Chapter 6 - WHERE IS LILY?
Security became suffocating after Cassandra’s message.
Lily could not cross a hallway without someone knowing.
Windows remained locked.
Curtains closed.
Cars changed routes.
I hated every second.
But fear changes what feels unreasonable.
Three days passed.
Nothing.
That was worse.
Then on Tuesday morning, Lily disappeared.
For eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes nearly destroyed me.
I had been helping Mrs. Hargrove sort laundry when I realized the family room was too quiet.
“Lily?”
No answer.
I checked the kitchen.
Nursery.
Guest suite.
Garden doors.
Locked.
Then I saw the service elevator.
Open.
“Lily!”
My scream brought security running.
Vincent arrived from his office.
“What?”
“She’s gone.”
His face changed instantly.
Victor locked the entire estate.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
Camera feeds rolled backward.
There.
9:12 a.m.
Lily walked toward the service elevator holding her rabbit.
Alone.
Then another figure appeared.
A woman in a catering uniform.
Face mostly hidden.
She knelt.
Held out something.
Lily took her hand.
I almost collapsed.
“Cassandra.”
Victor shook his head.
“Different height.”
The woman used a stolen vendor badge and exited through the underground service corridor.
A delivery van left two minutes later.
Vincent turned toward Victor.
“Find her.”
I grabbed his arm.
“Bring my daughter back.”
He looked at me.
“I will.”
“No promises you can’t make.”
His face softened.
“Then I will do everything I can.”
It was the right answer.
I hated it.
Police were contacted immediately.
No private family solution.
No secret negotiations.
Vincent insisted.
“This is a child.”
He looked at his own men.
“No pride. No reputation. No business rules. We call everyone.”
Forty-three minutes later, my phone rang.
Cassandra.
“Where is Lily?”
“She’s safe.”
“If you touch her—”
“Elena, stop.”
Her voice was disturbingly calm.
“I don’t hurt children.”
I almost screamed.
“You drugged Enzo.”
“You don’t know what happened with Enzo.”
“I know my daughter is missing.”
“She’ll come home.”
“When?”
“When Vincent gives me Isabella’s original files.”
Vincent took the phone.
“You want the files?”
“Yes.”
“You come get them.”
Cassandra laughed.
“I’m not stupid.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“You’re worse.”
Her tone hardened.
“Midtown storage garage. Level four. Two hours.”
“Lily first.”
“You don’t set the rules.”
“She is three.”
“And Isabella’s evidence can destroy people who will kill to prevent that.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Matteo.”
Silence.
There it was.
Cassandra whispered:
“You have no idea what your uncle will do.”
“Then tell me.”
“I want the files.”
The call ended.
Police traced nothing useful.
But Victor found the catering badge.
It belonged to a woman named Mallory Crane.
Former Vale Holdings assistant.
A traffic camera caught the van.
Then another.
Queensboro Bridge.
Long Island City.
The search narrowed.
Before anyone could move, a call came from a corner pharmacy.
A woman had entered with a little girl.
The girl kept repeating her mother’s phone number.
My phone number.
Mallory had taken Lily into the pharmacy after the child began crying uncontrollably.
Then Mallory disappeared.
By the time police arrived, Lily was sitting behind the counter eating crackers.
I reached her in twenty-six minutes.
I do not remember most of the drive.
I remember seeing her.
That was enough.
“Mommy!”
She ran.
I dropped to my knees.
Held her.
Smelled her hair.
Counted her fingers for no reason.
“Did anyone hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone give you medicine?”
“No.”
“Food?”
“Crackers.”
“Before the pharmacy.”
“Juice.”
Doctors tested her anyway.
She was fine.
Physically.
That night, she woke screaming twice.
Vincent sat outside our guest suite until morning.
He did not come inside.
Did not ask.
Just stayed.
At dawn, I opened the door.
“You’ve been here all night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked toward Lily sleeping behind me.
“Because somebody should have been outside Enzo’s door too.”
I understood.
This was not only about protecting us.
He was punishing himself.
“Vincent.”
He looked up.
“You cannot guard every door forever.”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like staying awake fixes the past.”
His expression tightened.
“You don’t know what it is to fail your child.”
“Neither do you.”
He stared at me.
“You were grieving.”
“My daughter walked out of your house with a stranger yesterday.”
My voice shook.
“Am I a terrible mother now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because someone deceived her.”
“Exactly.”
He looked away.
That morning, Lily finally told us what the woman had said.
“She said we were getting Mommy a surprise.”
I swallowed.
“What surprise?”
“She said shiny lady wanted to say sorry.”
Cassandra.
“What else?”
Lily played with her rabbit’s ear.
“She said baby Enzo isn’t Mr. Vincent’s real baby.”
The room became silent.
Vincent went still.
“What?”
Lily repeated it.
“Shiny lady said baby Enzo belongs to somebody else.”
I wanted to dismiss it.
Another manipulation.
Then Victor entered holding a tablet.
“Boss.”
Vincent looked up.
“What?”
“You need to see this.”
A celebrity news site had published medical documents.
DNA results.
The headline was brutal.
MAFIA HEIR SHOCK: ENZO MORETTI MAY NOT BE VINCENT MORETTI’S SON.
Vincent stared at the screen.
The report claimed only a fourteen-percent probability of paternity.
Cassandra’s name was nowhere.
But the document appeared authentic.
His family seal.
Isabella’s signature.
A laboratory stamp.
Within minutes, the story spread.
Calls began.
Board members.
Lawyers.
Moretti relatives.
Then one call mattered more than the rest.
Matteo Moretti.
Vincent answered.
His uncle did not bother pretending concern.
“If the boy isn’t yours, the succession changes.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“He is my son.”
“Then prove it.”
The line went dead.
I looked toward Enzo’s nursery.
A nine-month-old baby had become a financial weapon.
Vincent immediately ordered an independent DNA test.
But the damage had started.
The Moretti family trust automatically froze disputed succession assets when paternity was formally challenged.
Someone had planned this carefully.
Cassandra had not merely tried to make Enzo sick.
She had been building a story.
A medically fragile baby.
An unstable dead mother.
A disputed father.
And if she succeeded, Enzo could lose everything Isabella had protected for him.
Vincent looked at me.
“They’re trying to erase him.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He stared.
“They’re trying.”
I looked toward the nursery.
“But now you’re finally watching.”
May you like
And this time, Enzo Moretti was not alone.
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