Chapter 2 - The Fifth Cradle

# Chapter 2 - The Fifth Cradle

The blood drained from Dominic Moretti's face when Elena whispered the number.

Five.

Not four.

Five babies.

For several seconds, he could do nothing but stare at the woman who had once been the center of his world.

Beyond the glass doors of Bellamy House's private dining room, four little boys were laughing over a plate of chocolate pastries. Matteo was attempting to balance a marshmallow on his nose while Nico insisted that such behavior was inappropriate in a fancy restaurant.

Four healthy, beautiful children.

Four sons Dominic had discovered less than an hour earlier.

And now Elena was telling him there had been another.

"Five?" he repeated.

Elena pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"Dominic, please."

"Elena. Look at me."

She shook her head.

"Not here."

"How many children did you give birth to?"

Her eyes filled.

"Five boys."

The words landed like stones in his chest.

Dominic looked through the glass again.

Luca.

Leo.

Nico.

Matteo.

And someone else.

A child whose name he didn't know.

A child whose face he had never seen.

"Where is he?"

Elena's expression crumpled.

"They told me he died."

Dominic felt the room tilt.

"Who told you?"

"The doctors. The hospital staff. Everyone."

"Did you see him?"

She closed her eyes.

"No."

"Did you hold him?"

"No."

"Did they give you a death certificate?"

Elena hesitated.

That hesitation was enough.

Dominic stepped closer.

"Elena."

"I was twenty-five years old," she whispered. "I was alone. I'd just delivered five premature babies by emergency cesarean section. I was barely conscious when someone told me the smallest one hadn't survived."

"Who?"

"I don't remember."

"Try."

Her eyes opened sharply.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk to me like I'm one of your employees."

Dominic stopped.

For a moment, something resembling shame crossed his face.

Elena wiped her cheeks.

"You think I haven't asked myself those questions? You think I haven't spent six years wondering whether I should have demanded to see him?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"It sounds exactly like what you're saying."

He looked away.

She was right.

And he hated that she was right.

He had spent his life believing every problem could be solved by asking the correct questions, applying sufficient pressure, or finding the right person to hold responsible.

But Elena's grief wasn't a business transaction.

And the child she had lost wasn't a missing asset.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Elena stared at him.

Perhaps because apologies had always been difficult for Dominic.

Perhaps because she had waited six years to hear him say those words.

Eventually, she nodded.

"I named him Gabriel."

Dominic looked back at her.

"Gabriel."

"He was the smallest. The doctors warned me before the delivery that one of them might not survive."

She swallowed.

"I thought if I gave him a name, he'd fight harder."

Dominic closed his eyes.

Gabriel Moretti.

His fifth son.

A child who might have lived only minutes.

Or, if that mysterious note meant what Dominic feared, a child who might still be alive somewhere.

"Tell me about the hospital."

Elena shook her head.

"I don't know what good that will do."

"Someone just handed Luca a message about Gabriel."

The name visibly hurt her.

Dominic softened his voice.

"Whoever wrote that note knows something. Something we don't."

Elena looked toward her children.

"And what if finding out puts the other four in danger?"

Dominic had no answer.

Because for the first time in his life, the threat wasn't directed at his companies, his reputation, or his own body.

It was directed at five children who shared his blood.

At 7:19 p.m., Dominic called his head of security.

"Marco."

"Boss. I've been trying to reach you."

"Forget whatever my family told you. I need you at Bellamy House."

A pause.

"Is something wrong?"

"Possibly."

"How many men?"

"Two. Discreet. Nobody comes near the private dining room without my permission."

"Understood."

"And Marco?"

"Yes?"

"Don't report our location to anyone."

Another pause.

"Not even Mrs. Moretti?"

"Especially not my family."

Dominic ended the call.

Elena watched him.

"You still have security following you everywhere?"

"Not everywhere."

"That's reassuring."

Despite everything, he almost smiled.

Her sarcasm was familiar.

Painfully familiar.

Then his phone vibrated again.

This time, a text from Sloane Barrett.

Your mother says you're refusing to answer. Dominic, both families are here. Whatever you're doing, stop humiliating me.

He stared at the message.

Sloane wasn't a cruel woman.

She was intelligent, sophisticated, and fully aware that their planned marriage was as much a business alliance as a romantic commitment.

They had never pretended otherwise.

But tonight, Dominic had allowed her to believe a proposal was coming.

And now he had abandoned her without explanation.

He typed a response.

I'm sorry. The engagement is canceled. I'll explain when I can.

