“What do you know?”
I stared at Lorenzo.
He didn’t answer fast enough.
That was answer enough.
“You know who my father is.”
“Hunter—”
“Who?”
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
Lorenzo looked toward Marco.
“Take her downstairs. Keep her comfortable. Nobody touches her.”
Marco nodded.
I blocked the doorway.
“She stays.”
“Not for this.”
“You don’t decide that.”
His eyes hardened.
“Hunter.”
“You knew something about me from the moment you saw that bracelet.”
“Yes.”
“You knew something when you heard my last name.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me stand here thinking I was crazy.”
“I was trying to verify it.”
“Verify what?”
He remained silent.
I stepped closer.
“Say his name.”
Lorenzo finally spoke.
“Daniel Cole.”
The name meant nothing.
“I don’t know him.”
“He knew you.”
“How?”
“He was your father.”
I laughed once.
“My father disappeared before I was born.”
“No.”
I felt anger rise.
“Don’t tell me my own life.”
“He didn’t disappear.”
“Then where was he?”
Lorenzo’s voice softened.
“Dead.”
That silenced me.
“When?”
“When you were three.”
I shook my head.
“My mother told me he left.”
“She was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From us.”
The word landed heavily.
“The Rossi family?”
“Yes.”
I looked around the library.
Suddenly every wall felt closer.
“Why?”
“Daniel was one of my father’s drivers.”
I stared at him.
Lorenzo continued.
“He saw something he shouldn’t have.”
“What?”
“An internal betrayal. Money disappearing. Information being sold. Names.”
“Celeste?”
“No. Her brother.”
I sank into the chair.
“So my father was involved with your family.”
“He tried to leave.”
“And?”
“He was killed.”
My chest tightened.
“By your father?”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my father spent years trying to find who did it.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“Did my mother know?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Enough.”
I thought of my mother.
Working two jobs.
Moving us three times before I turned ten.
Never explaining why.
Always checking windows before bed.
I had thought she was anxious.
Now I wondered whether she had been afraid.
“Why did Celeste know me?”
“Because families like ours keep records.”
“Families like yours.”
He flinched.
I was glad.
“At the hospital, Celeste needed a baby close enough in age and circumstances to replace Leo without creating immediate suspicion.”
“Leo?”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“The child we believed was Leo.”
Right.
I looked toward the ceiling, where my son slept.
My son.
The words still felt unreal.
“She chose mine because of my father?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“To punish the Rossi family using someone already connected to us.”
“By stealing my child?”
“She may have expected you never to investigate.”
“She was right.”
My voice broke.
“I believed them.”
Lorenzo moved closer.
“You had no reason not to.”
“I should have demanded to see him.”
“You were drugged.”
“I signed papers.”
“You were drugged.”
“I left without him.”
Lorenzo’s voice became firm.
“You were lied to.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t get to make me feel better.”
“No.”
His expression softened.
“But I won’t let you make yourself guilty for someone else’s crime.”
I hated that those words reached me.
That afternoon, more records arrived.
The truth became uglier.
My labor had been induced earlier than medically necessary.
My chart contained medication orders from a doctor who claimed he had never treated me.
A death certificate had been started but never finalized.
The supposed cremation paperwork belonged to another patient.
There had never been a funeral.
There had never been ashes.
My baby had been alive.
He had been taken from my arms before I was conscious enough to understand.
Then handed to Lorenzo.
Meanwhile, Sophia’s newborn had disappeared.
We needed to find him.
Lorenzo mobilized everyone.
Flights.
Financial records.
Old hospital staff.
Security footage.
Celeste Moretti’s bank history.
For forty-eight hours, the mansion became a command center.
Meanwhile, my son ate.
He gained three ounces.
It felt like winning a war.
I stayed with him constantly.
Lorenzo did too.
At first, the arrangement felt awkward.
He had changed Leo’s diapers before I ever knew he was mine.
He knew which lullaby calmed him.
He knew Leo hated cold wipes.
He knew he slept better with one hand near his face.
Watching Lorenzo care for him hurt in a strange way.
I was grateful.
And jealous.
Both could exist.
One night, I walked into the nursery and found Lorenzo asleep in the chair with Leo against his chest.
I stopped in the doorway.
Leo was breathing peacefully.
Lorenzo’s hand covered almost his entire back.
I could have woken him.
Instead, I sat nearby.
Ten minutes later, Lorenzo opened his eyes.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”
“He seems fine.”
“He likes sleeping like this.”
“I noticed.”
A quiet passed between us.
“Hunter?”
“Yes?”
“If we find Sophia’s son…”
“When.”
He looked at me.
“When we find him.”
I nodded.
“What happens to Leo?”
The question hurt.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s yours.”
“Yes.”
“I know you’ll leave.”
I stared at him.
He looked almost embarrassed to say it.
“This house isn’t exactly safe.”
“No.”
“And your life…”
“Complicated.”
“Extremely.”
A faint smile appeared.
Then disappeared.
“I’m not taking him away from you tomorrow.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know.”
“He should be with his mother.”
“He should be with people who love him.”
Lorenzo looked at Leo.
“I do.”
“I know.”
That was the moment something shifted.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
Just a small piece of trust.
Marco entered twenty minutes later carrying news.
“We found Celeste’s brother.”
“Where?” Lorenzo asked.
“Dead five years.”
Lorenzo cursed.
“But he had a daughter.”
“Name?”
“Vivian Moretti.”
Lorenzo went still.
I looked between them.
“Who is Vivian?”
Marco hesitated.
Lorenzo answered.
“My late wife’s closest friend.”
My stomach dropped.
“Sophia’s friend?”
“Yes.”
“She had access to the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“She knew Celeste?”
“Yes.”
Marco handed Lorenzo a phone.
“We pulled footage from a private hangar two months ago.”
On the screen, a woman carried an infant carrier toward a jet.
Vivian.
The timestamp was six hours after Sophia died.
Lorenzo stared at it.
“Where did the plane go?”
“Switzerland.”
My heart raced.
“Then the baby could be there.”
Marco nodded.
“But there’s another problem.”
“What?”
“The plane returned three days later.”
“Without the baby?”
“Yes.”
“Where did Vivian go?”
“She disappeared.”
Lorenzo stood.
“Trace every account.”
“We did.”
Marco looked uneasy.
“She received six million dollars three days after the flight.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“From whom?”
Marco placed another document down.
The company name meant nothing to me.
It meant something to Lorenzo.
He went completely still.
“No.”
“What?”
Marco lowered his voice.
“The account is tied to Anthony DeLuca.”
Lorenzo’s cousin.
His closest adviser.
The man whose photograph I had seen on the family wall.
The man who had been inside the mansion almost every day since I arrived.
I felt cold.
“Where is he now?”
Marco looked toward the door.
“In the dining room.”
At that exact moment, a gunshot thundered from downstairs.