Chapter 3 - THE FATHER OF MY CHILD
I did not sleep.
Lily did.
Her fever finally dropped just before dawn, and the sound of her breathing became normal again.
I sat beside her bed and replayed the same memory until it felt like torture.
Daniel.
A handsome man in a dark blue suit.
A fundraiser at the Plaza.
I had been assigned there through a temporary cleaning agency.
I remembered carrying a tray of broken glasses through a hallway.
Someone had bumped into me.
Champagne spilled down my uniform.
Daniel appeared with a clean handkerchief and a smile.
“You look like you’re having a terrible night.”
I had laughed.
That part I remembered.
Later, he brought me coffee.
Then dizziness.
A medical room.
A nurse saying I had fainted.
Daniel sitting nearby.
Nothing else.
For years, that had been the entire memory.
Except suddenly pieces were returning.
Music.
An elevator.
His jacket around my shoulders.
A kiss.
My own hand against his face.
Had I forgotten an entire night?
Or had someone made me forget?
At seven in the morning, Victor entered with two coffees.
I looked at him.
“Tell me everything you know about Daniel Valenti.”
He set one cup beside me.
“I know enough to dislike the answer.”
“I don’t care.”
Victor pulled up a chair.
“Daniel is thirty-three. Only son of Dominic Valenti.”
“Married?”
“No.”
“Children?”
“None publicly.”
My hand tightened around Lily’s fingers.
“Does he know about her?”
Victor looked toward the sleeping baby.
“If the attack was ordered by Dominic, probably.”
“Not what I asked.”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re giving me orders now?”
“Yes.”
A strange look crossed his face.
Then he nodded.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Elena used to do the same thing.”
I ignored the comparison.
“What kind of man is Daniel?”
“Complicated.”
“That means terrible.”
“Not always.”
“I don’t want mafia poetry, Victor.”
He leaned back.
“Daniel disappeared from the Valenti organization two years ago.”
I blinked.
“Disappeared?”
“Dominic claims his son betrayed him.”
“Where is he?”
“No one knows.”
“So he may not have ordered the attack.”
“Correct.”
That gave me no relief.
“What happened at the fundraiser?”
“I’m checking.”
“You can check things from years ago?”
“I can check things from decades ago.”
Of course he could.
Victor stood.
“There’s another problem.”
I laughed without humor.
“Only one?”
“The attack on my home was too easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“They knew which gate had the weakest reinforcement. They knew the shift change. They knew which hallway would be closest to you.”
I understood.
“Someone inside your house helped them.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I intend to find out.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
A man spoke quickly.
Victor’s expression darkened.
“Bring him.”
He ended the call.
“Who?”
“Your supervisor.”
My stomach tightened.
The man who had threatened to fire me.
“He’s here?”
“Soon.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
Victor looked at me.
“Ask questions.”
I knew what men like Victor meant by that.
“No.”
“No?”
“You don’t torture him.”
Victor stared at me.
“You think I torture people?”
“I think you own enough guns to make the question reasonable.”
A corner of his mouth moved.
“We will have a conversation.”
“With me in the room.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Hannah—”
“He dragged my sick baby into this.”
Victor studied me.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
An hour later, two guards brought my supervisor into a conference room.
Harold Crane looked nothing like the cruel man who had threatened me on the phone.
He looked terrified.
His tie was missing.
His hair was wet from snow.
Victor sat across from him.
I stood near the wall.
Harold saw me.
“Hannah.”
I said nothing.
Victor placed a phone on the table.
“Why did you assign Hannah Reed to my estate?”
Harold swallowed.
“It was scheduled.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I swear.”
Victor tapped the screen.
An email appeared.
“Yesterday, at 3:12 p.m., you changed the employee assignment.”
Harold stared.
Victor continued.
“You moved Hannah from Midtown to my home.”
“I received instructions.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Victor leaned forward.
Harold began shaking.
“It came from corporate.”
“There is no corporate authorization.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Someone paid you.”
Harold closed his eyes.
Victor smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
“How much?”
Harold whispered.
“Ten thousand.”
My stomach dropped.
“You threatened to fire me for ten thousand dollars?”
He looked at me.
“I didn’t know anything was going to happen.”