He sent it before he could reconsider.

Elena noticed.

"What did you do?"

"Ended it."

"Dominic—"

"I'm not discussing Sloane right now."

"She doesn't deserve to be hurt because of me."

He studied Elena's face.

"Are you seriously worried about her?"

"I'm worried about what happens when the Barrett family discovers why you canceled."

Dominic's expression darkened.

That was different.

The Barretts controlled a substantial investment company with holdings in shipping, real estate, and private equity.

Sloane's father had supported several major Moretti acquisitions.

And Richard Moretti, Dominic's uncle, had spent two years encouraging the marriage.

A canceled engagement would cause embarrassment.

Four hidden heirs could cause something much worse.

A succession crisis.

Dominic had never considered children when discussing the family's future.

Now there were four.

Possibly five.

And every arrangement Richard had made concerning the Moretti fortune could suddenly become complicated.

"Did my uncle ever contact you?" Dominic asked.

Elena went still.

"Richard?"

"Yes."

She shook her head.

"Not directly."

"What does that mean?"

"After your father died, someone sent me money."

Dominic stared.

"What?"

"An account was opened in my name. Every month, a transfer appeared."

"From whom?"

"I don't know. The bank statements only listed a private trust."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

Dominic's jaw tightened.

"Every month?"

"For three years."

"Did you use it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Elena gave him a bitter look.

"Because I knew what accepting it would mean."

Dominic understood.

Silence purchased with money.

A financial leash disguised as generosity.

"What happened after three years?"

"The payments stopped."

"Why?"

"Because I returned every cent."

Dominic blinked.

Elena continued.

"I hired a lawyer. He traced the transfers through a company registered in Delaware. When he requested the identity of the trust's administrator, someone broke into his office."

"What was taken?"

"Only my file."

Dominic felt a chill.

"What's the lawyer's name?"

"Daniel Mercer."

He recognized it.

Not the man.

The surname.

Mercer.

Five years earlier, a forensic accountant named Thomas Mercer had been dismissed from one of the Moretti family's holding companies after allegedly stealing confidential financial information.

Dominic remembered Richard handling the matter personally.

"Is Daniel related to Thomas Mercer?" he asked.

Elena looked startled.

"His younger brother."

The silence between them changed.

Dominic felt the first pieces of a much larger puzzle moving into place.

Inside the dining room, Luca had been watching his mother.

At six years old, he didn't understand adult secrets.

But he understood fear.

His mother had looked frightened when she saw the tall man with the tattoos.

And now the man was making telephone calls while she cried.

Luca climbed down from his chair.

"Where are you going?" Leo asked.

"To ask something."

"Mom said stay here."

"I'm not leaving the room."

He walked to the glass door and knocked.

Dominic turned.

Luca motioned for him to come inside.

Elena wiped her face quickly.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Luca ignored the question.

He looked directly at Dominic.

"Are you our dad?"

The room became silent.

Elena stopped breathing.

Dominic crouched.

"Why do you ask?"

Luca frowned.

"Because you look like us."

Dominic waited.

"And Mom looks at you the way she looks at our old family pictures."

Elena closed her eyes.

Luca continued.

"She has one in her bedroom. A picture of her with a man. She keeps it in a drawer, but sometimes she takes it out."

Dominic looked at Elena.

She turned away.

The little boy stepped closer.

"Is that you?"

Dominic felt his throat tighten.

"Yes."

Luca considered this carefully.

"Then are you our father?"

There were a thousand things Dominic wanted to say.

That he hadn't known.

That he would have come.

That he would have searched the entire world if someone had told him four little boys were waiting for him.

Instead, he answered the only question that mattered.

"Yes, Luca. I am."

The boy stared.

Then he asked something Dominic would remember for the rest of his life.

"Why didn't you come to my birthday?"

Dominic's eyes burned.

Elena covered her mouth.

He reached for the boy's hand but stopped before touching him.

"Because I didn't know where you were."

Luca frowned.

"Mom didn't tell you?"

"No."

"Why?"

Dominic looked at Elena.

She was crying again.

He turned back to his son.

"Because some people made a very bad mistake."

Luca thought about that.

Then he nodded solemnly.

"Okay."

Dominic blinked.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're not angry?"

The child shrugged.

"You can come next time."

Dominic lowered his head.

For several seconds, he couldn't speak.

Then Luca put one small hand on his shoulder.

"My birthday is in October. Mom says we're having dinosaurs."

Dominic laughed once.

A broken, disbelieving sound.

