Z

Nicholas moved before the sound finished.

He pushed me behind him and drew his gun.

Samuel didn't flinch.

“Put that away.”

“Who's here?”

“Someone who deserves to hear this.”

Footsteps entered the dining room.

Antonio Moretti walked from the darkness.

My blood turned cold.

He was supposed to be in federal custody.

Nicholas clearly had the same thought.

“How are you here?”

“Temporary release.”

“Who authorized that?”

“My attorney.”

“That is not how federal custody works.”

Antonio gave Samuel a look.

Samuel smiled.

“Some old friendships remain useful.”

Nicholas’s weapon stayed raised.

I stepped around him.

“Did you kill my father?”

Antonio looked at me.

For the first time, he appeared old.

Not physically.

Morally.

“Sofia—”

“Yes or no.”

“No.”

Samuel laughed.

Antonio’s head snapped toward him.

“You ordered it,” Samuel said.

“I ordered him stopped.”

“With what outcome?”

“Not death.”

“That's not what you told me.”

I stared at Samuel.

“You?”

His expression didn't change.

“I killed Thomas Bennett.”

The room disappeared.

My father's face filled my mind.

His blue flannel shirt.

His terrible coffee.

The way he sang off-key while cooking breakfast.

And this man said it as if he were discussing weather.

Nicholas stepped toward Samuel.

I grabbed his arm.

“No.”

His eyes burned.

“Sofia.”

“No.”

I looked at Samuel.

“Why?”

“Antonio believed your father was going to expose the organization.”

“He was.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Exposure would have destroyed everyone.”

“So you murdered him.”

“I was told to prevent him from reaching federal prosecutors.”

Antonio spoke.

“I said stop him.”

Samuel looked at him.

“You knew what that meant.”

Antonio went silent.

There it was.

Not a direct order.

Not clean innocence either.

I turned toward Antonio.

“My father trusted you.”

“I know.”

“He tried to help you leave organized crime.”

“Yes.”

“And you had him killed.”

“I made a coward's decision.”

Nicholas lowered the gun.

Not because he was calm.

Because his hands were shaking.

“Father.”

Antonio looked at him.

“Victor spent eighteen years taking blame for things you started.”

“Victor did plenty on his own.”

“That isn't the point.”

“No.”

Nicholas stepped closer.

“The point is that every story in this family was built to make someone else the villain.”

Antonio accepted that.

“Yes.”

Lily looked between us, confused.

I remembered she was six.

This wasn't a room for children.

I knelt beside her.

“Hey.”

She looked at me.

“You're Sofia.”

“Yes.”

“My mom had your picture.”

My heart tightened.

“She did?”

Lily nodded.

“She said if anything happened, you were nice.”

I nearly broke.

Marianne Holt.

A woman who had helped falsify the records of my miscarriage under threat from Victor.

A woman who later tried to undo part of the damage.

She had shown her daughter my photograph.

“Your mom was trying to help us,” I said.

Lily nodded seriously.

“She said Grandpa was bad.”

Samuel looked away.

I asked, “Daniel?”

“With people I trust,” Samuel said.

Nicholas snapped, “You have thirty seconds to tell me why you dragged a six-year-old into this.”

Samuel nodded.

“Fair.”

He reached inside his coat slowly.

Nicholas raised the gun again.

Samuel pulled out a folder.

He slid it across the table.

“Marianne contacted me before she died.”

I opened it.

Inside were financial records.

Photos.

A toxicology report.

“What's this?”

Samuel answered.

“Proof her car accident wasn't an accident.”

I looked at Nicholas.

He was reading over my shoulder.

The toxicology report showed a sedative.

The same class of drug Antonio had once used on Nicholas.

Antonio stared at the page.

“No.”

Samuel nodded.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“That is why we're here.”

Samuel placed a photograph on the table.

It showed Marianne entering a private clinic.

Beside her walked a woman in a hat and sunglasses.

I didn't recognize her.

