Chapter 2 - The Man Outside the Door
Adrian Moretti had faced federal investigators without blinking.
He had negotiated acquisitions worth billions while three competing executives tried to destroy him.
He had once sat across from a man who had threatened his life and calmly finished his espresso before answering.
But nothing had prepared him for the sound coming through that hospital door.
His child’s heartbeat.
Marco stood several feet away, silent for once.
Adrian stared at the closed door.
“Sixteen weeks,” he whispered.
Marco said nothing.
Adrian calculated again.
There was no reason to calculate.
He already knew.
Sixteen weeks meant Claire had become pregnant before their divorce was final. Before she left the penthouse. Before he watched her sign the papers without shedding a tear.
Before he had convinced himself letting her go was the only way to keep her safe.
The ultrasound-room door opened twenty minutes later.
Claire stepped out holding a black-and-white photograph.
She stopped when she saw him.
“You’re still here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Adrian looked at the photograph.
“Because I heard my child’s heartbeat.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“You heard a heartbeat. Don’t confuse biology with fatherhood.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
“Claire.”
“I have another appointment.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I have been alone.”
Her voice remained quiet.
That made it worse.
“For sixty-three days, Adrian. Actually, longer than that. I was alone while I was married to you too.”
Marco immediately looked away.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
Claire walked toward the elevators.
He followed.
“Is the baby healthy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you healthy?”
“Yes.”
“Who is your doctor?”
She pressed the elevator button.
“That is absolutely none of your business.”
“Claire, I am the father.”
She finally faced him.
“You don’t get to use that sentence as a master key.”
The elevator opened.
She entered.
Adrian caught the door before it closed.
“What do you want from me?”
Claire stared at him.
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Move your hand.”
He did.
The doors closed between them.
Marco approached carefully.
“That went well.”
Adrian turned his head.
Marco immediately corrected himself.
“That went terribly.”
“Find out where she lives.”
Marco’s expression changed.
“No.”
Adrian stared at him.
In twelve years, Marco Bellini had almost never refused him.
“No?”
“She’s your ex-wife, Adrian. She left you. If you start having people follow her, you’ll prove every terrible thing she currently believes about you.”
“I need to know she’s safe.”
“Then ask her.”
“She won’t answer.”
“That sounds like a consequence.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
Marco shrugged.
“You pay me enough to tell you things everyone else is afraid to say.”
Before Adrian could respond, the nearby consultation-room door opened.
Vanessa Russo stepped into the hallway.
She looked pale but elegant, dressed in a camel coat and carrying a leather folder.
“You saw her, didn’t you?”
Adrian’s expression became unreadable.
Vanessa glanced toward the elevator.
“Claire.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You already know.”
“No. I know your doctor asked to speak with me.”
Vanessa’s mouth tightened.
“My father’s cancer is back.”
Adrian went still.
That was why he had come.
Victor Russo had been his father’s closest friend. After Adrian’s father died, Victor had helped Adrian rebuild a collapsing family business.
Vanessa had contacted Marco because Victor was refusing treatment.
Nothing romantic.
Nothing secret.
Yet Adrian suddenly understood exactly what Claire must have thought when she heard Vanessa’s name in the hallway.
Vanessa studied him.
“What happened?”
Adrian looked toward the elevator.
“Claire is pregnant.”
Vanessa blinked.
Then something like understanding passed over her face.
“Oh.”
“It’s mine.”
“Does she know that you know?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She hates me.”
Vanessa gave a sad laugh.
“Can you blame her?”
Adrian’s eyes sharpened.
She didn’t retreat.
“You ended your marriage without telling Claire why. You shut her out for months. Every time she asked what was wrong, you gave her silence.”
“I was protecting her.”
“No. You were deciding for her.”
That sentence stayed with him.
An hour later, Adrian walked out of the hospital into cold Manhattan rain.
His driver opened the rear door.
Adrian didn’t enter.
He stood beneath the awning while people hurried past.
For three years, he had believed love meant keeping danger away from Claire.
He had never considered that shutting someone out could become its own kind of cruelty.
Across the East River, Claire entered her small Brooklyn apartment and locked the door behind her.
She dropped her purse onto the kitchen counter.
Then she finally looked at the ultrasound picture.
Her baby.
She smiled despite herself.
“Just you and me,” she whispered.
A knock sounded.
Claire froze.
Three slow knocks.
Her heart immediately accelerated.
She approached the door and checked the peephole.
No one.
She waited.
Then she opened the door two inches.
An envelope lay on the floor.
No name.
No stamp.
Claire picked it up.
Inside was a photograph.
Her blood turned cold.
It showed Claire leaving the hospital less than an hour earlier.
Someone had photographed her from across the street.
On the back, four words had been written in black ink.
MORETTI BABIES HAVE VALUE.
Claire’s hand flew protectively to her stomach.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it.
But something made her answer.
“Hello?”
For three seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a distorted male voice said:
May you like
“Tell Adrian Moretti congratulations.”
The line went dead.
