Liam wanted to call the police.
I almost laughed.
Not because the situation was funny.
Because people like Alessandro Vitali probably knew the police commissioner.
Maybe they had dinner together.
“Ms. Reed?” Marcus called through the door.
I snatched the pregnancy test off the floor and shoved it into my apron.
“Don’t answer.”
Liam stared at me.
“He knows you’re here.”
“Knowing and proving aren’t the same thing.”
“He’s literally standing outside.”
“Not Alessandro.”
“No. Just his professionally intimidating representative.”
Another knock.
Liam stepped toward the door.
I grabbed his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out what he wants.”
“No.”
“If he wanted to hurt you, he wouldn’t knock.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you can’t spend nine months pretending billionaires don’t own private investigators.”
I hated that he had a point.
Liam opened the door with the chain still attached.
The man outside was around forty, clean-shaven, wearing a dark navy suit.
He didn’t look threatening.
That somehow made him worse.
“Marcus Hale?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Liam Carter.”
“I know.”
Liam’s eyebrows rose.
Marcus looked past him.
“Mr. Vitali would like to speak with Ms. Reed.”
“She’s unavailable.”
“I can see her.”
Wonderful.
I stepped into view.
Marcus’s expression remained professionally neutral.
“Ms. Reed.”
“What does he want?”
“To speak with you.”
“About?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t tell me.”
“I’m working.”
Marcus glanced at my uniform.
“Your shift begins at eight-thirty.”
My stomach dropped.
Liam swore under his breath.
Marcus seemed almost apologetic.
“Mr. Vitali has been trying to locate you since the morning you left the Obsidian.”
“Why?”
“You’d need to ask him.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
Marcus reached inside his jacket.
Liam immediately shifted in front of me.
Marcus stopped.
“It’s an envelope.”
He slowly removed a cream envelope.
My pulse jumped.
It looked exactly like the one from the gala.
He passed it through the gap in the door.
“For you.”
Liam took it.
Marcus stepped back.
“I’ll tell Mr. Vitali you received it.”
“That’s all?” I asked.
“That’s all.”
He turned toward the stairs.
I couldn’t stop myself.
“How did he find me?”
Marcus paused.
“You paid for a prescription three days ago using a rewards account connected to your diner employee record.”
I felt sick.
He added quietly, “Mr. Vitali is extremely good at finding people.”
Then he left.
Liam shut the door.
For several seconds, we stared at the envelope.
“Burn it,” I said.
“You’re going to open it.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
I tore it open.
Inside was a single card.
No threats.
No dramatic declarations.
Just handwriting.
You disappeared before breakfast.
I have spent six weeks deciding whether that annoyed me or impressed me.
Dinner tonight.
Public place.
No expectations.
Alessandro.
Below it was an address.
I recognized the restaurant.
One of the most expensive in Chicago.
Liam read over my shoulder.
“He has handwriting like a serial killer.”
“He has expensive handwriting.”
“You can tell?”
“I’m assuming.”
Liam looked at me.
“You should go.”
“No.”
“You need answers.”
“I need distance.”
“You also need to know whether his family had anything to do with your father.”
“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t go.”
“Or exactly why you should.”
I folded the card.
“I’m not telling him about the baby.”
“I didn’t say you should.”
That surprised me.
Liam leaned against the counter.
“I think you need to see who he really is before you decide anything. Not the man in Room 1520. The real Alessandro.”
I hated how sensible that sounded.
By seven that evening, I had changed my mind seventeen times.
At seven-thirty, I stood across the street from Aurelia, staring at the restaurant’s brass doors.
I wore the nicest outfit I owned—black pants, heels borrowed from Rosa, and a dark green blouse.
I had almost left when Alessandro stepped outside.
He had been waiting.
He wore a dark overcoat over a suit.
The moment he saw me, something changed in his face.
Not triumph.
Relief.
“You came.”
“You already used that line.”
His mouth curved.
“You disappeared.”
“You noticed.”
“I spent six weeks noticing.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he opened the restaurant door.
“Dinner?”
“I have rules.”
“Already?”
“Public table. No private room. I leave when I want. You don’t send anyone to my apartment again.”
“That last one depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you disappear another six weeks.”
I turned to leave.
“Emma.”
I stopped.