Nicholas did.

“Mother?”

I looked at him.

“What?”

He pointed.

“That's Isabella.”

No.

Impossible.

Antonio took the photograph.

His face changed.

Samuel said, “Three days before Marianne died.”

Nicholas’s voice was icy.

“My mother met with her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

Antonio spoke.

“Isabella wouldn't kill her.”

Samuel leaned back.

“You once said the same thing about Victor.”

Antonio went quiet.

I looked at the timestamp.

Then at another photo.

Isabella leaving.

Alone.

Marianne exited twenty minutes later.

Alive.

That proved nothing.

But our lives had taught me not to ignore coincidences.

Nicholas called his mother.

Straight to voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

He called the house.

No answer.

Security.

No answer.

His face went flat.

“Luca.”

He called.

Luca picked up immediately.

“Go to my mother's house.”

“Why?”

“Now.”

We waited.

Three minutes.

Five.

Eight.

Then Luca called back.

“Nicholas.”

His voice sounded wrong.

“What?”

“The front door was open.”

Antonio stood.

“Isabella?”

“Gone.”

Nicholas closed his eyes.

“Signs of struggle?”

“No.”

“Blood?”

“No.”

“Car?”

“Still here.”

Antonio grabbed his coat.

Nicholas blocked him.

“You are supposed to be in custody.”

“My wife is missing.”

“My mother is missing.”

“You think I care about legal procedure right now?”

Nicholas almost laughed.

“Now you understand me.”

Antonio stared at his son.

For one strange second, I saw the resemblance again.

Two men who had spent their entire lives calling fear protection.

I stepped between them.

“We find Isabella.”

Samuel shook his head.

“No.”

Everyone turned.

“What?” I asked.

“We find out what Isabella wanted with Marianne first.”

Nicholas stepped toward him.

“My mother could be in danger.”

“Or she could be the danger.”

Antonio grabbed Samuel by the collar.

“Say that again.”

Samuel didn't blink.

“Marianne called me after meeting your wife.”

“What did she say?”

Antonio’s grip tightened.

Samuel looked at him.

“She said Isabella knew what happened to Sofia’s pregnancy before Sofia did.”

I stopped breathing.

Nicholas released a sound like disbelief.

“What?”

Samuel continued.

“She knew Sofia was pregnant before the warehouse explosion.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“No.”

Nicholas turned to me.

“I never told her.”

“I didn't tell anyone except Emma.”

Samuel nodded.

“Then someone else did.”

My thoughts raced backward.

The doctor's office.

The blood test.

The receptionist.

Insurance.

Moretti Holdings provided our private medical coverage.

Isabella had run the legitimate companies during Nicholas’s disappearance.

She could have known.

“She knew,” I whispered.

Samuel looked at me.

“Yes.”

“But why hide it from Nicholas?”

No one answered.

Then Lily spoke.

Small voice.

“Grandma Bella said Uncle Nick couldn't know.”

The room froze.

Nicholas slowly turned toward the little girl.

“What did you say?”

Lily hugged her cup.

“Grandma Bella.”

Antonio looked like he had been punched.

“You know Isabella?”

Lily nodded.

“She visited Mom.”

“How many times?”

“A lot.”

Nicholas crouched.

His voice softened.

“What did she tell your mom?”

Lily thought.

Then she said, “That if Uncle Nick knew about the baby, he'd come home.”

My throat closed.

Nicholas went motionless.

Isabella hadn't hidden my pregnancy because she didn't know he was alive.

She had known exactly where her son was.

Maybe not physically.

But she knew he was alive.

Before I ever saw him in the cemetery.

Before I stood beside his grave.

Before Nicholas came home.

I looked at him.

His face emptied.

“My mother knew.”

Samuel nodded.

“And if Marianne told the truth before she died, Isabella knew from the beginning.”

Antonio whispered, “Beginning of what?”

Samuel looked at him.

“The plan to fake Nicholas’s death.”