Chapter 2 - The Baby Who Was Never Buried
I don't remember crossing the room.
One second, Lydia was standing near the door.
The next, I had my free hand wrapped around the front of her nurse’s uniform.
“Where is she?”
Leo cried between us.
Lydia began sobbing.
“I don't know.”
“You just said she's alive!”
“She was alive when they took her.”
“Who took her?”
“I can't tell you.”
I shook her.
“WHO?”
Lorenzo caught my wrist.
“Hunter.”
“Let go of me!”
“Leo.”
That one word stopped me.
I looked down.
His son was screaming.
I released Lydia immediately.
My knees were trembling.
Lorenzo took Leo carefully from me.
For the first time, the baby didn't immediately cry harder when someone else held him.
Maybe because he had finally eaten.
Maybe because he sensed his father's heartbeat.
Lorenzo held him awkwardly but gently, supporting his tiny head.
“You're going to tell us everything,” he said to Lydia.
She shook her head.
“They'll kill my family.”
“And if you don't talk?”
She looked terrified.
Lorenzo’s expression hardened.
I stepped between them.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I know what people say about you,” I said. “But nobody gets hurt in front of me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“This woman helped steal your daughter.”
“I know.”
“And you're protecting her?”
“I’m protecting myself.”
He didn't understand.
“I've already lost one person I loved to violence. Maybe two. I don't want my daughter’s story starting with somebody being tortured in the next room.”
Lydia stared at me.
Lorenzo studied me for a long moment.
Then he opened the nursery door.
“Call Dr. Patel. Tell security Lydia Morgan is not to leave the property.”
One guard nodded.
Lydia looked surprised.
“No basement?” I asked.
Lorenzo almost smiled.
“No basement.”
“Good.”
“I have a library.”
I stared at him.
“That somehow sounds worse.”
“It has comfortable chairs.”
Under any other circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead, I followed him downstairs while his security team quietly transformed the mansion into a fortress.
Doors locked.
Vehicles were searched.
Staff members were gathered in separate rooms.
Phones were collected.
Nobody explained anything.
Rumors spread anyway.
The Rossi mansion was built to look beautiful.
It was also built to survive wars.
Steel shutters hidden inside walls lowered across several ground-floor windows.
Men in dark suits appeared from hallways I hadn't even known existed.
For the first time since taking the job, I understood that the chandeliers, marble floors, and art concealed something else.
Fear.
Real fear.
Lydia sat inside Lorenzo’s library with two guards outside.
I sat opposite her.
Lorenzo remained near the fireplace with Leo.
The sight was surreal.
A mafia boss holding a two-month-old baby beneath a painting probably worth more than every house on the street where I'd grown up.
Leo had fallen asleep.
His breathing sounded stronger.
Lydia kept staring at him.
“Start with St. Catherine’s,” Lorenzo said.
She rubbed her hands together.
“I worked nights in maternity.”
“We know.”
“Dr. Halpern hired me two years ago.”
“For what?”
“Nursing.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Lydia lowered her head.
“At first.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at me.
“The hospital had babies whose mothers couldn't care for them. Addictions. Immigration problems. Teenagers without families. Women who wanted private adoptions.”
“That's legal,” I said.
“Some of it.”
“And the rest?”
She began crying again.
“I didn't know at first.”
Lorenzo’s voice sharpened.
“What didn't you know?”
“That records were being changed.”
My nails dug into my palms.
“Babies?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Guess.”
“Maybe twelve.”
Lorenzo became still.
“In two years?”
She shook her head.
“In six months.”
The room went silent.
My stomach turned.
“What happened to them?”
“They were placed with families.”
“Sold,” Lorenzo said.
Lydia flinched.
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“These women thought their babies were dead?”
“Not all. Sometimes mothers were told their infants needed emergency transfer. Sometimes foreign birth records were changed. Sometimes a woman came in alone, without family, and complications happened.”
“Convenient complications,” I said.
She couldn't look at me.
I stood.
