Chapter 1 - The Name That Made Him Freeze
“Mrs. Moretti left with Marcus Bennett.”
Alexander’s hand loosened from his assistant’s collar.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Marcus Bennett.
My older brother.
The one man in Chicago who had never been impressed by Alexander Moretti’s name, money, armed guards, or reputation. Marcus had been a prosecutor before leaving public service to build a private investigations firm. He had opposed my marriage from the beginning, and Alexander had never forgiven him for it.
“Where?” Alexander asked.
His voice had changed.
It was no longer the furious voice of a Mafia boss demanding an answer. It was quieter. Sharper. More dangerous because the anger had collapsed into fear.
His assistant, Luca Romano, swallowed. “I don’t know yet. Mr. Bennett picked her up outside her attorney’s office. They changed vehicles twice. We lost them near the Wisconsin line.”
Alexander turned toward the windows of his study.
Chicago glittered below him, cold and bright beneath the October sky.
Three days.
I had been gone for three days, and he had not even noticed.
He had been too busy being angry that I had embarrassed him with divorce papers. Too busy telling himself I would cool down. Too busy assuming the woman who had loved him for five years would eventually return to the house she had made into a home.
But I had not returned.
And now I was carrying his child.
Two months pregnant.
Alexander pressed one hand to the edge of his desk.
For the first time since Luca had known him, the man looked unsteady.
“Did she know?” Alexander asked.
Luca hesitated. “Know what?”
“That she was pregnant when she left me.”
“I don’t know.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened.
Then his eyes shifted to the divorce papers still sitting on the corner of his desk.
He remembered the way I had looked at him that morning.
Calm.
Too calm.
I had not screamed about Olivia. I had not thrown dishes. I had not demanded to know why his secretary had been on our anniversary trip.
I had signed my name.
I had lifted my suitcase.
And when he had asked how I planned to survive without him, I had looked at him as if something inside me had already died.
At the time, he had mistaken my silence for weakness.
Now he understood what it had been.
Finality.
“Get the car,” he said.
“Boss, we don’t have an address.”
“Then find one.”
Luca did not move.
Alexander turned.
“What?”
“There’s something else you should know before you go after her.”
Alexander’s expression hardened.
Luca placed a thin black folder on the desk.
“I checked the island staff, the flight manifests, and the booking records.”
Alexander opened the folder.
At first, his face showed nothing.
Then the room changed.
The silence became almost physical.
The original reservation showed two seats from Chicago to St. Thomas on the private connection that would take us to Moretti Cay.
Alexander Moretti.
Claire Moretti.
My name had been on the booking.
The ticket had been correct.
It had been changed forty-eight hours before departure.
Not by the airline.
Not by a travel agent.
By Olivia Hayes.
She had canceled my seat manually, rebooked me for the next day, and inserted her own name beside Alexander’s.
Alexander flipped to the next page.
There were emails.
Olivia had instructed the island manager to prepare the east villa for her arrival.
She had ordered a birthday cake.
She had arranged champagne.
And she had specifically requested that no anniversary flowers be placed in the master suite until “Mrs. Moretti arrives tomorrow.”
Alexander’s fingers went still on the paper.
The mistake had never been a mistake.
Of course, I had already known that.
I had seen the messages.
But he had not.
He had believed Olivia when she apologized in that breathy voice and told me she felt terrible.
He had defended her.
He had told me not to overthink it.
Now the proof sat in his hands.
“Where is she?” Alexander asked.
Luca frowned. “Claire?”
“Olivia.”
“At the office. She came in about an hour ago.”
Alexander walked out of the study.
He did not wait for his coat.
He did not call ahead.
The Moretti headquarters occupied the top floors of a black-glass tower along the river. Men who had worked for Alexander for years stepped out of his path before he reached them.
Olivia was standing beside her desk when he entered the executive suite.
She smiled immediately.
“Alexander. I was just about to call you.”
He tossed the folder onto her desk.
Her smile disappeared.
“What is this?” he asked.
Olivia looked down.
She did not touch the papers.
“I can explain.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She glanced toward the open office doors.
Several employees were watching.
“Can we talk privately?”
“No.”
Alexander’s voice carried across the entire floor.
“You wanted my wife to believe her ticket was accidentally changed. You wanted her off that plane. You wanted to sit beside me. You wanted to be on that island before she arrived.”
Olivia’s face flushed.
“I was afraid of flying alone.”
Alexander laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“So you canceled my wife’s ticket.”
“I made a stupid decision.”
“You lied to her.”
“I was going to fix it.”
“You sent her a photograph of me half-dressed.”
That finally silenced her.
Alexander stepped closer.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Olivia’s eyes filled with tears so quickly that, months earlier, he would have softened.
This time he only looked tired.
“Alexander, I was drunk. We were both drinking. You were upset. I thought Claire was going to leave you anyway.”
His head lifted.
“What did you just say?”
Olivia froze.
“You thought Claire was going to leave me?”
“I only meant—after the argument six months ago—”
“I never told you about that argument.”
Olivia’s mouth closed.
That was the first crack.
Alexander saw it.
And once he saw it, he could not stop seeing all the things he had ignored.
Olivia knowing when I was angry before he told her.
Olivia appearing in rooms she had not been invited into.
Olivia casually mentioning private details about our marriage.
Olivia always crying at exactly the right time.
“Who told you?” he asked.
“No one.”
“Wrong answer.”
She took a step back.
Alexander did not raise his voice.
“Pack your desk. You’re done.”
Her face changed.
Not into sadness.
Not into panic.
Into something cold.
“You can fire me,” she said softly. “But that won’t bring Claire back.”
Alexander’s eyes narrowed.
Olivia picked up her purse.
“And if I were you,” she continued, “I’d worry less about where your wife went and more about what she took with her.”
Alexander went still.
“What did she take?”
Olivia smiled faintly.
For the first time, he saw a stranger where his secretary had been.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Then she walked past him.
Alexander did not stop her.
He stood beside her desk for several seconds before pulling out his phone.
“Luca.”
“I’m here.”
“Go to the house. Check Claire’s office. Check the safe. Check every drawer she used. Tell me what’s missing.”
Twenty minutes later, Luca called back.
“The jewelry is mostly here. Her passport is gone. Personal documents are gone. Clothes, medication, laptop.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
“And?”
“There’s one thing I don’t recognize.”
“What?”
“A hidden compartment in the back of the study cabinet. Empty now. But there’s an envelope taped inside.”
“Bring it.”
Luca arrived less than half an hour later.
The envelope was old, cream-colored, sealed with faded black wax.
Alexander recognized the handwriting before he touched it.
His mother’s.
Elena Moretti had been dead for seven years.
On the front of the envelope were six words.
For Claire, if the Hayes girl returns.
Alexander stared at the name.
Hayes.
Then he tore the envelope open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He read the first line.
And all the color drained from his face.
May you like
Alexander,
If you are reading this, then Claire is no longer safe beside you.
