Chapter 8 - THE KIDNAPPING THAT NEVER HAPPENED
The children were asleep upstairs when detectives arrived.
I nearly woke them and drove to another state.
Apparently motherhood gave you the irrational belief that enough distance could defeat danger.
Luca stopped me before I packed the second suitcase.
“They're safe here.”
“You said your security was safe before.”
“I replaced the entire team.”
“Your mother knew the old system.”
“She doesn't know this one.”
“She hired someone to kidnap my children!”
Luca flinched.
“Our children.”
I rounded on him.
“Do not correct my grammar right now.”
“I wasn't—”
“Luca.”
“Okay.”
Detective Maria Hernandez explained the case at our dining table.
Isabella had contacted a private “family recovery specialist.”
A polite phrase for men who removed children during custody disputes.
“She claimed the children were being unlawfully withheld from their father,” Hernandez said.
I stared at Luca.
“I never authorized anything.”
“We know.”
“How?”
“She used an old electronic signature.”
Luca cursed.
Hernandez continued.
“The contractor became suspicious when instructions changed.”
“How?”
“He was initially told to observe the children and document routines. Yesterday, Mrs. Moretti ordered him to physically remove them from school and deliver them to a private residence.”
My blood turned ice.
“Where?”
“A Moretti property in Wisconsin.”
Luca stood.
“I don't own property in Wisconsin.”
“Your mother does.”
I couldn't stop imagining it.
Ava walking out of school.
Noah following.
A stranger telling them their father sent him.
Would they have believed him?
Would they have climbed into a car because Luca's name was attached?
I covered my mouth.
Luca moved toward me.
I let him.
For the first time since this began, I let him put his arms around me.
Not because I forgave him.
Because I was terrified.
He held me while Detective Hernandez quietly waited.
“I've got them,” he whispered.
I pulled away.
“No. We have them.”
He nodded.
“We have them.”
Isabella was released on bond the next afternoon.
That infuriated Luca.
His attorneys couldn't change it.
Money had limits.
That seemed to shock him every time.
A restraining order prohibited Isabella from approaching me, the twins or their school.
Charles Shaw was under investigation too.
Gabriel's payments.
Medical privacy violations.
Potential fraud.
Conspiracy.
The empire surrounding Luca had become a crime scene.
Yet inside the Lake Forest house, life continued.
Ava needed a costume for school.
Noah lost another shoe.
My mother burned spaghetti and blamed the stove.
Luca learned that children did not care about international financial scandals if their tablet batteries died.
One evening, I found him on the living room carpet building a cardboard castle with Ava.
He had glue on his sleeve.
“You have something,” I said.
He looked at his shirt.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
Ava giggled.
“He doesn't know how to use glitter.”
“No one knows how to use glitter.”
“Mom does.”
“Your mother knows everything.”
I looked at him.
That sentence used to sound sarcastic when we were married.
Now it sounded admiring.
I hated how much I liked it.
Later, Noah developed a fever.
Nothing serious.
A winter virus.
But at two in the morning, his temperature reached 103.
I grabbed my keys.
Luca appeared in the hallway.
“What's wrong?”
“Noah's fever is higher.”
“I'll drive.”
“I can.”
“I know.”
He didn't fight me.
He simply picked up Noah.
Our son barely woke.
His head rested against Luca's shoulder.
Something inside me cracked open.
Six years earlier, this was what I had wanted.
Not Moretti money.
Not penthouses.
This.
A sleepy child carried by his father while I grabbed the insurance card.
We spent four hours at urgent care.
Luca sat beside Noah the entire time.
When Noah threw up on his coat, Luca didn't even flinch.
I almost smiled.
“What?”
“That's a four-thousand-dollar coat.”
“So?”
“Nothing.”
He glanced at the stain.
“Do you think it can be cleaned?”
“No.”
He sighed.
“Worth it.”
At five in the morning, Noah slept between us in the back seat while Luca's driver took us home.