“Did you hurt my baby?”
“No!”
“Did anyone hurt her?”
“No. I swear.”
“Then what happened?”
Lydia wiped her face.
“Your case was different.”
“Why?”
She glanced at Lorenzo.
“Because of the father.”
My heart pounded.
“Nicholas?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo shifted Leo higher against his chest.
“How did you know my brother?”
“I didn't.”
“Then how did the hospital?”
“Someone brought Halpern a file.”
“What file?”
“Hunter's.”
I stared at her.
“Mine?”
“Medical history. Address. Employment records. Prenatal appointments. Everything.”
The feeling of being watched crawled across my skin.
“Who brought it?”
“I never saw their face.”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman.”
The unfinished voicemail echoed in my head.
There's a woman involved who knows Hunter.
“Did you hear her voice?”
“Yes.”
“Would you recognize it?”
“I think so.”
Lorenzo slowly turned toward me.
“Who knew about the pregnancy?”
“My doctor. Nick. My landlord. My manager at the restaurant where I used to work.”
“Family?”
I looked away.
“My mother.”
Lydia’s face changed.
Tiny.
Almost nothing.
But I saw it.
Lorenzo saw it too.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
I stepped closer.
“You know my mother?”
“No.”
“You reacted.”
“I didn't.”
“My mother’s name is Rebecca Ellis.”
Lydia went white.
Lorenzo handed Leo to me and moved toward her.
This time I didn't stop him.
“You know that name.”
Lydia whispered, “I heard it once.”
“Where?”
“In Halpern’s office.”
“Who said it?”
“The woman.”
I felt the blood leave my face.
Lorenzo looked at me.
“Where is your mother?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don't speak much.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
“Why?”
“That’s personal.”
“Hunter, somebody stole your child.”
The words hurt because they were true.
I sat down.
“My mother hated Nick.”
“Why?”
“She said he was hiding something.”
He was.
His name.
His family.
His entire life.
“She kept telling me not to trust him. When I got pregnant, she wanted me to leave him.”
“Did she know his real identity?”
“I didn't.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I thought back.
My mother seeing Nick for the first time.
The coffee cup slipping from her hand.
Her face turning white.
I'd thought she simply disliked him.
But she'd stared at him like she'd seen a ghost.
“Oh my God.”
Lorenzo saw the memory hit me.
“What?”
“She knew him.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Lydia suddenly spoke.
“Your mother visited the hospital.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The night you delivered.”
“No.”
“She was there.”
“No. She lives in Vermont.”
“She came to Halpern’s office.”
I stood so fast my chair fell.
“You're lying.”
“I saw her ID on the visitor sheet.”
“You just said you didn't know her.”
“I didn't meet her. I saw the name.”
“Then why tell me now?”
“Because you need to understand something.”
Lydia leaned forward.
“Your baby wasn't chosen randomly.”
A terrible pressure built behind my ribs.
“What does that mean?”
“She wasn't going to be sold.”
“Then where was she going?”
“I don't know.”
“Liar.”
“I don't!”
She looked desperately at Lorenzo.
“Halpern told everyone to stay away from that case. He said someone powerful had paid to have the infant removed quietly.”
“How much?” Lorenzo asked.
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“For my baby?”
“Yes.”
“Who paid?”
“I never saw the account.”
“Where was my daughter taken?”
Lydia hesitated.
“After delivery, they moved her to a private room on the seventh floor.”
“I thought maternity only had six floors.”
“It does.”
Lorenzo’s eyes sharpened.
“What’s on seven?”
“Administrative offices.”
“And?”
Lydia looked terrified.
“A private neonatal suite nobody talks about.”
Lorenzo immediately pulled out his phone.
“Marco.”
No answer.
He frowned.
Called again.
Nothing.
That seemed to concern him.
He called someone else.
“Find Marco.”
A guard replied through the phone.
“Sir, he left the property forty minutes ago.”
Lorenzo’s face darkened.
“Why?”
“He said you sent him to St. Catherine’s.”
