Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO ERASED MY DAUGHTER
Marco Bellini had worked for Vincent Moretti for seventeen years.
He had seen men betray their brothers, businessmen trade secrets for money, and politicians smile while hiding terrible intentions.
But he had never been afraid of telling Vincent the truth until that morning.
“Boss, there are things you should understand.”
Vincent stood so quickly that the chair scraped against the hospital floor.
“Start talking.”
Marco glanced toward the pediatric ward.
“Not here.”
They walked outside into the cold November air.
Vincent barely noticed the wind.
“Four years ago,” Marco began, “Sophia took over your personal communications.”
“I remember.”
“She told the staff Claire had been calling to threaten you.”
Vincent stared.
“What?”
“She said your divorce attorney recommended limiting contact. She claimed Claire was trying to use the baby to manipulate you.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“And you believed her?”
Marco looked ashamed.
“I believed she was passing along your instructions.”
“Did I give those instructions?”
“You told me you didn't want to hear Claire's name again.”
Vincent remembered.
He remembered saying those words after drinking nearly half a bottle of whiskey.
He remembered being furious that Claire had refused to beg.
He remembered Sophia slipping her arms around his neck and whispering that his wife would return when she realized how difficult life could be.
At the time, his pride had felt more important than his marriage.
He had convinced himself Claire was punishing him.
And Lily—
He had barely allowed himself to think about Lily.
“Did anyone tell me she was hospitalized?” he asked.
Marco looked away.
“Once.”
The world seemed to stop.
“Who?”
“A woman from a hospital in Kentucky. She contacted our Chicago office and said there was an urgent family medical matter.”
“What happened?”
“Sophia handled it.”
Vincent's voice became dangerously quiet.
“And?”
“She said it was another attempt to get money.”
Vincent stepped backward.
A familiar anger rose in him, hot and poisonous.
But beneath it was something worse.
Recognition.
He had created the situation that allowed Sophia to silence Claire.
He had chosen not to check.
He had chosen to believe what was convenient.
“Find every record,” Vincent ordered.
Marco nodded.
“Phone logs, correspondence, bank transfers, everything.”
“And Marco?”
“Yes?”
“If I gave you an order that made you ignore my daughter's suffering, don't pretend Sophia is the only person responsible.”
Marco's face drained.
“I understand.”
Vincent walked away before his lieutenant could answer.
Back in Chicago, Sophia Reynolds sat in Vincent's private office, reviewing plans for a glamorous charity gala.
She was thirty now, beautifully dressed, and increasingly frustrated.
For four years, she had enjoyed the status of being the woman closest to Vincent Moretti.
Yet he had never married her.
He had never even proposed.
She lived in his mansion, attended events beside him, and appeared in carefully staged photographs that made their relationship look permanent.
But some nights, Vincent still slept in a separate bedroom.
Some nights, she heard him wandering the hallway outside the nursery Claire had once decorated.
Sophia hated that room.
She hated the yellow wallpaper.
She hated the little white crib.
Most of all, she hated that Vincent had never allowed anyone to dismantle it.
Her phone rang.
Marco.
“Vincent found Claire,” he said.
Sophia's hand stopped moving.
“What?”
“In West Virginia.”
Sophia stood.
“Why was he looking for her?”
“He wasn't. He met her while touring a hospital connected to the Moretti Foundation.”
“And the girl?”
Marco said nothing.
Sophia's stomach tightened.
“Marco?”
“Lily died two years ago.”
For several seconds, Sophia did not breathe.
Then she sat down.
“That's unfortunate.”
Marco's voice hardened.
“Unfortunate?”
“What would you like me to say?”
“She was Vincent's daughter.”
“And Claire's,” Sophia replied sharply. “Don't forget that.”
Marco was silent.
Sophia closed her eyes.
She had spent years convincing herself that Claire was a spoiled woman who would eventually remarry someone wealthy.
She had imagined Lily growing up somewhere comfortable, far away from Chicago.
She had never imagined a grave.
Or perhaps she had simply refused to imagine one.
“Vincent wants the communication records,” Marco said.
Sophia opened her eyes.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
She forced a laugh.
“He won't find anything.”
“That's what I thought you'd say.”
The call ended.
Sophia immediately opened her laptop.
Four years of archived messages sat behind an encrypted folder.
She had saved them for one reason.
Insurance.
Among them were voicemails from Claire.
Hundreds.
Most were angry.
Some were desperate.
One was dated eleven days before Lily died.
Sophia clicked it.
Claire's exhausted voice filled the room.
“Vincent, please. I know you hate me, but this isn't about us. Lily needs a specialist. The doctors say the transfer has to happen soon. Please call me. I'll sign anything you want. You never have to see me again. Just help her.”
Sophia stopped the recording.
Her hands were shaking.
For the first time in four years, she understood that the evidence she had kept to protect herself could destroy everything she had built.
Then her office door opened.
Vincent stood in the doorway.
May you like
His expression was unreadable.
“Play it again,” he said.
