Chapter 2 - THE SEVEN GOLDEN STITCHES
“Marco, I want you to tell me exactly what happened to my sister five years ago.”
Alessandro Moretti's words stopped his security chief in the middle of the marble hallway.
Marco Duca had faced armed enemies without blinking.
But tonight, standing beneath the golden chandeliers, he looked frightened.
“Boss, we went through this.”
“No,” Alessandro replied. “You told me Sophia disappeared. You never told me why.”
Isabella Bennett stood beside the entrance, holding the sleeping baby against her chest.
She had never seen Alessandro like this.
Three months earlier, he had watched silently while Vanessa Caldwell accused her of stealing a diamond bracelet.
Now he was questioning the man he trusted with his life.
Marco looked at the blanket.
His face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
Alessandro stepped between them.
“That's what we're trying to find out.”
Before Marco could answer, the front door opened.
A woman in a navy coat entered beside one of the security officers.
“Mr. Moretti? I'm Rebecca Hayes, the hospital social worker.”
She carried a leather folder and wore the exhausted expression of someone who had been working since sunrise.
“I'm sorry to interrupt, but we need to return the baby to St. Catherine's. The authorities have arranged temporary protective care while they investigate his identity.”
Isabella instinctively tightened her arms.
Rebecca noticed.
“You've taken wonderful care of him, Miss Bennett. But we have procedures to follow.”
“I understand,” Isabella whispered.
Alessandro approached carefully.
“May I have five minutes?”
Rebecca studied him.
“Five minutes. And I need to remain with the child.”
“Of course.”
That simple agreement surprised Isabella.
She had expected Alessandro to give orders.
Instead, he pulled a chair beside the fireplace for Rebecca.
Then he asked Isabella to sit.
For the first time since entering the mansion, someone noticed she was shivering.
“Marco,” Alessandro said, “bring her a dry coat and something warm to drink.”
Marco hesitated.
“Now.”
As his security chief disappeared, Alessandro crouched beside Isabella.
“May I see the blanket?”
She looked at Rebecca.
The social worker nodded.
Isabella carefully loosened the faded fabric around the baby.
A tiny golden crown appeared near the corner.
Alessandro touched the embroidery with one finger.
“My mother made this.”
His voice sounded nothing like the one that frightened half of Chicago.
“She was terrible at sewing straight lines. Sophia used to laugh at her.”
He turned the blanket over.
Then he froze.
Inside the folded corner were seven small golden stitches.
Three close together.
Four separated.
Alessandro counted them twice.
“My God.”
“What?” Isabella asked.
He looked up.
“My mother used those stitches to mark things she wanted us to remember.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“What kind of things?”
“Birthdays. Important dates. Sometimes messages.”
Alessandro carefully examined the hem.
“These aren't decorative.”
He ran his thumb along the stitching.
“Three and four.”
“Thirty-four?” Isabella suggested.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“March fourth.”
His expression darkened.
“That's the day my mother died.”
Silence settled over the room.
Alessandro's mother, Elena Moretti, had died twelve years earlier in what the family publicly described as complications from a heart condition.
Sophia had been fifteen.
Alessandro had been twenty-four.
He remembered his little sister sitting on their mother's bedroom floor, holding that blanket.
He remembered Sophia refusing to attend the funeral.
And he remembered something else.
Something he had spent twelve years trying to forget.
Three days before Elena died, she had begged Alessandro to inspect the family's charitable foundation.
He had promised to do it.
He never had.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Rebecca's voice brought him back.
“The baby needs to leave soon.”
Alessandro nodded.
Then Isabella noticed a small white label sewn beneath the blanket's hem.
“Wait.”
She leaned forward.
“There’s something underneath.”
Alessandro carefully lifted the edge.
The label was old and almost invisible.
Three letters had been written in faded blue ink.
E.M.H.
Marco returned carrying a wool coat and a tray of tea.
The moment he saw those letters, his hand jerked.
A cup rattled against its saucer.
Alessandro looked at him.
“You recognize them.”
Marco said nothing.
“Answer me.”
Marco set down the tray.
“Those initials belonged to your mother's private charity account.”
“Why would she sew them into Sophia's blanket?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
Marco looked toward Rebecca and the child.
Then he lowered his voice.
“Not here.”
Alessandro stood.
“You've had five years to tell me whatever you're hiding.”
“And I've spent five years trying to keep you alive.”
The words stunned everyone.
Even Rebecca looked up.
Marco immediately regretted speaking.
Alessandro stared at him.
“Explain.”
Marco swallowed.
“Your sister wasn't kidnapped, Alessandro.”
The room went still.
“She left Chicago voluntarily.”
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
“You told me she'd been taken.”
“I told you we couldn't find her.”
“You let me believe she was dead.”
Marco looked away.
“Because she asked me to.”
Alessandro stepped backward.
For five years, he had imagined Sophia frightened and helpless somewhere.
He had hired investigators.
He had searched hospitals.
He had offered rewards through people who never asked questions.
And all that time, Marco had known she might be alive.
“Why?”
Marco's voice cracked.
“Because Sophia discovered something your father had done.”
Alessandro's father, Vittorio Moretti, had died six years earlier.
He had been a hard man.
A dangerous man.
But Alessandro had believed there were lines even Vittorio wouldn't cross.
Marco looked at the baby.
“Your sister believed your mother's death was connected to a secret Vittorio buried inside the foundation.”
Rebecca stood.
“Whatever this involves, I need to notify the investigators. The child's safety comes first.”
“Agreed,” Alessandro said.
He surprised everyone again by stepping aside.
Isabella wrapped the baby securely.
As she rose, his tiny fist escaped the blanket.
Something silver slipped from his sleeve.
A small hospital bracelet.
Isabella frowned.
“That wasn't there when I found him.”
Rebecca examined it.
The bracelet was not from St. Catherine's.
It was older.
The printing had almost disappeared.
But beneath the faded letters was one handwritten word.
ELENA.
Alessandro stared.
“That was my mother's name.”
Marco closed his eyes.
“There's something else you should know.”
Alessandro slowly turned.
Marco took a breath.
“The bracelet wasn't made for this baby.”
“What are you talking about?”
Marco's face had gone pale.
“It belonged to the first child your mother tried to save.”
May you like
And then he said the words that changed everything.
“Alessandro, your father didn't build that foundation to rescue abandoned children. He built it to make them disappear.”
