Chapter 3 - The Photograph
Norah forgot how to breathe.
“My mother?”
Dante enlarged the photograph.
A much younger Carmine Lombardi stood beside a hospital bed. The woman holding newborn Norah was unmistakable.
Elaine Gibson.
Norah knew that smile.
She had seen it in every childhood album.
But she had never seen Carmine.
“Where did this come from?”
“Unknown number.”
“Give me the phone.”
Dante hesitated.
Norah snatched it.
The photograph had a timestamp from 1995.
Her mother looked exhausted but happy.
Carmine had one hand resting against the bed rail.
On his finger was a heavy gold ring bearing a crest.
Norah looked at Dante.
“You said your uncle selected me because I was alone.”
“That was what the records suggested.”
“You were wrong.”
“Yes.”
The admission came without resistance.
That frightened her more than an argument would have.
“What did my mother have to do with Carmine?”
“I do not know.”
“Find out.”
Dante stared at her.
“Now.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You are giving me orders?”
“I am carrying your child, remember?”
Silence.
Marco coughed into his fist to hide what suspiciously resembled a laugh.
Dante looked at him.
Marco immediately became fascinated by the concrete floor.
“Find everything on Elaine Gibson,” Dante ordered.
Norah followed the doctor toward a secured room while Dante’s wound was treated.
She expected handcuffs.
Locked doors.
Instead, she received clean clothes, food, and a bedroom overlooking Elliott Bay.
There was no handle on the outside.
There was one on the inside.
She tested it.
Unlocked.
Dante appeared behind her later, shirtless beneath an unbuttoned dress shirt while a bandage wrapped his torso.
“You expected a cell.”
“Yes.”
“You can leave the room.”
“The warehouse?”
“No.”
“That sounds like a cell with better square footage.”
Dante leaned against the doorway.
“You are difficult.”
“You broke into my apartment.”
“Technically, I used a key.”
“That makes it worse.”
For the first time, he smiled.
It lasted less than a second.
Norah hated noticing.
Marco arrived 40 minutes later carrying a laptop and an old scanned newspaper article.
His expression erased the fragile humor.
“We found Elaine.”
Norah sat.
Marco turned the screen.
Her mother had not always been Elaine Gibson.
Before 1997, she had been Dr. Elaine Mercer, a reproductive geneticist working in Chicago.
Norah stared.
“My mother taught high-school biology.”
“After she moved to Seattle,” Marco said.
Before that, Elaine had worked for a fertility research laboratory partially funded by Lombardi businesses.
Dante went still.
“My father used that facility.”
Marco nodded.
“So did Carmine.”
Norah looked between them.
“What are you not telling me?”
Dante sat opposite her.
“My father died when I was 16.”
“How?”
“Car bomb.”
Norah swallowed.
“Carmine?”
“I could never prove it.”
Marco opened another file.
Elaine Mercer had resigned 3 weeks after Dante’s father died.
Then she disappeared.
Two years later, Elaine Gibson surfaced in Seattle with a toddler daughter.
Norah.
“There is more,” Marco said.
He placed a scanned letter over the table.
Elaine had written it.
Not to Carmine.
To Dante’s father.
Salvatore, if Carmine discovers what we found in the hereditary samples, he will kill everyone involved.
Norah read the sentence twice.
“What hereditary samples?”
Marco shook his head.
“The rest is missing.”
Dante stood and walked toward the window.
Norah watched his reflection.
“Your uncle did not choose me randomly.”
“No.”
“He knew my mother.”
“Yes.”
“And whatever she discovered involved your family.”
“Yes.”
Norah touched her stomach.
Suddenly the pregnancy felt like the center of a mystery that had begun decades before conception.
Her phone rang.
Everyone froze.
The phone should not have had service.
Dante took it from the evidence bag.
Unknown caller.
“Do not answer,” Marco said.
Norah reached for it.
Dante caught her wrist.
“No.”
“It is my phone.”
“It could be Carmine.”
“Exactly.”
She took it.
Dante cursed quietly.
Norah answered.
“Hello?”
A man laughed softly.
“Elaine’s daughter.”
Norah’s skin prickled.
Dante moved closer and activated the speaker.
“Carmine?”
“Dante.”
The voice sounded pleased.
“My stubborn nephew.”
Norah’s hands became cold.
“Why me?”
Carmine ignored Dante.
“Your mother had your courage.”
“You knew her?”
“I knew her extremely well.”
“What did she discover?”
Silence.
Then Carmine chuckled.
“You think this is about a baby?”
Norah looked at Dante.
Carmine continued.
“Dante was never supposed to find you this early. But perhaps that makes the game more interesting.”
“What game?”
“Ask Dante what happened to his leukemia.”
Dante’s face changed.
Norah saw it.
“What does that mean?”
Carmine disconnected.
Norah slowly lowered the phone.
“Tell me.”
Dante looked away.
“Dante.”
“My leukemia disappeared faster than doctors expected.”
“You had treatment.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
He remained silent.
Marco answered.
“Dante participated in an experimental stem-cell protocol.”
Norah felt something cold settle inside her.
“Where?”
Marco turned the laptop.
The institution’s old name appeared.
Mercer-Lombardi Center for Reproductive Genetics.
Her mother’s laboratory.
Norah stood.
“My mother treated you?”
“No,” Dante said. “She disappeared years before I became sick.”
“Then why did Carmine tell me to ask about it?”
Dante had no answer.
That night, Norah could not sleep.
At 2:13 a.m., she walked into the warehouse kitchen and found Dante sitting alone.
No bodyguards.
No jacket.
No gun visible.
Only a mug of black coffee and the rain beyond the windows.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“So should you.”
“I do not sleep much.”
“I noticed.”
She sat opposite him.
For several moments, they were simply 2 exhausted strangers connected by a child neither had planned together.
“You called me an incubator.”
Dante’s expression tightened.
“I did.”
“I hated you for that.”
“Reasonable.”
“Do you still think of me that way?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
Norah looked at him.
“What changed?”
“You hit one of my men with a skillet.”
“I dropped it.”
“You considered it.”
A reluctant smile touched her mouth.
Then disappeared.
“I wanted this baby before I knew you existed.”
“I know.”
“I spent everything I had.”
Dante’s eyes lowered.
“You chose motherhood.”
“Yes.”
“And someone stole the choice of who the father would be.”
Her throat tightened.
Dante continued quietly.
“I understand why you hate me.”
“I do not hate you.”
His gaze lifted.
Norah immediately regretted saying it.
“I do not trust you either.”
“That makes more sense.”
A sudden alarm sounded.
Red lights flashed.
Marco burst through the doorway.
“Security breach.”
Dante stood.
“How?”
Marco’s face was pale.
“Someone opened the loading entrance from inside.”
Dante reached for his gun.
Then every monitor in the warehouse flickered.
Carmine’s face appeared across them.
“Good evening, nephew.”
Behind him sat a terrified woman.
Norah recognized her immediately.
Dr. Miriam Vale.
The physician who had performed her fertility procedure.
Carmine smiled.
“Doctor, tell Norah what was really implanted inside her.”
Dr. Vale began to cry.
May you like
Norah’s hands moved over her stomach.
And Dante raised his weapon toward the screen as though he could shoot through it.
