Chapter 4 - I WANTED MY CHILDREN BACK
By sunrise, I had held each of my children while they slept.
That should have been the happiest moment of my life.
Instead, I spent most of it terrified someone would take them again.
I sat in a rocking chair with Milo curled against me while Sofia slept in the crib beside us and Enzo sprawled sideways across Damian’s chest.
The sight was ridiculous.
Damian Marchetti, feared by half the city, sat in a nursery wearing a white dress shirt with one sleeve rolled up while a toddler drooled on him.
He noticed me staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You almost smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“Maybe your reputation is exaggerated.”
His eyebrow lifted.
Enzo snored.
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
Damian looked down at the child.
“This never leaves the room.”
For a few seconds, life felt almost normal.
Then Vincent entered carrying a folder.
The warmth disappeared.
“The second lab confirmed it.”
He placed the documents on the table.
99.9998 percent probability of maternity.
My hands shook even though I already knew.
I had proof.
Legal proof.
Biological proof.
My children were alive.
“I’m taking them home.”
Damian immediately stood.
“No.”
The happiness evaporated.
“No?”
“Grace—”
“I have spent fourteen months without them.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know!”
Enzo woke and whimpered.
Damian lowered his voice.
“I’m not keeping them from you.”
“That is exactly what you are doing.”
“Your apartment was broken into forty minutes ago.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Nothing was stolen.”
His expression turned hard.
“Someone searched it.”
I thought about the cheap apartment where I had slept every night with three empty frames on the dresser.
“What were they looking for?”
“Evidence.”
“I don’t have any.”
“They may not know that.”
I stood carefully, still holding Milo.
“I can go to the police.”
“You should.”
That surprised me.
“But you’re not going alone.”
“I don’t need permission.”
“No. But you need protection.”
“I survived without you for twenty-nine years.”
“And yesterday somebody fired through a restaurant window thirty seconds after Denny started talking.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I hated that.
Damian continued.
“Until we know who is involved, you stay here. The children stay here.”
“You don’t get to order me around.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m trying very hard not to.”
“Try harder.”
Vincent looked like he suddenly found the carpet extremely interesting.
Damian stared at me.
Then he did something unexpected.
He stepped back.
“You’re right.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I said you’re right.”
Men like Damian probably did not say those words often.
“I have been making decisions for these children since they were three weeks old. That became instinct.”
His eyes moved toward Milo.
“But you are their mother.”
My throat tightened.
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I will have a car take you wherever you want. If you insist on leaving with them, I won’t physically stop you.”
I looked toward the window.
Two guards stood outside.
“But?”
“But whoever stole them knew where you worked before I did. They knew Denny talked. And they knew your apartment address.”
He held my gaze.
“If you walk out of this house with three children and no protection, you are gambling with four lives.”
I hated him again.
Mostly because he was right again.
“I’ll stay.”
His shoulders relaxed almost invisibly.
“For now.”
“For now.”
That morning, an attorney arrived.
Not one of Damian’s.
Mine.
He had contacted a women’s legal advocacy group and arranged for them to send someone completely independent.
Her name was Rachel Monroe.
She was forty-something, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by armed men.
I liked her immediately.
“We’re petitioning for emergency recognition of maternity,” she explained. “But the custody situation is complicated.”
“How complicated?”
“The birth certificates list Matteo and Isabelle as legal parents under sealed adoption orders.”
“I never consented.”
“If we prove fraud, those orders can be vacated.”
“How long?”
She hesitated.
“How long?”
“Could be weeks. Possibly months.”
“No.”
“I know.”
I stood.
“My children were stolen. How does anyone need months?”
“Because the court will want to know how three newborns were removed from a hospital, declared dead, placed through an adoption agency, and legally transferred without triggering a single alarm.”
Damian stood near the window.
Rachel looked at him.
“And because Mr. Marchetti has been their guardian for almost their entire lives.”
“I won’t fight her.”
We both looked at him.
Rachel blinked.
“You understand what that means?”
“Yes.”
“You could petition for continued custody based on established psychological attachment.”
“I said I won’t fight her.”
The certainty in his voice silenced everyone.
He looked at me.
“They belong with their mother.”
Something inside my chest shifted.
Before I could respond, Vincent entered.
“We have Denny.”
Damian frowned.
“What happened?”
“He tried to leave protective custody.”
“Why?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Someone called him.”
We went downstairs.
Denny sat inside Damian’s study with two guards nearby.
He looked terrible.
“I’m sorry,” he said the moment he saw me.
I stopped in front of him.
“Tell me everything.”
Denny rubbed both hands over his face.
“I was a transporter. I moved patients between units. About four years ago, I noticed certain women were being transferred under different names.”
“Who ordered it?”
“Dr. Elias Voss.”
I knew that name.
My obstetrician.
My knees weakened.
“No.”
Denny nodded miserably.
“He ran the maternal emergency program.”
“He delivered my babies.”
“I know.”
My stomach turned.
The man who had held my hand and promised he would do everything possible had already decided what would happen to my children.
“Who else?”
“Attorney Lydia Crane handled the adoption documents. Bellrose Family Services found buyers.”
“Buyers,” I repeated.
Denny winced.
“That’s what they called them.”
Damian’s voice went quiet.
“How many babies?”
“At least twenty-seven.”
Rachel went pale.
Twenty-seven.
Twenty-seven babies.
Twenty-seven mothers.
Maybe more.
“Why didn’t you report them?” I asked.
Denny stared at me.
“Because they paid me.”
There it was.
Ugly.
Simple.
Human greed.
“I told myself the babies were going to rich families. Better homes.”
“You told yourself that while women buried empty coffins?”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
I slapped him.
Nobody stopped me.
Denny looked back at me.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserve worse.”
“I know.”
Damian stepped forward.
“Who called you?”
Denny hesitated.
Then whispered, “Marcus Bell.”
Everything changed.
Damian became absolutely still.
Vincent looked at him.
“Boss.”
I looked between them.
“Who is Marcus Bell?”
Damian’s face had lost all emotion.
“My father’s closest adviser.”
My stomach dropped.
“How close?”
“He has had access to my accounts, businesses, security operations, and family records for twenty-two years.”
Denny nodded.
“His sister worked nights at Saint Catherine’s.”
“What was her name?” I asked.
“Teresa Bell.”
I remembered her.
A nurse with silver glasses.
The last face I had seen before anesthesia.
She had stroked my forehead and told me not to worry.
I stumbled backward.
Damian caught my elbow.
“She was there.”
Denny looked at me.
“She chose you.”
The room spun.
“What?”
“She flagged vulnerable mothers. Women with no husband listed. No parents nearby. No powerful relatives.”
His voice dropped.
“Women nobody would believe if they started asking questions.”
My eyes burned.
Damian’s grip tightened around my arm.
Then his phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed instantly.
“What?”
He turned toward the door.
“Where are the children?”
I froze.
“Upstairs with Rosa.”
Damian was already moving.
We ran.
The nursery door stood open.
Sofia was crying.
Milo was in his crib.
Enzo was gone.
Rosa lay unconscious near the hallway table.
A side window was open.
And on the floor beneath it sat a single white envelope.
Damian picked it up.
Inside was a photograph of Enzo.
Taken seconds earlier.
May you like
On the back, six words had been written in black ink.
STOP DIGGING OR LOSE THE REST.
