Chapter 2 - The Whisper in the Dark
The library of the Moretti estate smelled of old leather, expensive bourbon, and burning oak from the massive stone fireplace. It was the room where empires were carved up and enemies were sentenced to silence.
Rocco sat behind his heavy oak desk, the hospital bracelet resting on a black velvet cloth directly in front of him like a cursed artifact. He had dismissed the lawyers and the guards, leaving only Marcus and little Sophia, who refused to put the baby down, sitting quietly in a high-backed leather chair that swallowed her small frame. Elena stood nervously near the double doors, wringing her hands in her apron.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Marcus re-entered the room alone, his face darker than usual.
"Well?" Rocco demanded, not looking up. "Is Alistair in the cellar?"
"No, Boss," Marcus said, his voice unusually strained. "Alistair isn't in the cellar, and he isn't at his townhouse in Georgetown. My men found his car parked near the harbor with the engine still warm. The driver’s side door was open, and his medical bag was on the passenger seat. But Alistair is gone."
Valentina glided into the library a moment later, having changed from her silk robe into a sharp, tailored black pantsuit that signaled she was ready for business. Her face was a mask of sympathetic concern.
"A classic flight response," Valentina said softly, walking over to place a delicate hand on the back of Rocco’s chair. "It proves what I said, darling. Alistair panicked because his treachery was uncovered. He stole the child from someone else—perhaps a surrogate or a mistress—and when he realized the police or our men were closing in, he tried to dump the baby near our estate to shift the blame onto us."
Rocco didn't pull away from her touch, but he didn't lean into it either. He picked up the plastic bracelet, his thumb tracing the embossed letters.
"A surrogate, Valentina?" Rocco’s voice was dangerously quiet. "You claim this is some random infant smuggled by a corrupt doctor to cover a gambling debt. Yet the hospital code printed on this band is registered exclusively to the private maternity wing that only you and I managed during your pregnancy."
Valentina’s hand went completely still on the back of his chair. "Are you implying... are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?"
"I am not implying anything yet," Rocco said, standing up so abruptly that his chair rolled back and hit the bookshelf with a heavy thud. He towered over her, his eyes cold and devoid of any warmth they had shared over the last decade. "I am stating facts. The child was found fifty yards from the kitchen door—an area accessible only through the service elevator that requires a master biometric override code. A code that only three people in this entire state possess: Myself, Marcus, and you."
The library fell into a dead, suffocating silence.
Sophia clutched the baby tighter as the infant let out a soft, whimpering sigh, stirring against her chest. The sound seemed to pierce the heavy tension in the room.
"You think I would throw my own flesh and blood into the trash?" Valentina’s voice rose, theatrical and laced with righteous fury, though her eyes darted toward Marcus with a quick, calculating flash. "After everything I sacrificed to build this family with you? After the miscarriage we suffered in Zurich? You would listen to a street-cleansing maid and an eight-year-old beggar girl over your own wife?"
"Watch your tongue, Valentina," Rocco warned, his voice a low growl. "Sophia is more honest than every judge in this city combined."
Before Valentina could retort, Marcus stepped forward, holding a sleek, secure-line satellite phone. "Boss, you’re going to want to take this. It’s the port authority in Baltimore. They just ran the license plates on the vehicle parked near Alistair’s disappearance."
Rocco snatched the phone from Marcus’s hand. "Speak."
"Mr. Moretti," a gruff voice came through the speaker. "We pulled the traffic cameras near the harbor where Dr. Alistair’s car was abandoned. Alistair didn't jump. He was loaded into the back of a black van registered to a shell corporation linked to the Vanguard Shipping Group—one of your primary overseas logistics partners."
Rocco’s eyes narrowed into slits. Vanguard Shipping was managed entirely by Valentina’s younger brother, Julian Vance, who supposedly lived a quiet life managing overseas import-export accounts in London.
"Julian," Rocco whispered, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
May you like
Valentina gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, though the performance was fractionally too late to seem entirely genuine. "Julian? No... my brother wouldn't... why would Julian be involved in any of this?"
Rocco slowly lowered the phone, his face hardening into a mask of pure, unadulterated wrath. The system he had trusted had been corrupted from the inside out, and the rot led straight to his own bed.
