Chapter 2 - THE NAME HE HAD BURIED
Marco looked at Lorenzo Moretti as if his boss had just spoken in another language.
“Your child?”
Lorenzo did not repeat himself.
He lifted Lily into his arms.
The little girl came willingly, wrapping one arm around his neck while keeping the battered teddy bear crushed between them.
She was warm.
Too light.
And terrifyingly familiar.
Lorenzo had spent years training himself not to hesitate.
Not during negotiations.
Not when guns appeared.
Not when men twice his size made threats they believed he would fear.
But carrying Lily through the mansion, he found himself looking at her every few seconds.
Green eyes.
Clara’s eyes.
The little indentation in her chin—
His.
He had seen the same thing every morning of his life in the mirror.
“Where is Mommy?” Lily whispered.
“We’re going to her.”
“Is she dead?”
The question hit Lorenzo harder than any bullet ever had.
“No.”
He had no proof.
He said it anyway.
“No, piccola. She’s not.”
They reached the west staff quarters in less than a minute.
The medical team was already inside.
Two physicians employed by the Moretti family knelt beside Clara while a nurse prepared an IV.
Lorenzo stopped in the doorway.
Everything inside him went silent.
Clara lay on the floor.
Three years had changed her.
Her face was thinner.
Her dark hair shorter.
There were shadows beneath her eyes he didn’t remember.
But it was Clara.
The same woman whose absence had hollowed him out and taught him never to trust tenderness again.
The same woman he had been told betrayed him.
The same woman whose car had supposedly gone through a guardrail outside Cleveland three years earlier.
No body had ever been recovered.
He had searched anyway.
For eleven months.
Then forced himself to stop.
Lily twisted in his arms.
“Mommy.”
One doctor looked over.
“Keep the child back.”
Lorenzo obeyed.
That frightened Marco more than anything else.
Lorenzo Moretti did not obey people in his own house.
“What happened?” Lorenzo demanded.
Dr. Elias Grant looked up while checking Clara’s pupils.
“Pulse is weak. Blood pressure dangerously low.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“She was sick?”
Lily answered.
“Mommy’s tummy hurt.”
Every adult looked at her.
Lorenzo crouched while still holding her.
“When?”
“After tea.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What tea?”
“The brown one.”
Marco was already moving.
“Seal the room. Nobody touches food, cups, trash, anything.”
Lorenzo looked toward the small table.
A ceramic mug sat beside a half-eaten piece of toast.
“Take that.”
Marco nodded to one of the guards.
The doctor inserted medication into Clara’s IV.
Her eyelids fluttered.
Lily whimpered.
“Mommy?”
Clara’s eyes opened.
Unfocused at first.
Then they found her daughter.
“Lily…”
“I got help.”
Clara tried to move.
The doctor stopped her.
“Stay down.”
Then Clara saw who was holding Lily.
The color drained from her already pale face.
“No.”
Lorenzo froze.
Clara pushed weakly against the floor.
“No, no—Lily, come here.”
“Clara.”
“Give me my daughter.”
Her voice broke.
Lorenzo slowly lowered Lily beside her.
The little girl crawled toward her mother.
Clara immediately pulled her against her chest despite the IV line.
“You weren’t supposed to leave the room.”
“You wouldn’t wake up.”
Clara’s eyes closed.
Pain moved across her face.
“I know, baby.”
“I found the man.”
Lily pointed at Lorenzo.
Clara looked at him.
For three years Lorenzo had imagined what he would say if Clara Vance ever stood in front of him again.
Why did you leave?
Who did you choose over me?
Why did you let me believe you were dead?
None of those questions survived seeing the terror in her eyes.
He asked only one.
“Is she mine?”
Clara looked down at Lily.
“Lorenzo—”
“Is she?”
Marco quietly ordered everyone unnecessary out of the room.
The doctors remained.
Lily touched Clara’s cheek.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m okay.”
Then Clara looked at Lorenzo again.
“Yes.”
The single word changed the room.
Lorenzo did not move.
Marco swore softly.
Lily looked between them.
“Yes what?”
Nobody answered.
Lorenzo’s chest felt too tight.
“How old?”
“Three.”
“I can count.”
His voice sharpened.
Clara flinched.
Lorenzo hated himself immediately.
He lowered his tone.
“When?”
“April eighteenth.”
He calculated without meaning to.
Their last night together had been in July.
His birthday.
The night before Clara vanished.
He looked at Lily.
His daughter.
Three years.
First steps.
First word.
First fever.
Birthdays.
Christmas mornings.
Nightmares.
Everything gone.
“You knew,” he whispered.
Clara’s eyes hardened despite her weakness.
“I knew.”
“And you kept her from me.”
“I kept her alive.”
That stopped him.
Marco turned toward her.
“What does that mean?”
Clara looked at the doctor.
“Can Lily leave?”
“No,” Lorenzo said.
