Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO COULDN'T COMMAND THE SKY
The first thing I heard after fastening my seat belt was a flight attendant asking me to put my phone on airplane mode.
The second was my phone vibrating against my palm.
VINCENT MORETTI.
I stared at his name until the screen went dark.
Then it lit up again.
And again.
I didn't answer.
For five years, I'd answered every call from my husband, even when he interrupted dinner, abandoned anniversaries, or summoned me home because he didn't like being alone in his enormous house.
This time, I let it ring.
"Ma'am?" The flight attendant glanced at my shaking hands. "Are you feeling all right?"
I pressed one palm against my abdomen.
"I'm fine."
It was the first lie I'd told that morning.
Across Chicago, Vincent Moretti was discovering that money, threats, and a surname feared by half the city couldn't make an airplane return to its gate simply because he demanded it.
"Get me the airport director," he barked into his phone.
His driver accelerated through traffic while two security vehicles cleared the road ahead.
"I need that aircraft stopped."
"Mr. Moretti, the plane has received departure clearance," his assistant, Daniel, replied. "It's moving toward the runway."
"Then call the tower."
"Sir, they won't delay a commercial flight for a private family dispute."
Vincent's expression became frighteningly still.
"Did you just call my wife leaving me a family dispute?"
"No, sir."
"Then fix it."
Daniel hesitated.
That hesitation irritated Vincent more than any insult could have.
"Now!"
He ended the call and looked at the folder on the passenger seat. Daniel had retrieved it from the mansion before they left.
Inside were the divorce papers Claire had signed.
There was also a folded appointment card from an obstetrician's office.
Vincent opened it.
Pregnancy confirmation.
Six weeks.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
Six weeks.
He remembered Claire standing beside him at the charity gala, smiling while he promised to finance Sophia's future. He remembered her asking whether he wanted children. He remembered dismissing the question because he had assumed they had years to decide.
And he remembered something else.
Three weeks earlier, Claire had placed a small gift box on his desk.
He had been on a call with a business associate when she asked him to open it.
"Later, sweetheart."
He'd kissed her forehead without looking at the box.
He had never opened it.
When he returned home that evening, it was gone.
"Daniel."
"Yes, sir?"
"Find out whether Claire tried to tell me about the pregnancy before today."
Daniel said nothing for a moment.
Then he answered carefully.
"She sent you a message that night. You were at Sophia's apartment because Noah had a fever."
Vincent closed his eyes.
"What did the message say?"
"She wrote, 'I have something wonderful to tell you when you come home.'"
The silence inside the vehicle became unbearable.
Vincent had replied with three words.
Go to sleep, Claire.
He had forgotten the message before midnight.
Now those words seemed to stare back at him from the screen of Daniel's phone.
The car stopped at the airport entrance.
Vincent jumped out before the driver could open his door.
He made it halfway across the terminal before an airport security officer stepped in front of him.
"Sir, you can't go beyond this point."
"I'm Vincent Moretti."
"I understand, sir. But you still need authorization."
Vincent reached for his phone.
Then he saw the departures screen.
His wife's flight had changed status.
DEPARTED.
For several seconds, he couldn't breathe.
Claire was gone.
His unborn child was gone with her.
And for the first time in his adult life, Vincent couldn't force the world to give him what he wanted.
His phone rang.
Sophia.
He answered automatically.
"Vincent? Noah keeps asking when you'll come back. He wants to show you something."
"Not now."
She fell silent.
"Is something wrong?"
"My wife is leaving me."
Another pause.
Then Sophia whispered, "Because of the baby?"
Vincent froze.
"What did you just say?"
"I—nothing. I meant, because of the pregnancy."
"How did you know?"
"I didn't. I was guessing."
But her voice had changed.
Before he could question her further, she ended the call.
Vincent stood in the crowded terminal with the phone pressed against his ear.
Something was wrong.
He just didn't know what.
Three hours later, Claire landed in Zurich.
The Swiss air was cold enough to sting my cheeks as I stepped outside the airport.
For the first time in years, nobody hurried toward me with instructions from Vincent. Nobody asked what he wanted for dinner or whether Sophia would be joining us for the weekend.
I was alone.
And strangely, I could breathe.
My friend Amelia Hart was waiting beside a black sedan. She had left Chicago six years earlier and built a quiet life in Switzerland, far away from the Moretti family's influence.
When she saw me, she ran forward and wrapped her arms around me.
"Oh, Claire."
I started crying before she finished saying my name.
She didn't ask questions until we were inside the car.
Then she looked at my abdomen.
"Does he know?"
"Yes."
"Did he say he was sorry?"
I stared out the window at the mountains.
"No. He ordered the airport shut down."
Amelia's jaw tightened.
"Of course he did."
"He didn't want a child, Amelia."
"Then he should have thought about what he wanted before treating you like you were an accessory to his life."
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.
For the first time, I let myself imagine a future without Vincent.
A small apartment.
A peaceful home.
A baby who would never have to compete with a dead marriage or a living first love.
I didn't know how much money I'd have after the divorce. I didn't know whether Vincent would fight me over custody.
But I knew I couldn't return to the woman I'd been.
That evening, while Amelia prepared soup, I opened my suitcase to retrieve my prenatal vitamins.
A small envelope fell from the side pocket.
I didn't recognize the handwriting.
Inside was a photograph of Vincent and Sophia standing outside a hospital room.
On the back, someone had written a date.
The date was two days before our wedding.
Beneath it were seven words.
Ask your husband what happened to the first baby.
I stared at the photograph until the room blurred.
May you like
Because on the back of the picture, in tiny print at the bottom, was the name of the hospital where Sophia had delivered her son.
And the date was five months earlier than anyone had ever told me.