I looked at him.
“You're good with them.”
His expression changed.
“Don't sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“You barely tolerated children at restaurants.”
“I barely tolerated anyone at restaurants.”
True.
He looked toward Noah.
“I don't know what I'm doing.”
“No parent does.”
“You always seemed like you would.”
“When?”
“When we talked about having them.”
I looked outside.
“I was terrified.”
“I wish you'd told me.”
I laughed softly.
“I told you lots of things you didn't hear.”
He absorbed that without defending himself.
“Nia.”
“What?”
“I started therapy.”
I turned.
“You?”
He almost smiled.
“Yes. Apparently billionaires are permitted.”
“Who knew?”
“She asks annoying questions.”
“Good.”
“She thinks I confuse control with safety.”
“She sounds brilliant.”
“She also thinks I learned from my mother that love is something you manage.”
My amusement faded.
“Maybe.”
He looked out the window.
“I don't want them learning that from me.”
“They won't if you're aware of it.”
“Do you think people really change?”
I considered.
“Sometimes.”
“Do you think I can?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you're changing because you want me back.”
He looked at me.
“And if I am?”
“Then it won't last.”
He nodded.
“And if I'm changing because I hate who I was?”
“That has a better chance.”
We reached the house.
The driver carried bags.
Luca carried Noah.
As we entered, Ava came running downstairs.
“Is he okay?”
“Just sick,” I said.
She hugged her brother.
Then Luca.
Automatically.
He froze.
She released him and said, “Can I stay home too?”
“No,” we answered simultaneously.
Ava groaned.
Luca and I looked at each other.
For one dangerous second, we felt like a family.
Then reality returned.
Three weeks passed.
Police gathered evidence.
Isabella's attorneys attacked everything.
Evelyn cooperated with investigators.
She surrendered emails.
Messages.
Banking documents.
Then she asked to see me.
I almost refused.
Eventually, I agreed.
We met in a public park.
She looked different.
No designer coat.
No makeup.
No Moretti ring.
“I owe you more apologies than you'll ever want to hear,” she said.
“One is enough.”
She nodded.
“Then I'm sorry.”
We walked.
After several minutes, she said, “Luca loves you.”
I sighed.
“Evelyn.”
“He always did.”
“I don't want to discuss him with you.”
“Fair.”
She stopped.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“My father kept records.”
“Of the payments?”
“Everything.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where?”
“Private safe.”
“Did you give them to police?”
“I couldn't.”
“Why?”
She looked frightened.
“Because when I opened it, the records were gone.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who took them?”
“I think Isabella.”
“She can't approach you?”
“The restraining order only covers you and the children.”
“What was in the safe besides records?”
“A backup drive.”
“Of what?”
“Emails between my father, Isabella and Gabriel.”
Proof.
“Where would Isabella take it?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she remembered something.
“The Wisconsin house.”
My breath caught.
The property where Isabella had planned to take the twins.
We called police.
Detectives searched the house that evening.
They found documents burning in the fireplace.
They recovered a partially damaged hard drive.
And inside a locked upstairs room, they found something else.
A nursery.
Two beds.
Children's clothes.
Toys.
Recent photographs of Ava and Noah covered the walls.
When Luca saw the police images, he went white.
His mother hadn't planned a temporary kidnapping.
She had prepared to keep them.
Then investigators found a handwritten notebook beneath the mattress.
Most pages documented our schedules.
But the final page contained a sentence addressed to Luca.
When the children are raised correctly, someday you'll understand why I did this.
Luca stared at the handwriting.
Then quietly said, “She was never trying to protect me.”
“No,” I said.
“She was trying to own you.”
He looked at me.
I nodded toward the photographs.
“And now she wants to own them too.”
For the first time, Luca didn't look heartbroken about what might happen to his mother.
He looked resolved.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
His answer came quietly.
“Testify.”
May you like
Against his own mother.
And that decision would cost the Moretti family more than money.
