Chapter 7 - HE TRIED TO TURN ME INTO THE VILLAIN
By nine the next morning, every news station in the city knew my name.
GRIEVING MOTHER OR BABY SELLER?
WAITRESS CLAIMS MAFIA HEIRS.
MYSTERY WOMAN CHALLENGES MARCHETTI FORTUNE.
I stared at the television in Damian’s study until he turned it off.
“Don’t.”
“They think I sold them.”
“Marcus paid people to make them think that.”
“There are documents.”
“Forged documents.”
“They have my signature.”
Damian looked at me.
“Did you sign them?”
“No.”
“Then they’re forged.”
He said it with such simple certainty that I wanted to believe the world worked that way.
It didn’t.
Rachel entered carrying court papers.
“Marcus filed for an injunction.”
“What kind?”
“To prevent any change in guardianship until the validity of the adoption surrender is determined.”
I laughed once.
“He stole my children, and now he wants the law to protect him?”
“He wants time,” Damian said.
“For what?”
“To destroy whatever evidence Matteo left.”
Damian went to Marchetti Tower.
I went with him.
He argued.
I ignored him.
By the time our convoy arrived, reporters surrounded the entrance.
Cameras flashed.
Questions exploded.
“Grace, did you accept money?”
“Did you abandon your children?”
“Are you having a relationship with Damian Marchetti?”
That one almost made me stop.
Damian’s hand touched the center of my back.
“Keep walking.”
Inside the boardroom, Marcus Bell sat at the far end of a polished table.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
Grandfatherly face.
The kind of man people trusted automatically.
He smiled at me.
“Ms. Carter.”
I hated him immediately.
Damian took the chair opposite him.
“You entered my house.”
Marcus sighed.
“You’re emotional.”
“You kidnapped a child.”
“I rescued family property from an unstable woman.”
My stomach turned.
“Property?”
Marcus looked at me.
“Surely you understand the children’s value now.”
I stood.
“They are not shares. They are not votes. They are not a trust fund.”
“Of course.”
His smile never changed.
“That maternal performance will play well in court.”
Damian moved so quickly his chair struck the wall.
Vincent stepped between them.
Not to protect Damian.
To protect Marcus.
Marcus laughed.
“There he is. The real Damian.”
Damian’s fists tightened.
Marcus wanted violence.
He wanted cameras catching the feared mafia boss attacking a respected executive.
I stepped in front of Damian.
“No.”
His breathing slowed.
Marcus’s smile disappeared slightly.
I looked at him.
“You’re scared of me.”
That made him laugh.
“Of you?”
“Yes.”
I moved closer.
“You handled hospitals. Judges. Lawyers. Millionaires.”
I pointed at myself.
“But a waitress walked into a diner and destroyed twenty-two years of planning.”
His eyes cooled.
“That’s why you had Enzo taken.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re terrified because I exist.”
His smile vanished.
Good.
Rachel began placing documents on the table.
Two DNA reports.
Hospital bracelet.
Denny’s ledger.
Matteo’s letter.
Marcus barely reacted until the letter appeared.
Then I saw it.
A flicker.
Fear.
“You never found that,” he said.
Damian smiled without warmth.
“But we did.”
Marcus leaned back.
“It proves nothing.”
“Maybe not.”
A new voice came from the doorway.
“But this does.”
Everyone turned.
Denny entered with two federal investigators.
His face was pale.
But he walked straight toward the table.
Marcus stood.
“You stupid little man.”
Denny flinched.
Then continued.
“I recorded you.”
The room went silent.
Denny placed a phone on the table.
Audio played.
Marcus’s voice.
Clear.
Cold.
“You will alter Carter’s chart exactly as Voss instructs. Three neonatal deaths. The infants go through Bellrose under Ellis. If she asks questions, sedate her and tell her the bodies cannot be released because of medical complications.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
My knees almost buckled.
Damian moved beside me.
The recording continued.
“And Matteo?”
Another voice asked.
Marcus answered.
“He will be handled separately.”
Damian’s face changed.
Denny stopped the recording.
Federal agents stepped forward.
Marcus did not panic.
Instead, he smiled.
“You think I kept everything in one place?”
Damian’s gaze narrowed.
Marcus looked at me.
“You want your happy ending, Ms. Carter?”
“I want my children.”
“You should have stayed invisible.”
Then the building alarms began screaming.
Vincent reached for his weapon.
Smoke appeared beneath the boardroom doors.
Marcus moved.
Fast.
A hidden security panel opened behind him.
He disappeared through a private corridor.
Damian shouted orders.
Sprinklers activated.
People ran.
“Marcus is heading toward the archive floor!” Vincent yelled.
Damian turned to me.
“Stay with Rachel.”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“He knows where Matteo’s evidence is.”
“So do we.”
“How?”
I held up Matteo’s letter.
There was one detail everyone had overlooked.
The first letter of every paragraph formed four letters.
V.
A.
U.
L.
And beneath Matteo’s signature was a tiny handwritten number.
47.
“Vault forty-seven.”
Damian stared at it.
Then grabbed my hand.
We ran.
The archive floor was two levels below.
Smoke filled one hallway but the fire seemed intentionally small.
A distraction.
Vault 47 sat behind an old executive records room.
Marcus was already there.
He held a metal case.
He also held a gun.
Damian pushed me behind him.
Marcus laughed.
“You always were predictable.”
“Put it down.”
“Twenty-two years, Damian. I built half your empire while your father taught you how to intimidate waiters and politicians.”
“You killed Matteo.”
“He was weak.”
My nails dug into Damian’s jacket.
Marcus continued.
“He was ready to hand hundreds of millions to three infants because he got sentimental about some girl.”
Some girl.
Me.
“He loved her,” Damian said.
Marcus smiled.
“That was his mistake.”
He raised the gun.
Everything happened at once.
Vincent shouted.
Damian moved.
I saw the weapon turn toward Damian.
And I saw the red emergency box beside me.
I slammed my elbow through the thin glass and pulled the fire suppression lever.
A violent blast of chemical foam exploded from the ceiling.
Marcus flinched.
Damian hit him.
The gun skidded away.
Federal agents rushed in seconds later.
Marcus Bell ended twenty-two years of manipulation face-down in white fire foam with handcuffs around his wrists.
Not exactly the elegant ending he had imagined.
Vincent recovered the metal case.
Inside were financial records.
Names.
Payments.
Birth files.
And one flash drive labeled:
M.M. — IF I DON’T MAKE IT.
Damian looked at me.
We played it upstairs.
Matteo appeared on screen.
Alive.
Nervous.
Ashamed.
“Grace, if this reaches you, I probably ran out of time.”
I started crying before he continued.
“I know sorry is too small.”
He spoke about meeting me.
Loving me.
Leaving because Marcus threatened me.
Discovering the pregnancy.
Trying to rescue the children from Bellrose.
Then he smiled sadly.
“If Damian has them, they are safe.”
Damian looked away.
Matteo continued.
“And if Grace is with them…”
His voice broke.
“Then they’re home.”
I covered my mouth.
The video ended.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Damian took my hand.
Not like a mafia boss.
Not like a guardian.
Like a man standing beside someone whose life had just been returned in pieces.
“Let’s bring them home,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Which home?”
May you like
His thumb brushed across my knuckles.
“You decide.”
