Chapter 3 - THE EMPTY CRIB
Nobody moved.
Matteo stared at Nico’s phone.
Then he laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the alternative was anger.
“You think I parked outside some hidden clinic watching Lorenzo’s daughter?”
Nico did not answer.
Matteo looked at Lorenzo.
“You know where my car was three weeks ago.”
“No,” Lorenzo said.
Matteo’s expression tightened.
“My nephew borrowed it.”
“What nephew?”
“Anthony.”
Lorenzo remembered him.
Twenty-four years old. Expensive habits. No discipline.
“Why?”
“He totaled his Mercedes. I gave him one of the fleet cars.”
Nico was already typing.
Matteo shook his head.
“You’re really doing this?”
“If Lucia is alive,” Lorenzo said quietly, “I’ll investigate God Himself.”
That silenced everyone.
Within twelve minutes, Lorenzo’s convoy was moving through Brooklyn beneath a hardening rain.
He left Matteo at the mansion.
That decision hurt more than he expected.
For nearly three decades, Matteo had sat beside him during every war, funeral and betrayal.
Tonight, his seat was empty.
Sophia rode in the second SUV with Emma.
Nico sat beside Lorenzo.
Neither spoke until they reached the expressway.
Then Nico said, “Anthony Rinaldi left the country nine days ago.”
“Where?”
“No passenger manifest.”
“Private flight?”
“Looks that way.”
“Owned by?”
“A shell company.”
Lorenzo stared through the rain-slick windshield.
“Find the company.”
“I already have people on it.”
St. Catherine’s House stood behind an iron gate on a quiet Queens street.
It looked peaceful.
That disturbed Lorenzo.
Places hiding terrible things almost always looked peaceful.
A nun opened the door.
“Sister Margaret?”
The elderly woman studied him.
“You are Lorenzo DeLuca.”
He wondered if that was a question.
“Yes.”
Something like fear moved through her eyes.
Then resignation.
“I knew you would come eventually.”
Nico’s hand moved beneath his jacket.
Lorenzo stopped him.
“Where is my daughter?”
Sister Margaret looked at Sophia.
“You should not have returned.”
Sophia’s voice shook.
“Is Lucy here?”
The nun closed her eyes.
“No.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“When did she leave?”
“Two hours ago.”
His jaw tightened.
“Who took her?”
“A physician.”
“Name.”
“Dr. Carlo Benedetti.”
Lorenzo felt as if someone had struck him.
Carlo Benedetti had been the DeLuca family physician for twenty-two years.
He had signed Isabella’s death certificate.
He had supervised the identification of her body after the crash.
And he had been the man who placed a hand on Lorenzo’s shoulder and told him there was no reason to perform further DNA testing.
The burns were severe, he had said.
But the necklace and dental records confirm Isabella.
Lorenzo walked past Sister Margaret.
She grabbed his sleeve.
“You cannot go upstairs.”
He turned his eyes toward her.
Her hand fell away.
He climbed.
The third-floor room had blue stars painted across the ceiling.
Exactly like the photograph.
A white crib stood beside the window.
Empty.
Lorenzo approached it slowly.
A stuffed lamb lay near the pillow.
There was also a bottle.
Still warm.
His daughter had been there perhaps an hour earlier.
Maybe less.
He gripped the wooden rail.
For eight months, Lucia had existed only inside memories that were barely memories at all.
Her tiny fingers curling around his thumb.
A cry from the hospital bassinet.
The way Isabella had whispered, “She has your serious eyebrows.”
He had been afraid to hold Lucia at first.
He had told Isabella his hands were too large.
Isabella laughed and placed their daughter against his chest.
Now Lorenzo pressed one hand over his mouth.
Nico remained near the door.
He pretended not to see his boss break.
Sophia entered several moments later.
“There’s something else.”
Lorenzo wiped his face.
“What?”
She opened a drawer beside the crib.
Inside were diapers, medicine, folded clothes.
And a small silver bracelet.
Lorenzo recognized it immediately.
LUCIA ISABELLA DELUCA.
The identification bracelet from the maternity ward.
His knees almost gave out.
“She’s alive.”
Sophia nodded through tears.
“She’s alive.”
Lorenzo closed his fist around the bracelet.
“Then Benedetti dies.”
“No.”
Sister Margaret stood in the doorway.
“You kill him, you may never find the woman.”
Lorenzo turned.
“What woman?”
The nun stared at him.
“The baby’s mother.”
The room became silent.
Lorenzo crossed the distance between them.
“Isabella is alive?”
“I did not say that.”
“You said the baby’s mother.”
“I never saw her.”
“Explain.”
Sister Margaret folded her hands.
“The child was delivered here seven months ago by Dr. Benedetti. Every month, instructions came with cash. Sometimes medicine. Sometimes clothing.”
“From whom?”
“We were told the child belonged to a protected witness.”
Lorenzo almost laughed.
“You believed that?”
“I believed someone dangerous wanted her hidden.”
“That part was true.”
The nun lowered her voice.
“Once, three months ago, we received a package.”
“What package?”
“A recording.”
“For the baby.”
“Where is it?”
“I destroyed it.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
Sister Margaret shook her head quickly.
“After making a copy.”
She led them downstairs to a narrow office.
From a locked cabinet, she removed a small digital recorder.
“My conscience was stronger than my instructions,” she said.
Lorenzo took it.
His thumb rested over the play button.
He was suddenly afraid again.
He pressed it.
Static.
Breathing.
Then a woman’s voice.
Weak.
Broken.
But unmistakable.
“Lucia, my love…”
Lorenzo gripped the desk.
Isabella.
“My beautiful little moon. If they ever let you hear this, remember that your mother loved you every second. Your father loves you too. Whatever they tell you about him, do not believe—”
A male voice cut through the recording.
“That’s enough.”
Isabella shouted something.
There was a struggle.
The audio ended.
Lorenzo stood motionless.
Sophia was crying.
Nico stared at the floor.
Even Sister Margaret looked shaken.
Then Lorenzo replayed the final two seconds.
“Again,” Nico said.
Lorenzo did.
Isabella’s voice came through beneath the struggle.
Three words.
“Matteo knows everything.”
Nobody spoke.
Lorenzo replayed it again.
Matteo knows everything.
His best friend.
His brother in everything except blood.
Lorenzo’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
Nico immediately said, “Don’t.”
Lorenzo answered.
A video appeared.
Live.
Isabella sat tied to a chair.
Her hair was longer.
Her face thinner.
A bruise darkened one cheek.
But she was alive.
Alive.
Lorenzo made a sound nobody in the room had ever heard from him.
Her eyes lifted toward the camera.
“Lorenzo?”
He touched the screen.
“Bella.”
She began sobbing.
Then a man stepped behind her.
Only his torso was visible.
Dark suit.
White shirt.
And on one hand, a silver serpent ring.
The distorted voice said:
“You should have left the dead buried.”
The camera moved closer to Isabella.
“Now you have a choice.”
Lorenzo’s voice turned deadly.
“What choice?”
The man laughed.
“Your fiancée…”
The camera shifted.
Another feed appeared.
A black SUV moving through the rain.
Inside it, Lorenzo saw a white baby blanket.
“…or your daughter.”
May you like
The screen went black.
And for the first time in his life, Lorenzo DeLuca had no idea which person he loved he was about to lose.