“I didn't.”
Silence.
Then the guard said, “I'll track him.”
Lorenzo ended the call.
My stomach twisted.
“Who is Marco?”
“My security chief.”
“Can you trust him?”
“Yes.”
“You said that very quickly.”
“He saved my life twice.”
“Nick trusted somebody too.”
That struck him.
Hard.
Before he could respond, the library door opened.
A woman in her forties entered with a medical case.
Dr. Priya Patel.
She was the pediatric specialist Lorenzo had called.
She examined Leo while we waited.
Weight.
Temperature.
Blood sugar.
Oxygen.
The entire time, my eyes kept drifting toward Lydia.
My daughter was alive.
Maybe.
Somewhere.
Every instinct told me to run out of the mansion and start looking.
But where?
Long Island had millions of people.
New York City was forty miles away.
She could be anywhere.
Dr. Patel finally looked up.
“He's still dangerously underweight, but his glucose has improved.”
Lorenzo’s shoulders loosened slightly.
“The feeding?”
“If Hunter is willing, breastfeeding can continue while we monitor him closely.”
I stared at her.
“You're saying my milk can actually help him?”
“It already has.”
My eyes filled.
I looked at Leo.
For three weeks, my body had felt like a cruel reminder of everything I lost.
Now it was keeping a child alive.
Dr. Patel continued carefully.
“We'll need bloodwork from both of you. Standard infectious screening. We'll also need to understand why Leo rejected the previous feeds.”
“Could somebody have caused it?” Lorenzo asked.
Dr. Patel looked at him.
“Caused what?”
“The feeding intolerance.”
“It depends.”
“Could formula or donor milk have been contaminated?”
I turned toward Lydia.
She looked terrified.
Dr. Patel frowned.
“If someone deliberately interfered? Yes.”
Lorenzo’s face went cold.
“Test everything.”
Every bottle.
Every formula container.
Every medication.
Every feeding tube.
Dr. Patel agreed.
Lydia began shaking.
I saw it.
“What?”
She pressed her lips together.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
I moved closer.
“You know something.”
She looked at Leo.
“I never touched his food.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know.”
Lorenzo stepped forward.
“Lydia.”
“I swear.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
She whispered, “Because this happened before.”
The room went silent.
“What happened before?” I asked.
“A baby rejecting food.”
“Where?”
“At St. Catherine’s.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
“What happened?”
“The baby died.”
My blood turned cold.
Lorenzo’s voice was barely audible.
“Who was the mother?”
Lydia looked at him.
“A woman connected to your family.”
He frowned.
“Who?”
She swallowed.
“Your cousin Alessandra.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
Alessandra Rossi had lost a newborn four months earlier.
Everyone in the house knew that.
There had been flowers in the chapel for weeks.
Lydia continued.
“The baby wasn't sick.”
“What are you saying?” Lorenzo demanded.
“Someone was putting something into the feeds.”
“What?”
“I don't know. Small doses. Enough to keep the baby weak.”
“Why?”
“To make the death look natural.”
Lorenzo looked toward the nursery hallway.
I understood at the same moment.
Leo's bottles.
Leo's formula.
Leo starving.
Sophia killed.
Nick killed.
My daughter taken.
It wasn't several tragedies.
It was one.
One invisible hand reaching through all of us.
A guard suddenly entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Marco’s car.”
“Where?”
“Near the east gate.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
Then the guard held up something inside a plastic evidence bag.
A phone.
Marco’s phone.
The screen was cracked.
“There was blood on the driver’s seat.”
Lorenzo took it.
“Whose?”
“We don't know.”
The phone suddenly lit up.
Incoming message.
Unknown number.
Lorenzo stared at the screen.
Then handed it to me.
My heart stopped.
There was a photograph.
A newborn baby wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
Dark hair.
Tiny fists.
A hospital band around one ankle.
The number was clearly visible.
My bracelet number.
My daughter.
May you like
Beneath the picture were seven words.
If you want her alive, leave Rossi House.
