Chapter 4 - The First Attempt to Take My Newborn Daughter Failed, but the Shooter Left Behind a Message From the Family That Had Been Hunting Her for Seventeen YearsSecurity rushed us into a protected room.
The hospital went into lockdown.
Luca stood beside the nursery.
He did not move.
His men searched every hallway.
The shooter was gone.
I held my daughter.
She was crying now.
I whispered:
“It's okay.”
Luca looked through the glass.
His expression softened.
Then he noticed something near the window.
A white envelope.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A young woman holding a baby.
Alessandra.
The baby had the crescent mark.
On the back:
WE FOUND HER.
Luca stared.
“This started seventeen years ago.”
I looked at him.
“How did they find my daughter?”
“Because someone told them.”
Derek sat on the bed.
“My mother.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“She knows.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Brittany began crying.
“I didn't know any of this.”
Luca looked at her.
“Then why were you with Derek?”
She lowered her head.
“I thought he loved me.”
I almost laughed.
“Did you know he was married?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know about the baby?”
“No.”
“Did you know he was hiding the genetic test?”
“No.”
She looked terrified.
Luca turned toward Derek.
“Call your mother.”
Derek did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a message arrived.
Don't contact me again.
Attached was an address.
A private warehouse.
We went.
Luca insisted I stay behind.
I refused.
“My daughter is involved.”
He stared at me.
“You don't belong there.”
“I am her mother.”
That ended the argument.
We went.
Inside the warehouse were files.
Old hospital records.
Photos.
Birth certificates.
Genealogy charts.
And my mother's name.
I walked toward them.
One document showed:
Alessandra Moretti — deceased.
Then:
Child — transferred.
Then:
Guardian — Elena Bell.
My mother's name.
I couldn't breathe.
The child was raised under my mother's guardianship.
That meant my mother had known the secret.
She had protected the baby.
Then another document revealed something horrifying.
ELENA BELL — DISAPPEARED.
My mother hadn't simply died.
She had been killed.
Because she had refused to reveal where the heir had gone.
I touched the page.
Luca stood beside me.
“You didn't know.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Neither did I.”
For the first time, I realized we had something in common.
We had both lost someone because of a secret.
And now, that secret was lying in a hospital crib.
My daughter.
Luca's family.
Our responsibility.
We found one final piece.
A surveillance photo.
My mother carrying a baby.
The date seventeen years ago.
Then a note:
The heir was successfully relocated.
I stared.
“Who is this baby?”
Luca whispered:
“Someone connected to your daughter.”
The file didn't name her.
But there was one clue.
A crescent mark.
The same one.
Then a message arrived on Luca's phone.
Bring the baby to St. Vincent's Church.
Come alone.
Luca looked at me.
“No.”
“We aren't obeying.”
May you like
He closed the message.
“We're finding out who sent it.”
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