Chapter 3 - The PhotographAlessandro stared at the photograph until the edges blurred.
Sophia stood beside a younger version of himself.
He looked twenty-eight.
Before the empire.
Before the scars.
Before Isabella’s death had hardened him.
And Sophia was holding a baby.
Emma.
There was no doubt.
The child had the same brown eyes.
The same tiny chin.
The same crease between her eyebrows when she concentrated.
Alessandro looked at Marco.
“Where was this taken?”
“Back of the photograph says St. Agnes Clinic.”
A clinic that had closed twelve years ago.
The same year Isabella died.
Rosa stepped closer.
“I remember that place.”
Alessandro’s eyes snapped toward her.
“Why?”
“Your father used it.”
“For what?”
Rosa hesitated.
“Private medical matters.”
“Be specific.”
The old woman looked at the photograph.
“Isabella was there before she died.”
Alessandro’s expression became rigid.
“What medical matter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rosa.”
“I told you everything I knew.”
He believed her.
But only because Rosa had lied terribly when she lied.
She looked scared now.
Not guilty.
Scared.
Emma touched the photograph.
“That’s Mom.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s you.”
“Yes.”
“Were you there when I was a baby?”
Alessandro had no answer.
Marco interrupted.
“Boss, we need to leave. Someone has been inside Sophia’s apartment.”
They returned to the mansion before dawn.
Emma slept in Rosa’s room.
Alessandro did not sleep.
He sat in his study surrounded by files.
St. Agnes.
Isabella.
Sophia.
Emma.
Then he opened the oldest records.
The name appeared on a page.
Project Lark.
He froze.
His father had used that code when hiding financial transfers.
He had not seen it in fifteen years.
Marco entered.
“We found the person who accessed Sophia’s apartment.”
“Who?”
“One of our own guards.”
Alessandro stood.
“Bring him.”
Twenty minutes later, the guard sat across from Alessandro.
He was shaking.
“Who sent you?”
“No one.”
Alessandro placed the photograph on the table.
The guard looked at it.
Then looked away.
Wrong answer.
Alessandro’s voice remained quiet.
“Try again.”
The guard swallowed.
“I was told to find a blue envelope.”
“By whom?”
“I never saw his face.”
“What was in the envelope?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you obey?”
The guard looked toward Marco.
“Because he said if I didn’t, he would kill my son.”
Silence.
Alessandro leaned forward.
“What did he call himself?”
The guard closed his eyes.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Marco’s hand moved toward his weapon.
Alessandro did not move.
“How many men use my name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
The guard suddenly whispered.
“He said the little girl wasn’t supposed to survive.”
Alessandro’s chair scraped backward.
For the first time that night, genuine rage entered his eyes.
The guard cried.
“He said Emma was the last piece.”
“The last piece of what?”
“I don’t know.”
Alessandro grabbed the front of his coat.
“Tell me.”
The guard finally broke.
“Isabella’s child.”
Everything stopped.
Alessandro released him.
Marco stared.
Rosa appeared at the door.
Her hand covered her mouth.
Emma stood behind her.
And she had heard every word.
“Isabella had a child?”
No one spoke.
Emma looked at Alessandro.
“Am I her child?”
Alessandro had spent his entire life believing the past was buried.
Now the past was standing in his hallway wearing a cleaning uniform.
Before he could answer, every light in the mansion went out.
The emergency alarms began screaming.
May you like
Then a single message appeared on the security monitor.
RETURN THE GIRL OR THE MOTHER DIES.
