Chapter 2 - SOMEONE WAS STILL INSIDE THE HOUSE
Dominic didn't move for three seconds.
Then he shoved the suitcase toward Emily and drew the pistol concealed beneath his jacket.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
Emily grabbed his sleeve.
“Mr. Moretti, please be careful.”
He glanced at her hand resting protectively over her stomach. “Lock yourself in my study. Call Dr. Harris if you feel any pain. And don't let Vanessa leave this floor.”
Vanessa let out a bitter laugh through her tears.
“You can't order me around like one of your employees.”
Dominic pointed the gun toward the staircase.
“Try me.”
She went silent.
He crossed the threshold of Isabella's bedroom.
The room smelled faintly of cedar and the lavender perfume his wife had worn. Everything remained as he remembered it: the cream curtains, the silver-framed wedding photograph, the ivory chair near the window.
But the dust on the furniture had been disturbed.
A drawer stood slightly open.
The rug beside the closet had been dragged several inches out of place.
Someone had been here.
Dominic checked the adjoining bathroom, then the dressing room. Empty.
He returned to the closet and examined the loose panel where Emily had discovered the suitcase. Behind it, he found a narrow opening leading into an old service passage built when the mansion belonged to his grandfather.
The passage should have been sealed years ago.
Instead, a fresh muddy footprint marked the floor.
Dominic crouched.
The shoe print was small.
A woman's shoe, perhaps.
Or a child's.
His phone vibrated.
A message from his head of security, Anthony Russo.
Boss, exterior cameras went offline at 11:41 p.m. Someone manually disabled them from the east-wing control panel.
Dominic typed back.
Restore the cameras. Nobody enters or leaves the estate. Find the person responsible.
When he returned to the hallway, Vanessa was standing beside the suitcase.
Emily had moved to protect it.
“Step away,” Dominic commanded.
Vanessa raised her chin.
“You think you can imprison me because you found a forged letter?”
“Then you won't mind answering questions.”
“I've answered enough.”
“No. You've lied enough.”
Dominic took out his phone and photographed the hospital documents.
“St. Catherine's says you collected my newborn son. Why?”
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“Because Isabella was dead, and someone had to make decisions.”
“You told me the baby died before delivery.”
“I told you what I was told.”
“By whom?”
She looked toward the bedroom.
Dominic followed her gaze.
That tiny movement told him more than another hour of interrogation would have.
He grabbed her wrist.
“Who was in that room tonight?”
Vanessa pulled free.
“I don't know.”
“Then why were you so frightened of the suitcase?”
“Because I know what your family is capable of!”
Her voice cracked.
For the first time, Dominic saw something besides guilt in her face.
Fear.
Before he could press her, Emily suddenly doubled over.
“Emily?”
She gripped the bench, breathing sharply.
A small dark patch spread across the front of her dress.
Dominic dropped to his knees.
“Call the doctor!” he shouted toward the stairs.
Vanessa reached for her phone.
Dominic looked at Emily.
“Stay with me. Help is coming.”
“I think the baby kicked,” she whispered, frightened. “Something doesn't feel right.”
“Don't move.”
Within minutes, Dr. Harris arrived from the guesthouse and examined Emily. He assured Dominic that she needed rest and monitoring, not panic, but ordered her taken to the estate's private medical suite.
Dominic watched the stretcher disappear around the corner.
He had spent years believing attachment made people weak.
Yet the sight of Emily clutching her belly had terrified him more than a dozen armed rivals ever had.
When he turned back, Vanessa was gone.
A guard rushed into the hallway.
“Boss, the west gate camera shows Ms. Sterling's driver pulling out.”
Dominic's expression went murderous.
“Find her.”
“Sir, there's something else.”
The guard held out a small object wrapped in a handkerchief.
A silver key.
Dominic recognized it immediately.
It belonged to Isabella's old music box.
The box had disappeared from her bedroom the week she died.
Beneath the key was a folded note.
IF YOU WANT YOUR SON, COME ALONE TO ST. CATHERINE'S. ASK FOR ROOM 317.
Dominic stared at the words.
His phone rang.
An unknown number.
He answered without speaking.
A child's voice whispered through the line.
“Daddy?”
Dominic's knees nearly gave way.
“Who is this?”
“Mommy said you might come.”
A faint rustle followed.
Then a woman's voice, barely audible, said, “Sweetheart, hang up.”
Dominic pressed the phone against his ear.
“Isabella?”
Silence.
Then the child spoke again.
“Daddy, don't bring Vanessa.”
The line went dead.
Dominic stood motionless, the phone trembling in his hand.
Three years of grief had just become something infinitely more dangerous.
Hope.
May you like
And someone knew exactly where his son was.
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