Chapter 8 - THE CHILD WITH THE MORETTI EYES
Dominic stared at the photograph until the edges blurred.
The young man was unmistakably him.
The same dark hair.
The same scar above his right eyebrow.
But the woman beside him was a stranger.
And the baby in her arms could not have been more than six months old.
“This is impossible,” he whispered.
Thomas Reed looked exhausted.
“I know what your father told you.”
Dominic raised his eyes.
“What did he tell me?”
“That the accident took everything.”
Dominic felt a chill.
Nine years earlier, he had been involved with a woman named Julia Bennett.
She was a graduate student who worked evenings at a restaurant near the docks.
Their relationship had been brief but serious.
Then the warehouse explosion happened.
When Dominic woke in the hospital, Salvatore told him Julia had left Chicago.
He claimed she had taken money and disappeared.
Dominic had tried calling.
The number was disconnected.
He sent letters.
They were returned.
Eventually, he believed his father.
Now Thomas was telling him something else.
“Julia was pregnant?”
Thomas nodded.
Dominic gripped the photograph.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“She tried.”
The words landed like stones.
Thomas continued.
“Your father intercepted her letters. Margaret found out because Julia came to the hospital asking for you.”
Dominic felt sick.
“What happened?”
“Salvatore had her removed.”
“And the baby?”
Thomas looked toward Hannah.
“Margaret helped Julia leave the city.”
Hannah stared at her father.
“You never told me.”
“I promised your mother.”
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore threatened to kill the child if anyone connected her to Dominic.”
Dominic stood motionless.
He had spent years fearing his father's enemies.
He had never considered that his father might have been the greatest danger to his own family.
“Where is Julia?” he asked.
Thomas lowered his eyes.
“She died five years ago.”
Dominic staggered backward.
Hannah reached for him.
He barely noticed.
“How?”
“Cancer.”
“Where's my daughter?”
Thomas looked up.
“That's what Margaret's recording was supposed to protect.”
Dominic frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Margaret kept copies of the adoption records and the original birth certificate. She planned to give them to you when it was safe.”
“Where are they?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Voss took most of her files after the accident.”
Dominic looked at the photograph again.
“My daughter is alive?”
“As far as I know.”
“How old?”
“Nine.”
He closed his eyes.
Nine years.
Nine birthdays.
Nine Christmas mornings.
Nine years of a child wondering why her father never came.
He turned away because the pain was unbearable.
Hannah followed him outside.
Snow had begun falling across the parking lot.
Dominic stood beside his car, staring into the darkness.
“I didn't know,” he whispered.
“I believe you.”
“She could have been looking for me.”
Hannah said nothing.
“I could have been there.”
“You didn't know.”
He turned toward her.
“My father stole her from me.”
Hannah's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Dominic said, “I'm going to find her.”
Hannah nodded.
“I know.”
“And Voss is going to tell me everything.”
She stepped closer.
“Dominic, don't become your father trying to undo what he did.”
He looked at her.
The words reached somewhere deep.
“I don't know how to do this without hurting someone.”
“Then start by not hurting anyone.”
He laughed once.
A broken, humorless sound.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It isn't.”
She looked at the photograph in his hand.
“But your daughter deserves to meet a man who knows the difference.”
The next morning, Claire obtained a court order allowing investigators to examine the remaining adoption records.
A sealed file led to a private agency in Wisconsin.
The agency had closed seven years earlier.
But one former employee was still alive.
Her name was Patricia Lowell.
She agreed to meet them at a small diner outside Milwaukee.
Patricia was seventy-three, with silver hair and hands that shook around her coffee cup.
When Dominic showed her the photograph, she began crying.
“I remember that baby.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Where is she?”
Patricia looked toward the window.
“She was placed with a family.”
“What family?”
“I can't give you their names without authorization.”
Claire placed the court order on the table.
Patricia read it.
Then slowly opened a worn folder.
Inside was a photograph of a little girl.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A small dimple in her left cheek.
Dominic stopped breathing.
The child looked exactly like his mother had looked at that age.
Patricia whispered, “Her name was changed.”
“To what?”
Patricia looked at the document.
“Lily.”
Dominic swallowed.
“Lily what?”
Before Patricia could answer, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Her face went white.
“Excuse me.”
She stood and hurried toward the restroom.
Dominic waited.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Claire went to check.
Patricia was gone.
The restroom window stood open.
Her folder remained on the table.
May you like
Inside, beneath the photograph, was a handwritten note.
If Dominic Moretti finds this child, tell him the truth about Adrian first.
