Chapter 4 - The Daughter Nobody Buried
Dominic spent the rest of the night staring at the security photograph.
His father had been declared dead in a private hospital eleven years earlier. Dominic had attended the funeral. He had watched the coffin lowered into the ground.
But he had never seen Anthony's body.
At the time, he had been twenty-seven, already running parts of the family's criminal empire, and desperate to believe that the worst of his father's cruelty had died with him.
Now he understood that the funeral might have been another performance.
“Find out who signed the death certificate,” Dominic ordered.
Marcus nodded.
“And find every record connected to Isabella's pregnancy.”
“You think your father took the baby?”
“I think someone made sure I would never look for her.”
They returned to the mansion shortly before dawn.
Vanessa was waiting in the drawing room, still dressed in her crimson gown. A glass of untouched wine sat beside her.
“You went somewhere,” she said.
Dominic removed his coat.
“Observant.”
“You turned off your phone.”
“I didn't want interruptions.”
“Where were you?”
“Looking for my wife.”
Vanessa stood.
“Dominic, you have to stop this. Whoever sent that package is manipulating you. Isabella is dead.”
“Then why was she in a restricted medical facility two days ago?”
The glass slipped from Vanessa's hand and shattered on the floor.
Dominic watched her carefully.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You recognized the watch. You knew what was inside it. And now you're afraid because I found a place where someone kept my wife hidden.”
Vanessa's eyes shone with tears.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
She shook her head.
“From the truth.”
Dominic waited.
But she said nothing more.
He walked away, leaving two guards outside the drawing room.
Upstairs, Lily was waiting with a cup of coffee and a folder she had taken from the mansion's old household archives.
“I found something while looking for the original inventory of Mrs. Moretti's belongings,” she explained. “There was a second inventory, dated three days after the funeral. Someone removed several items without signing the register.”
Dominic scanned the list.
A jewelry box.
Two personal letters.
A silver baby rattle.
And a hospital bracelet bearing Isabella's name.
“Who authorized the removal?”
Lily pointed to the bottom.
The signature read V. Sterling.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“Vanessa wasn't part of this family when Isabella died.”
“No, sir. But she was working for the Moretti Foundation at the time. She had access to the family offices.”
Dominic called Marcus.
Within an hour, Marcus found the hospital bracelet's matching record. Isabella had been admitted to a private maternity clinic on the night of the accident. The record listed a live birth, followed by an emergency transfer to another facility.
The infant's name had been removed.
The receiving hospital had no matching admission.
Someone had erased the trail.
“Keep looking,” Dominic ordered. “I want the child found.”
Marcus called back forty minutes later.
“I have a lead. A woman named Elena Reyes adopted a little girl through an agency connected to the clinic. The adoption file was sealed, but the child's birth date matches the date of Isabella's delivery.”
“Where are they?”
“Suburban Chicago. The girl is three years old.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Three years.
His daughter had been growing up somewhere without him while he mourned a child he believed had died.
He drove to the address with Marcus and two discreet security officers.
It was a modest brick house on a quiet street, with a swing set in the backyard and chalk drawings on the driveway.
A woman opened the door.
She was in her early forties, with tired eyes and a protective hand resting on the shoulder of a little girl.
The child had dark brown curls and a small birthmark beneath her left eye.
Dominic forgot every question he had prepared.
The girl looked at him.
Then she hid behind Elena's leg.
“Who are you?” Elena asked.
“My name is Dominic Moretti. I believe this little girl may be my daughter.”
Elena's expression turned to stone.
“You need to leave.”
“Please. I have reason to believe her mother is alive.”
“You have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Then explain the adoption records.”
Elena glanced at the child.
The girl was holding a small stuffed rabbit with one ear sewn back on.
Dominic crouched, keeping his distance.
“What's your name, sweetheart?”
“Rose.”
“That's a beautiful name.”
“Mommy says strangers shouldn't ask questions.”
“Your mommy is right.”
Rose studied him.
Then she asked, “Why do you look sad?”
Dominic couldn't answer.
Elena stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
“She was placed with me through a private arrangement,” she whispered. “I was told her biological parents had died. I believed I was giving an orphan a safe home.”
“Who arranged it?”
“A woman from a charitable foundation. Vanessa Sterling.”
Dominic felt cold.
“Did she ever visit?”
“Once. She told me the child had to remain hidden because her biological father was dangerous.”
“Did she give you money?”
Elena looked ashamed.
“Yes. At first, it was for medical expenses. Later, the payments came with conditions. No photographs online. No travel without permission. No contact with the biological family.”
Dominic stared at the house.
“Why didn't you report it?”
“Because the papers were legal. Because I was afraid. And because Rose is my daughter in every way that matters.”
He understood her fear. He wasn't going to tear the little girl from the only home she remembered.
“I won't take her from you,” he said. “I want the truth. And I want her to be safe.”
Elena's eyes softened, but only slightly.
“Then you need to know what happened the night Isabella disappeared.”
She reached into her pocket and produced a small envelope.
“Vanessa left this with the adoption papers. She told me to destroy it when Rose turned three.”
Inside was a photograph of a hospital corridor.
On the wall, a digital clock showed 2:17 A.M.
In the foreground stood Vanessa, holding a newborn infant.
Behind her, a man in a surgical mask pushed a hospital bed toward a service elevator.
Dominic recognized the woman on the bed.
Isabella.
On the back of the photograph was a handwritten message.
The mother must never see the child. The father must never know she survived.
Dominic looked up.
“Who wrote this?”
Elena's voice trembled.
“I don't know. But there's something else. A week ago, someone called and asked me to bring Rose to a private meeting.”
“Who?”
Elena swallowed.
“Your father.”
From inside the house, Rose suddenly began crying.
Elena turned toward the door.
Dominic followed her gaze.
A black sedan had stopped across the street.
The rear window lowered.
An elderly man looked out.
May you like
Anthony Moretti smiled at his son.
Then he raised one hand and pointed directly at Rose.
