Chapter 1 - THE SEVENTY-MILLION-DOLLAR GOODBYE
The first time my husband told me I was no longer needed, I was lying in a hospital bed with thirty-two staples holding my abdomen together.
Four hours earlier, I had almost died bringing our quadruplets into the world.
Now Dante Moretti stood over me, holding divorce papers.
“Sign them, Sophia.”
His voice was as cold as the February rain striking the hospital windows.
I stared at the papers. Beside them lay a check for seventy million dollars.
“Where are my babies?”
Dante adjusted the cuff of his expensive black suit.
“In the neonatal intensive care unit. They're being looked after.”
“I want to see them.”
“You've already seen them.”
“For thirty seconds, Dante. Before they took me into surgery again.”
His jaw tightened.
“You need to rest.”
I laughed, although the movement sent pain through my stitches.
“That's what you're worried about? My rest?”
For three years, I had been Sophia Romano Moretti, wife of the most powerful crime boss on Chicago's North Side.
I had lived in a mansion with bulletproof windows, attended charity galas beside politicians who pretended not to know my husband's business, and learned to smile whenever someone asked whether I was happy.
But I had never felt as alone as I did in that hospital room.
Dante dropped the papers onto my blanket.
“Our marriage is over.”
I looked at him.
“Why now?”
“Because there's no reason to continue pretending.”
“And our children?”
“They're Morettis. They'll remain with my family.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“You cannot take my children away from me.”
“You're exhausted, emotional, and in no condition to raise four premature babies. They'll have everything they need.”
“They need their mother.”
“They need stability.”
I searched his face for the man who once held my hand through thunderstorms because he knew I hated lightning.
That man had vanished somewhere between our wedding day and the moment Isabella Russo entered his life.
“Isabella wants them?” I asked.
His silence answered.
Isabella had been Dante's mistress for nearly a year.
I knew because six months earlier, I'd discovered a diamond bracelet receipt in his jacket pocket.
Three weeks after that, I saw photographs of them leaving a hotel together.
When I confronted him, Dante told me the photographs were misleading.
I wanted to believe him.
I was pregnant, frightened, and still foolish enough to think love could survive anything.
Now he reached for his phone.
“Just sign.”
I took the pen.
My hand trembled.
“Seventy million dollars,” I whispered. “Is that what three years of marriage and four children are worth?”
“It's more than generous.”
I signed.
Sophia Romano Moretti.
Dante's shoulders relaxed.
He took the documents and immediately dialed a number.
“Isabella, sweetheart.”
His voice softened in a way I hadn't heard directed toward me in months.
“It's done. I'm finally free.”
I turned toward the window.
I would not give him the satisfaction of watching me cry.
“What about Sophia?” Isabella asked through the speaker.
“She accepted the money.”
“And the babies?”
“They're staying with us.”
Isabella laughed.
“Then tonight we celebrate.”
Dante left without saying goodbye.
The moment the door closed, I picked up my phone.
My best friend answered on the first ring.
“Emma.”
“Sophia? Are you all right?”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“But we're doing it.”
There was a long silence.
“Are you sure?”
“He's taking them, Emma.”
“Then we move to the emergency plan. But listen carefully. We are not risking those babies' lives.”
“I know.”
“You need a doctor to approve every transfer.”
“I know.”
“And you need to trust me.”
I closed my eyes.
Emma Hayes had been my best friend since college.
She was also a pediatric critical-care nurse who had spent the last six weeks helping me prepare for the possibility that Dante's family would attempt to separate me from my children.
We had arranged legal representation, a secure medical facility, and an independent neonatal transport team.
Everything was supposed to happen through the courts.
But Dante had moved first.
And I had discovered something terrifying during my pregnancy.
His family wasn't merely planning to take custody.
Someone was preparing to make me disappear.
At 11:40 that night, Emma entered my room wearing hospital scrubs.
Behind her stood Dr. Leah Foster, the neonatologist overseeing my babies' care.
Dr. Foster looked grim.
“Your husband has requested that all four infants be transferred to a private Moretti facility tomorrow morning.”
My stomach twisted.
“Can he do that?”
“Not without the required medical approvals and parental authorization. But he's applying pressure.”
Emma placed a folder beside me.
“Our attorney has filed an emergency petition. A judge is reviewing it tonight.”
I stared at her.
“Tonight?”
“Your husband doesn't own every courtroom in Chicago.”
For the first time that day, I felt something other than fear.
Hope.
Then Emma's phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“What?” I whispered.
She looked at Dr. Foster.
“Someone just tried to change the babies' transfer orders.”
“Who?” the doctor demanded.
Emma swallowed.
“Someone using Sophia's credentials.”
I stared at them.
“I haven't authorized anything.”
“We know,” Emma said.
Dr. Foster immediately contacted hospital security.
Twenty minutes later, the emergency custody order arrived.
It temporarily prohibited the infants' removal by either parent without medical approval and judicial review. The judge also authorized a medically supervised transfer to an independent neonatal center if the treating physicians considered it necessary for their safety.
Dr. Foster examined the records.
“The babies are stable enough for specialist transport,” she said, “but they cannot simply be carried out of here. They need monitored incubators and a full clinical team.”
“Then that's how we do it,” Emma replied.
At 2:15 a.m., four neonatal transport incubators were prepared under the supervision of the hospital's medical staff.
At 2:40, the first baby was moved.
My daughter, Grace.
Then came Oliver.
Then Benjamin.
Finally, our smallest baby, Lily, whose tiny fingers had wrapped around mine for three beautiful seconds after her birth.
I watched from a wheelchair, pale and shaking.
Emma pushed me toward the secured hospital loading area, where a licensed medical transport vehicle waited.
I was wearing a loose hospital gown beneath a coat, not the janitor's uniform we'd originally considered.
Dr. Foster had refused to let me walk.
“You nearly died today,” she reminded me. “Your children need you alive.”
The transport team checked every monitor.
Then Emma leaned toward me.
“Sophia, don't turn around.”
I froze.
Heavy footsteps echoed behind us.
A man stepped into the loading bay.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Wearing a black overcoat.
For one terrible second, I thought Dante had found us.
Then the man stepped into the light.
My breath caught.
“Luca?”
Luca Romano.
My older brother.
The man Dante had told me was dead.
He looked at the four incubators, then at me.
His face crumpled.
“Hello, little sister.”
And before I could ask how a dead man was standing in front of me, he said something that changed everything.
“Your husband didn't order your death, Sophia.”
May you like
I stared at him.
“Someone else did.”
