Chapter 3 - THE DEAD MAN'S RETURN
For five years, I'd believed my father was dead.
I remembered the funeral. The closed casket. The private burial. The priest's trembling voice.
I remembered standing beside my mother, promising that nobody would ever hurt our family again.
And now his face was staring back at me from a photograph of my kidnapped daughter.
I called Victor.
“Find that vehicle.”
“We're already tracking it, boss.”
“Lock down every road leaving Manhattan. Contact our people in New Jersey and Connecticut. I want every surveillance camera checked.”
“Understood.”
“And find out whether my father is alive.”
There was a pause.
“Boss?”
“You heard me.”
I returned to the bedroom and examined the photograph.
Sophie's cheeks were wet. She was holding her teddy bear against her chest. Behind her, a tall man stood beside a window.
The gold lion ring was unmistakable.
My father, Dominic Moretti, had worn that ring every day of his life.
I remembered how he'd taught me to tie my shoes, how he'd carried me on his shoulders, and how he'd told me that family was the only thing a man could never replace.
I also remembered the night he died.
Or the night I was told he died.
Vanessa appeared in the hallway.
Her blonde hair was disheveled, and her makeup had begun running.
“Lorenzo, please.”
I turned.
“Where is Sophie?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie to me.”
She began crying.
“I never wanted this to happen.”
I walked toward her.
“You told me my daughter was unwanted. You made her eat on the floor. You told her she wasn't real family.”
“I was trying to prepare her!”
“For what?”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
I caught her wrist before she could turn away.
“Tell me.”
She collapsed onto the hallway bench.
“Anthony promised me that everything would be different after the wedding. He said Sophie would be sent away, and we'd have our own child.”
“You were never pregnant.”
“I know.”
“You lied about carrying my child?”
She nodded, sobbing.
“Anthony said it was temporary. He said the doctors would confirm everything later. He told me you'd be too busy with the wedding and the business to notice.”
I stared at her.
“And the adoption papers?”
“I signed them.”
“Using my name?”
“Anthony gave me the documents. He said your father had arranged everything.”
I went still.
“My father?”
Vanessa nodded.
“He told me Dominic was alive. He said your father wanted Sophie removed because she was the only person who could interfere with the inheritance.”
“What inheritance?”
Vanessa looked toward the staircase.
“Your father's private trust. Sophie is named as the sole beneficiary.”
I felt something cold settle inside my chest.
My father had left Sophie something?
“How much?”
“I don't know. Anthony said it was enough to destroy the entire family if she ever inherited it.”
I stepped away.
“Why did you agree?”
Her answer came out barely above a whisper.
“Because he promised me your company. Your mansion. Everything.”
I stared at the woman I'd intended to marry.
“You traded a three-year-old child for a mansion?”
She started crying harder.
But I felt nothing.
Victor appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Boss. We found the SUV.”
“Where?”
“An abandoned property in Westchester. But there's something else.”
He handed me a tablet.
The security footage showed Sophie being carried through the mansion's east garden by one of my own guards.
I recognized him.
His name was Daniel.
He'd worked for my family for eleven years.
“Where is he?”
“Missing.”
I zoomed in on the footage.
Daniel was carrying Sophie toward the vehicle.
But he wasn't alone.
A woman stood beside the open passenger door.
I recognized her immediately.
My mother.
The woman who had held my hand at my father's funeral.
The woman who had told me, through tears, that Dominic's heart had stopped in the hospital.
I looked at Victor.
“Get the car.”
Then my phone vibrated.
A message arrived from an unknown number.
YOUR FATHER WANTS TO SEE HIS GRANDDAUGHTER. COME ALONE, LORENZO. AND BRING THE FAMILY RING.
Attached was a photograph.
Sophie was asleep on a velvet sofa.
May you like
Beside her sat my mother.
And my mother was holding a knife.
