Z

I don't remember dropping the picture.

Nicholas caught it before it hit the concrete floor.

I remember that.

I remember his face.

I remember the way he stopped breathing when he saw the baby.

But I don't remember sitting down.

One second I was standing.

The next, my back was against the storage wall and Nicholas was kneeling in front of me.

“Sofia.”

“No.”

“Sofia.”

“No.”

His hands hovered beside my knees.

He didn't touch me.

“Look at me.”

I stared at the photograph in his hand.

The baby couldn't have been more than days old.

Dark hair.

Tiny fist pressed beneath her chin.

Closed eyes.

My eyes, Marianne had written.

I shook my head.

“No.”

Nicholas’s voice was rough.

“We don't know what this means yet.”

“Don't say that.”

“Okay.”

“Don't make it smaller.”

“I won't.”

“If that is my baby—”

My throat closed.

Nicholas lowered his head.

For once, he had nothing to say.

Luca remained near the door, giving us what little privacy a storage unit could provide.

I forced myself to stand.

“The box.”

Nicholas looked at me.

“What?”

“Open the metal box.”

“Sofia—”

“Open it.”

He did.

Inside were hospital documents.

A newborn bracelet.

A flash drive.

And an envelope.

My fingers went directly to the bracelet.

BABY GIRL BENNETT

My name.

Not Moretti.

Bennett.

My maiden name.

Date of birth.

The day I went to the hospital.

I stared at it.

“This says live birth.”

Nicholas read over my shoulder.

His face went white.

“No.”

The official hospital record had listed miscarriage at nine weeks.

The bracelet listed a premature infant.

It made no sense.

I unfolded the next document.

Then I understood.

The date of birth was coded wrong.

Not a newborn delivery bracelet.

An NICU tracking band.

The infant had already existed.

The phrase MATERNAL ID: BENNETT, SOFIA had been added manually.

My breathing slowed.

Confusion replaced shock.

“This isn't proof she's ours.”

Nicholas nodded carefully.

“No.”

“It could have been fabricated.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We find out.”

The letter inside the box was addressed to me.

I opened it.

Sofia,

If you are reading this, I am probably dead.

I almost laughed.

Every important letter in my life apparently began with someone's death.

I continued.

Victor told me to make you believe you had lost your pregnancy.

My hand stopped.

Nicholas read beside me.

I did what he asked. I altered records. I removed ultrasound images. I arranged for a second physician to sign the report.

Tears blurred the ink.

But the baby in the photograph is not your child.

My entire body sagged.

Nicholas caught my shoulders.

Relief came first.

Violent.

Ugly.

Immediate.

Then confusion.

I kept reading.

Your pregnancy was real. Your loss was real. I am sorry for what Victor forced me to do afterward, but I did not cause the miscarriage.

I pressed one hand against my mouth.

Nicholas read over my shoulder.

Victor wanted Nicholas to believe something had been stolen from him. He believed grief made men reckless. At the time, he did not know Nicholas was alive. Later, when he learned the truth, he planned to use a child to control both of you.

I frowned.

“So the baby?”

Nicholas was already reading ahead.

His expression changed.

“What?”

He pointed.

Her name is Lily. She is my daughter.

I stared at the photograph.

Marianne's daughter.

Not mine.

Victor is her grandfather. He has never acknowledged her publicly. He knows Nicholas would never harm an innocent child, and he intended to present Lily as Sofia’s missing baby if he ever needed leverage.

Rage came so quickly I became dizzy.

“He manufactured a child.”

Nicholas’s voice was colder than I had ever heard it.

“He manufactured grief.”

I continued.

I could not let him do that. I took Lily away. If I am dead, she may still be alive with the only person I trusted.

A name was written underneath.

Daniel Holt.

Luca immediately started searching.

Nicholas took the letter from me carefully.

I walked outside.

The air was freezing.

A truck passed on the highway.

For months, I had lived with one grief.

Then for twenty minutes I had been given another possibility.

Hope.

Horror.

The fantasy that maybe I hadn't lost the baby after all.

Now that fantasy was gone.

And strangely, that hurt too.

