Chapter 3 - Room 217
Dominic read the message three times.
Room 217.
The number on the torn receipt.
The time frozen on Isabella's watch.
And now the location where someone wanted him to go alone.
It was too precise to be coincidence.
He called Marcus.
“Trace this number.”
“Already trying. It's routed through an internet service.”
“Can you get a location?”
“Not yet. But I found the medical facility from the photograph. It's a private rehabilitation center outside Chicago called Westbridge House.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“Was Isabella admitted there?”
“Officially, no. But the facility has a restricted wing with patient records that aren't part of the standard database.”
“Get me the address.”
Marcus hesitated.
“Dominic, listen to me. If someone has kept Isabella hidden for years, they may be expecting you to show up. This could be a trap.”
“Then I'll bring people.”
“The message specifically says alone.”
“I'm not walking into an unknown building without protection.”
Dominic ended the call and turned toward Lily, who stood near the study door.
“You heard that?”
“Some of it.”
He studied her face.
“You don't have to be involved in this.”
Lily's expression changed.
“Sir, I was here when you buried her memory in every room of this house. I watched you stop celebrating Christmas because it reminded you of her. I watched you sit at that dining table alone on your wedding anniversary.”
She drew a shaky breath.
“If Mrs. Moretti is alive, she deserves someone who won't give up on her.”
Dominic looked away.
For four years, he had convinced himself that grief was the price of loving Isabella. He had built his days around work, security, and the cold comfort of routine. Vanessa had offered him a future that required no questions about the past.
Now the past was calling him.
And he couldn't ignore it.
“Stay here,” he told Lily. “If anything happens to me, give the photograph to Marcus Hale. Nobody else.”
Lily nodded, but her eyes dropped to the velvet box.
“There's something I haven't told you.”
Dominic waited.
“When I helped pack Mrs. Moretti's things after the funeral, I saw a woman standing outside the chapel. She was wearing a gray coat and sunglasses. She kept asking the staff whether the casket had been sealed.”
His blood chilled.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought she was a reporter. I was twenty-two, sir. I didn't know it mattered.”
“Did you see her face?”
“Only briefly. But she had a small scar near her left ear.”
Dominic remembered Vanessa's hair falling over her left ear at the funeral.
A faint scar had been visible when she tucked it back.
He said nothing.
At 11:40 p.m., Dominic left the mansion in an unmarked black SUV. He wore dark clothes beneath his coat and carried no weapon that could be seen from a distance.
Marcus followed in another vehicle, several blocks behind.
Westbridge House stood beyond a line of bare trees, its glass entrance illuminated against the darkness. It looked less like a hospital than a luxury hotel. No ambulance bay. No visible emergency entrance. No signs identifying its restricted wing.
Dominic entered through the main lobby.
A receptionist glanced up.
“Good evening. Do you have an appointment?”
“Room 217.”
Her fingers stopped over the keyboard.
For one brief second, fear crossed her face.
Then she smiled mechanically.
“I'm sorry. We don't have a room by that number.”
Dominic placed a photograph of Isabella on the counter.
“Do you recognize her?”
The receptionist looked down.
“No.”
“Look again.”
“I said no.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“My wife disappeared four years ago. Someone sent me a photograph of her inside this building. You can help me, or you can explain to the police why you're obstructing an investigation into a missing person.”
The receptionist's eyes darted toward a security camera.
Then she whispered, “Basement level. The elevator requires a staff card.”
“Where do I get one?”
“Second door on the left. Security office.”
She quickly looked away.
Dominic found the office empty. A card lay beside a computer monitor. He took it, entered the elevator, and pressed the basement button.
The doors opened onto a narrow corridor with white walls and no windows.
At the far end stood a door marked 217.
Dominic approached slowly.
“Isabella?”
No answer.
He swiped the card.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a small room with a bed, a chair, and an oxygen machine. A woman's gray sweater lay folded on the mattress.
On the bedside table sat a framed photograph of Dominic and Isabella on their wedding day.
He picked it up.
Someone had scratched out his face.
Behind him, a floorboard creaked.
Dominic turned.
An elderly nurse stood in the doorway.
“Mr. Moretti,” she whispered. “You shouldn't have come.”
“Where is my wife?”
“She's not here anymore.”
“When was she here?”
The nurse looked toward the corridor.
“Two days ago.”
“Who took her?”
“I can't tell you.”
Dominic moved closer.
“You can. And you will.”
The nurse's eyes filled with tears.
“Your wife asked me to give you something if you ever came.”
She reached into her pocket and handed him a folded sheet of paper.
Dominic opened it.
Isabella's handwriting covered the page.
Dominic, if you're reading this, then someone has finally broken the promise they made to keep us apart.
I need you to remember one thing. I did not leave you.
He struggled to breathe.
The letter continued.
The night of the accident, I learned what your family had done. I learned why our child never came home from the hospital.
Dominic stopped reading.
Their child.
Isabella had been pregnant when she died. He had never seen the baby because the doctors told him the pregnancy had ended in the accident.
He had spent four years believing he had lost both of them.
The nurse whispered, “She wanted to tell you everything.”
Dominic looked up.
“Where is she?”
Before the nurse could answer, an alarm sounded in the corridor.
Red lights flashed.
A voice came over the intercom.
“Security breach in the restricted wing. All staff report immediately.”
The nurse grabbed Dominic's sleeve.
“You have to go!”
“I'm not leaving without my wife.”
“She isn't here!”
“Then tell me where she is!”
The nurse's face crumpled.
“Ask your father.”
Dominic went completely still.
“My father has been dead for eleven years.”
The nurse shook her head.
“No, Mr. Moretti. Your father was supposed to be dead.”
The door burst open.
Two security guards entered.
Dominic shoved the bedside table into their path and ran into the corridor. He reached the elevator just as the doors began closing.
A hand slipped between them.
Marcus.
“Move!”
They escaped through the lobby and into the parking lot. Marcus pulled Dominic toward the SUV while a security officer shouted behind them.
Once the doors were locked, Dominic unfolded Isabella's letter again.
At the bottom, beneath her signature, was a final sentence he hadn't noticed.
If you find our daughter, don't tell her who you are until she remembers the lullaby.
Dominic looked at Marcus.
“My daughter is alive.”
Marcus didn't answer.
Instead, he handed Dominic a photograph taken from the facility's security system.
It showed a woman being escorted through a side entrance two days earlier.
The woman's face was partially hidden, but Dominic recognized her coat.
May you like
And the man holding her arm was unmistakable.
His father, Anthony Moretti.
