seizure.
No distress.
The doctor finally looked at Lorenzo.
“I don’t understand this.”
Lorenzo didn’t smile.
“Can she feed him again?”
The doctor glanced at me.
“With testing first. Bloodwork. Infectious disease screening. Medication history. We need to know her health status.”
“I’ll do anything,” I said.
Lorenzo nodded toward Marco.
“Arrange it.”
Then he looked at me.
“You’re not leaving the estate.”
My stomach dropped.
“Excuse me?”
“For tonight.”
“That sounded like more than tonight.”
“You want answers?”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
“Then give me one.”
Lorenzo looked toward Leo.
“When Sophia died, I started investigating everything connected to the explosion.”
“What does that have to do with my baby?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give you without lying.”
Something about that statement stopped me.
Lorenzo didn’t seem like a man who admitted uncertainty often.
He motioned toward the hallway.
“Come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with armed guards.”
His expression changed slightly.
“Hunter, if I wanted to hurt you, we wouldn’t be negotiating.”
That was not especially comforting.
Still, I followed.
We entered his private office.
Lorenzo closed the door.
For the first time, there were no guards.
He opened a drawer and removed a thick folder.
My hospital’s logo appeared on the first page.
I stopped breathing.
“Why do you have that?”
“Because Sophia was taken there after the bombing.”
I stared at him.
The same hospital.
My hospital.
He slid a photograph across the desk.
A man in blue surgical scrubs.
“Do you know him?”
I shook my head.
“Should I?”
“He was listed as part of Sophia’s emergency surgical team.”
“Okay.”
“He disappeared three days later.”
My hands turned cold.
Lorenzo placed another photograph down.
A woman.
Dark hair.
Mid-fifties.
Something about her face made my stomach knot.
“I know her.”
Lorenzo’s eyes sharpened.
“From where?”
“She was a nurse.”
“When?”
“The night I delivered.”
His expression changed.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Her name came back to me slowly.
“Nurse Evelyn Price.”
Lorenzo sat back.
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because Evelyn Price hasn’t been licensed as a nurse for six years.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
He opened another document.
“It’s very possible.”
I thought about that night.
The medication.
The confusion.
The woman leaning over my bed.
Telling me everything would be okay.
Telling me not to worry about paperwork.
I remembered her saying, “You’re alone, sweetheart. Let us help you.”
My stomach turned.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying there were people operating inside that hospital who were not supposed to be there.”
“For what?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
“No. You already know something.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“There were irregularities after Sophia’s surgery.”
“What kind?”
“Records changed.”
“What records?”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“Infant records.”
The room tilted.
I gripped the chair.
“My daughter.”
“I don’t know.”
“You think she might be alive.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“But you think it.”
Silence.
I stood.
“Tell me everything.”
Lorenzo also stood.
“My wife was brought into that hospital after the explosion. Leo was delivered alive. Sophia died. I had security everywhere. Nobody should have been able to alter anything.”
“But somebody did.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Leo’s original identification file disappeared for eighteen hours.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why?”
“Someone attempted to replace his records.”
“With whose?”
“We never knew.”
My knees weakened.
Lorenzo moved toward me, but I stepped back.
“No.”
“Hunter—”
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped instantly.
“I spent three weeks thinking my daughter was dead.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
His eyes hardened.
“My wife died because somebody wanted me dead. I held her hand while doctors cut our son out of her body.”
His voice cracked on the final word.
He looked away.
For the first time, I saw how much control he used just to remain standing.
When he faced me again, his voice was quieter.
“I know exactly what it feels like when somebody steals the future you thought you had.”
The anger drained from me.
Not completely.
But enough to breathe.
“Did you find who changed Leo’s records?”
“Not yet.”
“Did you tell the police?”
Lorenzo gave me a look.
Right.
Lorenzo Rossi and the police probably did not exchange Christmas cards.
He continued.
“I found evidence that somebody used emergency medical chaos after the bombing to move infants through administrative gaps.”
“Move infants?”
“Yes.”
“For adoption?”
“Maybe.”
“For money?”
“Maybe.”
The room became colder.
I remembered Nurse Price.
Her gentle voice.
Her hand on my forehead.
The paperwork I could barely read.
“I signed something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“After they told me my daughter died.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“You were medicated?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did anyone else witness you signing?”
“No.”
He picked up his phone.
“Marco.”
The guard entered.
“Find everything connected to Hunter’s delivery. Every chart, camera feed, admission record, discharge document, social worker, nurse, doctor.”
Marco nodded.
“I’ll have it.”
“Tonight.”
“Understood.”
I turned toward Lorenzo.
“You can do that?”
“I can do many things.”
I almost laughed.
“Except save your own son.”
The words came out crueler than I intended.
Lorenzo went still.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
He looked toward the door.
“You’re right.”
That hurt more.
Hours later, I was taken to a guest room instead of my staff quarters.
The medical team drew blood and ran every test imaginable.
Around four in the morning, a nurse knocked.
“Leo’s awake.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“He won’t take the bottle.”
I hurried downstairs.
Lorenzo was already there.
Leo cried until I held him.
Then he settled.
The doctor watched carefully as I fed him again.
No reaction.
No rejection.
“He recognizes something,” the doctor said.
“What?”
“Possibly scent. Possibly composition. There are complex biological factors.”
Lorenzo stood beside the crib.
For several minutes, we said nothing.
Leo opened his eyes.
They were dark.
Like Lorenzo’s.
“Why does he tolerate my milk?” I asked.
The doctor hesitated.
“There could be many reasons.”
“Such as?”
“Specific protein composition. Antibodies. Digestibility.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“You’re avoiding something.”
The doctor sighed.
“There is also the possibility of biological compatibility.”
My heart skipped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means nothing yet.”
“Say it.”
The doctor looked at me.
“Sometimes infants tolerate milk from closely related biological sources better, though breastfeeding compatibility does not prove biological relation.”
I stared at him.
“I’m not related to Leo.”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
Or at least I thought it did.
“Of course not,” I said.
Nobody answered.
A cold sensation moved through me.
I looked at Lorenzo.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Before he could respond, Marco appeared in the doorway.
He looked different.
Pale.
He held a tablet.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Hunter’s discharge record.”
I turned.
“And?”
Marco swallowed.
“There’s no death certificate for her baby.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
He continued.
“There’s also no burial record.”
My knees almost gave out.
Lorenzo grabbed my arm before I fell.
I barely noticed.
Marco looked directly at me.
“And the hospital identification number assigned to Hunter’s daughter…”
He stopped.
Lorenzo’s voice became sharp.
“Finish.”
Marco turned the tablet around.
The number on the screen matched the number printed on the bracelet around Leo’s ankle.
The room went silent.
I looked at Leo.
Then at Lorenzo.
Then back at the child in my arms.
“No.”
My voice was barely audible.
“No, that’s impossible.”
But Lorenzo Rossi wasn’t looking surprised anymore.
He was looking terrified.
Because either the hospital had somehow mixed our records—
or one of us had spent two months raising a baby who had been stolen from the other.