Her eyes flashed.
“She doesn’t need to hear this.”
Lorenzo looked toward Marco.
“Take her to the sitting room.”
Lily immediately clutched Clara.
“No.”
Lorenzo crouched.
“You can stay right outside.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Mommy too?”
His throat tightened.
“Your mommy stays right here.”
Lily stared at him.
Then held out her teddy bear.
“You keep Bear.”
Lorenzo blinked.
“For me?”
“So Mommy knows I come back.”
He took it.
Marco carried Lily into the adjoining room with one of the nurses.
The door remained open several inches.
Clara watched until she could see her daughter sitting safely on the sofa.
Then Lorenzo spoke.
“Who were you protecting her from?”
Clara said nothing.
He stepped closer.
“Clara.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try.”
Her eyes filled.
“The last time I trusted someone inside this family, I nearly died.”
Marco stiffened.
Lorenzo’s expression darkened.
“What happened three years ago?”
Clara stared at him.
“You ordered me to leave.”
“No.”
“You sent a message.”
“I sent nothing.”
“You told me I had twenty-four hours to disappear. You said if I ever contacted you again, you’d consider me a threat.”
Lorenzo went completely still.
“I never said that.”
Clara shook her head.
“I heard your voice.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
Marco swore.
Clara continued.
“Then Enzo came.”
Lorenzo’s eyes changed.
His uncle.
Enzo Moretti had been his father’s closest adviser.
The man who taught Lorenzo how to run the family after his father died.
“What did Enzo do?”
“He gave me money. Papers. A car.”
“Why?”
“He said you wanted me gone quietly.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“And you believed him?”
“I had just heard your voice telling me exactly that.”
He looked away.
Technology could reproduce voices now.
Three years earlier it had been harder.
Not impossible.
Especially with access to hundreds of recorded business calls.
“What happened to the car?” he asked.
Clara’s face changed.
“I never reached Cleveland.”
Lorenzo slowly turned back.
“The crash.”
“I wasn’t driving it.”
His blood went cold.
Clara swallowed.
“Enzo told me someone would transport the car after I crossed the state line. I was supposed to take a bus under another name.”
“Why?”
“He said you wanted no trail.”
Lorenzo understood.
Enzo had created a death.
A destroyed car.
No body.
Enough uncertainty to keep Lorenzo searching until grief became exhaustion.
Clara continued.
“I found out I was pregnant two weeks later.”
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I tried.”
“How?”
“Letters. Three of them.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
“I never received a letter.”
“I called once.”
“When?”
“The night Lily was born.”
His chest tightened.
“A man answered.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t know his name.”
“What did he say?”
Clara’s eyes filled again.
“He told me you knew about the baby.”
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
“He said if I contacted the Moretti family again, Lily would be considered leverage against you.”
Marco whispered, “Jesus.”
Clara looked toward the sitting room.
“So I disappeared.”
“Then why come here?”
Lorenzo asked the question quietly.
“Why take a job inside my house?”
Clara’s face changed.
“Because six weeks ago, someone found us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“My apartment was broken into. Nothing valuable was taken.”
Lorenzo waited.
Clara’s voice trembled.
“They left a photograph of Lily sleeping.”
Every muscle in his body tightened.
“I realized hiding wasn’t working anymore.”
“So you came here?”
“I thought the last place anyone would search for Clara Vance was inside Lorenzo Moretti’s house.”
A bitter smile touched her mouth.
“And apparently I was right.”
Lorenzo looked at Marco.
“How did her name not reach me?”
Marco looked pale.
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“I will.”
“Every staffing file. Every access log. Every person who approved her.”
Marco nodded and left.
The doctor approached Lorenzo.
“I need to speak to you.”
Lorenzo followed him two steps away.
“What?”
“We tested what remained in the mug.”
“And?”
“We need lab confirmation.”
The doctor glanced toward Clara.
“But her symptoms are consistent with poisoning.”
Lorenzo’s face became unreadable.
“What kind?”
“A cardiac medication in a dose high enough to lower heart rate and blood pressure. If the child hadn’t found help when she did…”
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t need to.
Lorenzo looked at Clara.
Then toward the sitting room where Lily was playing with the fringe of a cushion.
Someone had found Clara.
Someone knew where she lived.
Someone had poisoned her beneath his roof.
And only one man had been powerful enough to erase her three years earlier while convincing Lorenzo she was dead.
Enzo Moretti.
Lorenzo’s phone rang.
Marco.
He answered.
“What?”
Marco’s voice was tight.
“I found Clara’s employment authorization.”
“Who approved it?”
Silence.
“Marco.”
“The signature belongs to Enzo.”
Lorenzo looked at Clara.
His hand slowly closed around Lily’s teddy bear.
“Where is my uncle?”
Another pause.
“We don’t know.”
May you like
Lorenzo’s voice dropped.
“Then lock the estate.”