“My baby could have died.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stepped closer.
“Who paid you?”
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“I never got her name.”
Victor slid a photograph across the table.
Harold shook his head.
Another photograph.
No.
Another.
Harold froze.
Victor noticed.
“So do I.”
I looked.
The woman was elegant, maybe sixty.
Silver-blond hair.
Pearl earrings.
Sharp cheekbones.
“Who is she?”
Victor’s face was expressionless.
“Margaret Moretti.”
I stared.
“Your family?”
“My aunt.”
Harold nodded rapidly.
“That’s her.”
Victor stood so suddenly Harold flinched.
“Take him downstairs.”
“Victor,” I warned.
“He’s leaving.”
The guards took Harold away.
I turned on Victor.
“Your aunt arranged for me to come to the house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Victor looked troubled.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know a lot for a man everyone is afraid of.”
He almost smiled.
Then another guard entered.
“Margaret is gone.”
Victor’s face hardened.
“When?”
“Her driver says she left home at midnight.”
“Phone?”
“Discarded.”
Victor cursed.
I walked to the window.
Snow covered Manhattan.
Somewhere beneath all those buildings, men were holding the brother I had never met.
Somewhere else, the father of my child might be alive.
And Victor’s aunt had placed Lily directly into the middle of it.
I turned.
“Your family knew my mother?”
“Margaret did.”
“How well?”
Victor hesitated.
“Very well.”
“What does that mean?”
“They hated each other.”
“Why?”
Victor looked uncomfortable for the first time.
“Margaret wanted me to marry her daughter.”
“Your cousin?”
“Not biological. Margaret married into the family.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“So she hated Elena because you loved her.”
“That was part of it.”
I folded my arms.
“What was the other part?”
Victor looked toward the door.
“Margaret believed Elena ruined the Moretti family.”
“How?”
“She blamed her for my father’s death.”
My heart jumped.
“What happened to him?”
“He was shot six months after Elena disappeared.”
“By the Valentis?”
“That’s what everyone believed.”
“But you don’t anymore.”
“No.”
The doctor entered before I could ask more.
“Hannah, Lily can leave the medical unit this afternoon.”
Relief flooded me.
“She’s okay?”
“She needs antibiotics and rest, but yes.”
I kissed Lily’s forehead.
Then a guard appeared.
“Boss. We got something on Daniel Valenti.”
Victor looked at me.
“What?”
The guard handed him a folder.
“A traffic camera photographed him three nights ago.”
“Where?”
“Brooklyn.”
My pulse spiked.
“Where in Brooklyn?”
The guard glanced at me.
“Outside Hannah’s apartment.”
I stopped breathing.
Victor opened the photograph.
Daniel stood across the street from my building.
He looked older than I remembered.
Harder.
But it was him.
He was staring up toward my window.
The timestamp showed 2:13 a.m.
Three nights ago.
“Why was he there?” I whispered.
The guard handed over another image.
This one was taken twenty minutes later.
Daniel was kneeling beside my front door.
He appeared to be placing something underneath it.
My heart jumped.
“I never saw anything.”
Victor looked at the guard.
“Did you search the apartment?”
“Not yet.”
I stood.
“We’re going.”
“No.”
“That’s my home.”
“It could be trapped.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The words surprised both of us.
Victor looked away.
“We send a team first.”
Two hours later, his men entered my apartment.
They found no bomb.
No weapons.
No hidden cameras.
Only one thing.
An envelope taped beneath the bottom drawer of Lily’s dresser.
Victor’s guard brought it to us unopened.
My name was written on the front.
Hannah.
I recognized Daniel’s handwriting immediately.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother.
She was younger than I remembered.
Standing beside Daniel.
Impossible.
Daniel had been a child when she died.
Then I looked closer.
It was not Daniel.
It was Dominic Valenti.
Behind the photograph was a note.
Six words.
Your mother trusted the wrong Moretti.
I looked at Victor.
His face had gone dark.
At the bottom was one final line.
Ask Victor who pulled the trigger.
My blood turned cold.
“Victor.”
He said nothing.
“Who killed my mother?”
May you like
His eyes met mine.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, Victor Moretti looked afraid of my question.