“Fine,” he said. “No one comes to your apartment.”
Inside, the host led us to a table near the windows.
No private dining room.
No security visible.
Alessandro had listened.
That mattered more than I wanted it to.
For ten minutes, we talked about nothing.
Food.
Weather.
My job.
Then he put down his glass.
“Why did you leave?”
“Because staying would have been complicated.”
“And disappearing wasn’t?”
“I didn’t realize you’d care.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“That’s either an insult or an excuse.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“The truth.”
I looked away.
The truth was dangerous.
“Maybe I got scared.”
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t look offended.
“Why?”
Because your name was in my dead father’s files.
Because I spent years wondering if your family killed him.
Because I went to the gala looking for evidence.
Instead I said, “Because men like you don’t invite women like me upstairs for uncomplicated reasons.”
“Women like you?”
“Women carrying trays.”
His expression hardened.
“Do you think I looked at your uniform?”
“Everyone looked at my uniform.”
“I looked at you.”
My chest tightened.
“Alessandro—”
“I have spent six weeks trying to decide if what happened that night mattered only to me.”
I went silent.
He leaned back.
“Apparently it did.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. Fair would have been giving me a number and saying you didn’t want to see me again.”
“I didn’t owe you anything.”
“No.”
His answer came instantly.
“You didn’t.”
That stopped me.
He continued.
“But I wanted the opportunity to ask.”
There was no anger in his voice.
Only something almost vulnerable.
That was harder to defend against.
Dinner arrived.
I barely touched it.
Alessandro noticed.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that twice.”
“I work too much.”
“And you’re not drinking wine.”
My fingers tightened around my water glass.
“I don’t like wine.”
“You drank champagne at the gala.”
My pulse stumbled.
Those amber eyes were too observant.
“Maybe I learned my lesson.”
He studied me for a long moment.
I forced myself not to touch my stomach.
Then his phone vibrated.
He glanced at it.
His face changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t a nothing face.”
He looked toward the restaurant entrance.
A tall silver-haired man had just walked in.
He looked about sixty.
Elegant.
Cold.
And immediately familiar.
I had seen him before.
Not at the gala.
In an old photograph inside my father’s files.
Victor Vitali.
Alessandro’s father.
My blood turned to ice.
Victor’s gaze moved from his son to me.
Then stopped.
His expression changed.
Not recognition exactly.
Alarm.
He approached our table.
“Alessandro.”
“Father.”
Victor continued staring at me.
“And who is this?”
“Emma Reed.”
The color drained from Victor’s face.
My heart began pounding.
“Reed?”
“Yes.”
Victor looked closer.
At my eyes.
My nose.
My face.
Then he whispered something that nearly made me drop my glass.
“No.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Father?”
Victor ignored him.
He stared directly at me.
“What was your mother’s name?”
Every instinct screamed at me to run.
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
Alessandro stood.
“Enough.”
Victor didn’t move.
“What was her name?”
My palms were sweating.
“Sarah.”
Victor closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, there was fear there.
Real fear.
“Sarah Mercer?”
The restaurant disappeared around me.
Alessandro turned toward me.
“Mercer?”
I couldn’t speak.
Victor stepped back as if I had become dangerous.
Alessandro’s voice dropped.
“Emma.”
I pushed away from the table.
“I have to go.”
He caught my wrist gently.
“Who is Elizabeth Mercer?”
My heart stopped.
I had not said Elizabeth.
Neither had his father.
Alessandro looked toward Victor.
“Who is she?”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“No one.”
I ripped my hand free.
“I’m leaving.”
Alessandro followed me outside.
Snow had begun falling lightly over Chicago.
“Emma.”
“Don’t.”
“What just happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
I turned.
“Then maybe you should ask your father.”
His expression changed.
“What does my father have to do with you?”
“Everything.”
I regretted the word as soon as it left me.
Alessandro stepped closer.
“Who are you?”
I looked into the eyes of the man whose child I was carrying.
The man I wanted to trust.
The man whose family name had haunted my life for eight years.
And for the first time since I was seventeen, I said my real name aloud to someone outside Liam.
“My name is Elizabeth Mercer.”
Alessandro went completely still.
Behind the restaurant window, Victor Vitali watched us.
And even through the glass, I could see terror on his face.
---