Nicholas came outside.

He stood beside me without speaking.

“I wanted it to be true,” I whispered.

“I know.”

“For one second.”

“I know.”

“I hated myself for wanting it because the math didn't make sense.”

“You don't have to hate yourself for hoping.”

I looked at him.

“I imagined bringing her home.”

His eyes closed.

“So did I.”

That confession broke me.

I cried against his chest.

Not because our baby was alive.

Because she wasn't.

Again.

Nicholas held me until I stopped shaking.

Then Luca came outside.

“Found Daniel.”

I wiped my face.

“Where?”

“Wisconsin. Small town near Green Bay.”

“Lily?”

“He has a daughter registered in school.”

“What age?”

“Six.”

Marianne’s daughter.

Victor’s granddaughter.

Alive.

Nicholas looked at Luca.

“Does Victor know?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then he can't.”

I looked at him.

Nicholas met my eyes.

“She's not part of this.”

For once, I agreed without hesitation.

We drove back to Chicago after midnight.

The next morning, Nicholas agreed to meet Victor.

Not alone.

Never alone.

The federal detention facility gave us a private attorney conference room with a reinforced window.

Victor entered wearing prison gray.

He looked smaller.

Older.

But his eyes were unchanged.

He smiled when he saw us.

“So.”

Nicholas sat across from him.

“So.”

Victor looked at me.

“Did you enjoy Milwaukee?”

My skin crawled.

“You knew.”

“Of course.”

“Why send us there?”

“I didn't.”

I stared.

“Then who delivered the letter?”

Victor’s smile disappeared.

“I assumed Marianne had arranged it before her death.”

“You killed her.”

“No.”

“Another convenient car accident?”

He leaned forward.

“Believe it or not, Sofia, I did not cause every tragedy in your life.”

Nicholas spoke.

“Tell us why you altered the miscarriage records.”

Victor glanced at him.

“To hurt you.”

Nicholas didn't move.

Victor continued.

“I thought if you discovered your child had been taken, you would stop thinking rationally.”

“And Lily?”

“A contingency.”

“You were going to tell Sofia Marianne's daughter was ours?”

“If necessary.”

I had never wanted to physically hurt another person more.

“You're sick.”

Victor looked almost bored.

“I was at war.”

“With your own family.”

“The most dangerous wars are.”

Nicholas leaned back.

“Where is Emma’s shooter?”

Victor’s expression changed.

“We're done discussing the warehouse.”

“No, we're not.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because the man who shot you wasn't mine.”

Silence.

Nicholas stared.

Victor smiled slowly.

“You assumed every bullet came from me.”

“You had Emma.”

“Yes.”

“You arranged the kidnapping.”

“Yes.”

“You held her at the warehouse.”

“Yes.”

“Then who fired?”

Victor looked toward the reinforced window.

“I don't know.”

Nicholas didn’t believe him.

Neither did I.

Victor continued.

“My men were ordered not to kill you.”

“Why?”

“Because once you walked into that ballroom alive, killing you became useless.”

Nicholas leaned forward.

“Then who wanted me dead?”

Victor looked at me.

“Ask Antonio.”

Nicholas’s jaw tightened.

“My father had no reason—”

“Your father has had eighteen years of reasons you know nothing about.”

Victor stood.

The guard moved toward the door.

I said, “Wait.”

Victor looked at me.

“Why was Marianne killed?”

Something flickered in his face.

Real grief?

Maybe.

Maybe monsters still loved their children.

He looked at the table.

“I don't know.”

That was the first time I believed him.

Then he raised his eyes.

“But she called me the night before she died.”

“What did she say?”

Victor’s voice became quiet.

“She said Antonio had found Lily.”

Nicholas went still.

The door opened.

Victor started walking out.

Then he stopped.

He turned back toward us.

“If my granddaughter is alive, don't take her to your father.”

“Why?” Nicholas asked.

Victor looked directly at his nephew.

“Because Antonio didn't disappear eighteen years ago to escape me.”

A guard took his arm.

Victor smiled without humor.

“He disappeared because of what he did to his own son.”