Chapter 2 - The Name My Wife Had Erased From Every Record
The name Sophia stayed in my head all morning.
I searched every database I controlled.
Hospitals.
Birth records.
Private clinics.
Adoption agencies.
Nothing.
No Sophia Moretti.
No Isabella Moretti listed with another child.
No birth certificate.
Nothing.
Clara watched me from the hospital room.
“You won't find her that way.”
“Why?”
“Because Isabella made sure you couldn't.”
“Why would my wife hide a child from me?”
Clara looked away.
“Because she believed you would kill for her.”
“I would.”
“That was the problem.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“She knew the people hunting her would use you.”
“Who?”
Clara didn't answer.
Instead, she asked:
“Where is Lily?”
“With my nanny.”
“Bring her.”
“Why?”
“Because Sophia's story begins with Lily.”
That frightened me more than anything else.
I called the nanny.
Within minutes, Lily came running into the room.
Clara smiled through tears.
“You look just like your mother.”
Lily looked at her.
“You knew Mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Was she nice?”
Clara laughed softly.
“She was the nicest person I ever knew.”
I sat beside Lily.
“Tell her about the other child.”
Clara looked at me.
Then at Lily.
“When your mother was pregnant with you, she was already protecting another little girl.”
Lily frowned.
“Another baby?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Clara's eyes filled.
“Hidden.”
“From Daddy?”
“Yes.”
Lily looked confused.
“Why?”
Clara looked at me.
“Because Isabella was afraid your father's enemies would use the baby to get to him.”
I felt a cold anger building.
“My enemies didn't know about her?”
“They did.”
“Who?”
“People inside your family.”
My mother.
My brother.
Someone else.
I stood.
“Tell me everything.”
Clara took a breath.
“Your wife discovered that your family's old accounts were being used to move money.”
“What kind?”
“Money connected to human trafficking.”
I went still.
“My family never—”
Clara interrupted.
“Isabella thought the operation had been shut down.”
“And?”
“It hadn't.”
She explained that Isabella discovered shipments coming through my docks.
She investigated.
She found records.
Names.
Payments.
And one recurring destination.
An abandoned facility in Pennsylvania.
She also found a child.
Sophia.
A baby whose biological mother was connected to one of the women trapped by the network.
Isabella had rescued her.
Not legally.
Not cleanly.
But she had done it.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she knew what you would do.”
“Kill everyone involved.”
“Yes.”
“And she didn't want Lily exposed to that war.”
I stared at Clara.
“What happened to Sophia?”
“She was hidden.”
“Where?”
“First with your wife's cousin.”
“Then?”
“After the cousin disappeared, Isabella moved her.”
“Where?”
Clara shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I stepped closer.
“You expect me to believe you know everything except where my daughter is?”
Clara began crying.
“Because I was supposed to take Sophia somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“Canada.”
I looked at the photograph.
“So why did you stay here?”
“I was intercepted.”
“By whom?”
She whispered:
“Matteo.”
My brother.
Again.
I didn't believe it.
I had spent seven years believing Matteo died in a car explosion.
But if Clara was telling the truth, he was alive.
And he had been involved in Sophia's disappearance.
I called Marco.
“Find Matteo.”
Marco didn't ask questions.
“Alive or dead?”
“Alive.”
He went silent.
Then:
“Understood.”
That evening, my mother arrived.
Eleanor Moretti.
Elegant.
Cold.
Always perfectly dressed.
She entered my study.
“I heard you've brought a stranger into the house.”
“Her name is Clara.”
“She knew Isabella.”
“So she claims.”
My mother sat.
“What does she want?”
“Nothing.”
“Everyone wants something.”
I placed the photograph on the desk.
Her eyes landed on it.
For one second, she lost control.
One second.
But I saw it.
“You've seen this.”
She picked up the photograph.
“Of course.”
“Where?”
“She was one of Isabella's friends.”
“Who is the woman?”
“Clara Bennett.”
“What child?”
My mother stared at the writing on the back.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
She looked up.
“You've become paranoid.”
“My wife died.”
“And grieving men see enemies everywhere.”
I leaned forward.
“My wife hid a daughter from me.”
My mother's expression changed.
“What did you say?”
“Do you know Sophia?”
Silence.
Then:
“You have one daughter.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is the only answer that matters.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
I stood.
“Get out.”
My mother didn't move.
“Alessandro…”
“Out.”
She left.
The moment the door closed, Marco entered.
“We have something.”
He placed a file on my desk.
A photograph of Matteo.
Alive.
Taken six months ago.
My hands tightened.
“Where?”
“Outside a private medical clinic.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“That means…”
“He survived.”
I stared at the photograph.
My brother was alive.
And he had been watching me.
Then Marco added:
“There's something else.”
He opened another file.
A bank transfer.
Six months ago.
Paid to a children's care facility in Vermont.
The beneficiary:
Sophia M.
I looked at him.
“Find the facility.”
We did.
It had been abandoned.
But one employee had kept an old intake ledger.
A little girl.
Age four.
Name given upon arrival:
Sofia Martinez.
Date of admission:
Three years earlier.
The age matched.
I stared at the photograph attached.
A little girl with dark curls and green eyes.
She had Isabella's eyes.
I couldn't breathe.
“That's her.”
Marco looked at me.
“We don't know.”
“I know.”
The ledger contained one handwritten note.
Transferred to private guardian.
Guardian name:
C. Bennett.
Clara.
I rushed upstairs.
Clara was gone.
Her bed was empty.
The window was open.
The guards were unconscious.
And on the pillow was one note.
You were never supposed to find her this soon.
May you like
Underneath was a name.
Matteo.
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