Chapter 6 - echoes from the past
The penthouse seemed to shrink as the implications settled over the room.
If Viktor Cole was murdered at midnight, the entire narrative collapsed. The duffel bags Elena had seen, the nanny in the service elevator, the gold card—none of it was Viktor’s doing. Someone had killed Lorenzo’s chief of security first, stole his credentials, and used his name to execute a strike straight into the heart of the Moretti household.
“Lock the building down,” Lorenzo ordered instantly. His voice was steady, but the veins on his temples bulged. “Nobody leaves this floor. Not the staff, not the guards, not Evans.”
Marco immediately stepped toward the private security console, keying in the lockdown sequence that sealed the penthouse blast doors.
Elena stepped backward toward the wall, her instincts screaming. She was trapped in the lion’s den, surrounded by armed men who were suddenly looking at everyone with suspicion.
Across the room, Sofia stirred on the leather couch. Without her mother or the warmth of Elena’s arms, the infant began to let out a sharp, distressed wail.
Dr. Evans tried to soothe her, rocking the bundle, but Sofia’s cries grew louder, her little face turning bright red as she gasped for breath. Lorenzo stepped over, awkwardly attempting to cradle his daughter, but the baby squirmed against his tailored suit, shrieking with an intensity that rattled the quiet room.
Elena couldn’t stop herself. Her foster instincts overrode her fear.
“Give her to me,” Elena said softly.
Lorenzo turned, his jaw clenched, but the distress in his eyes was unmistakable. He hesitated for only a second before extending the child toward Elena.
The moment Elena took Sofia into her arms and pressed the baby’s damp curls against her neck, humming a low, wordless lullaby she remembered from her own childhood, Sofia’s screams slowed to a whimper. Within thirty seconds, the baby nestled into Elena’s collarbone and went completely still, clutching Elena’s worn gray apron with one tiny hand.
Lorenzo watched them, completely motionless. A flicker of something ancient and unreadable crossed his rugged face.
“She doesn't take to strangers,” Lorenzo murmured, almost to himself. “Not even her wet nurses.”
“She’s terrified,” Elena replied quietly, keeping her eyes on the baby. “She knows the smell of my coat. I was the first thing that kept her warm after the cold.”
Lorenzo looked at the platinum medallion resting against Elena’s fingers. The lion gripping the dagger.
“Do you know what that pendant is, Elena?” Lorenzo asked quietly.
“Your family crest,” she answered. “I’ve seen your men wear it on their cuffs.”
Lorenzo shook his head slowly. “The cufflinks are modern. But that specific chain—that pendant—was forged in Palermo eighty years ago. There are only two in existence. One is around Sofia’s neck.”
Elena looked up. “And the other?”
“The other was buried three years ago,” Lorenzo said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Around the neck of my wife, Clara. In a sealed casket after her car went off the bridge on the Saw Mill Parkway.”
Elena felt a chill race down her spine. “Why would Sofia be wearing it tonight?”
“She wasn't,” Lorenzo said, his eyes drilling into Elena’s. “Sofia was asleep in her crib wearing a silver baptismal cross when I kissed her goodnight at ten p.m. Whoever took my daughter didn't just kidnap her. They went into the private family vault in the basement of this tower, opened Clara’s personal lockbox, and put Clara’s pendant on Sofia’s neck before throwing her away.”
Marco looked up from the monitor, his face completely pale. “Boss… the vault code is biometric. Only three people have the retina scans to open Clara’s vault.”
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Lorenzo didn’t look back at Marco. He kept his eyes locked on Elena.
“I know,” Lorenzo whispered. “And one of them died three years ago.”