"I like dinosaurs."

"Really?"

"Very much."

"Then you can come."

Behind Luca, Elena watched the exchange with an expression Dominic couldn't bear to examine.

Because hope was dangerous.

Hope was what had almost destroyed her six years earlier.

Marco arrived at 7:38 p.m.

He was forty-two, broad-shouldered, and had served Dominic faithfully for nearly a decade.

One look at Dominic's face told him this was no ordinary security problem.

"Boss?"

Dominic led him aside.

"There was a man here. Gray coat. He approached one of the children."

Marco glanced through the glass.

"Your relatives?"

Dominic hesitated.

"My sons."

Marco stared.

Then, wisely, he asked no questions.

"What do you need?"

"Security footage. Every camera. Entrance, corridor, parking garage."

"I'll speak to management."

"Quietly."

Marco nodded and left.

Elena approached Dominic.

"We shouldn't stay."

"Marco will make sure nobody follows us."

"That's what your father used to say."

Dominic stiffened.

She regretted the words immediately.

"I'm sorry."

"No."

He looked at her.

"Don't apologize for telling me the truth."

A few minutes later, Marco returned carrying a tablet.

"Found him."

He opened the security footage.

The image showed the restaurant's main entrance at 7:11 p.m.

A tall man in a charcoal-gray coat entered, kept his face turned away from the nearest camera, and moved toward the restrooms.

At 7:14, he emerged.

Luca appeared behind him holding the folded receipt.

The man then disappeared down a service corridor.

"Did he leave through the kitchen?" Dominic asked.

"Looks that way."

"Face?"

"Nothing clear."

Dominic watched the footage again.

Something about the man's posture seemed familiar.

The careful way he moved.

The slight stiffness in his left shoulder.

Marco paused the recording.

"There's something else."

He enlarged the man's wrist.

A silver watch was visible beneath the gray sleeve.

Dominic leaned closer.

The watch was distinctive.

A vintage Patek Philippe with a dark blue leather strap.

His father had owned one exactly like it.

A gift from Dominic's grandfather.

After Vittorio died, the watch had disappeared from the family safe.

Richard claimed it had been stolen during the confusion surrounding the funeral.

Dominic had never believed him.

"Can you identify the watch?" Marco asked.

Dominic straightened.

"I might."

Elena saw his expression.

"What is it?"

"Something that belonged to my father."

Her face tightened.

"Dominic, listen to me."

He turned.

"On the night your father threatened me, he was wearing a watch with a blue strap."

Dominic felt his stomach sink.

"You're certain?"

"Yes. I remember because he kept tapping it against the table while he spoke."

Marco looked between them.

"Should I contact the police?"

"Not yet," Dominic answered.

He replayed the footage.

The man passed beneath a ceiling light.

For one brief moment, the camera captured the side of his face.

Dominic froze.

"Marco. Stop."

The image paused.

He leaned closer.

The man wore a gray coat and dark glasses, but his left ear was visible.

There was a small crescent-shaped scar beneath it.

Dominic had seen that scar before.

Years earlier.

On a man who worked for his father.

A man everyone believed had disappeared after Vittorio's death.

"His name is Peter Voss," Dominic said.

Marco frowned.

"Voss? The family driver?"

"He wasn't just a driver."

"What was he?"

Dominic stared at the frozen image.

"My father's fixer."

At 8:02 p.m., Elena finally agreed to leave Bellamy House under Marco's protection.

The boys were delighted when Dominic offered to carry Matteo, who had fallen asleep after eating too many pastries.

Elena hesitated.

Then she nodded.

Dominic lifted the child carefully.

Matteo settled against his chest without waking.

The weight was almost nothing.

And everything.

As they approached the parking garage, Dominic noticed Elena watching him.

"What?" he asked softly.

She shook her head.

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

Her voice trembled.

"He used to cry every night when he was a baby."

"Matteo?"

"Yes. For almost six months, he wouldn't sleep unless someone held him."

Dominic looked down.

Matteo's small fingers were curled around his jacket.

"What did you do?"

"I held him."

"Every night?"

"Every night."

Dominic swallowed.

Elena continued quietly.

"Sometimes I was so exhausted I fell asleep sitting upright. But whenever I put him down, he woke up."

Dominic gently adjusted the boy's position.

"I wish I'd been there."

Elena looked away.

"So do I."

For a moment, there was no Moretti empire.

No canceled engagement.

No anonymous threats.

Only two people mourning a life they should have shared.

Then Marco approached.

"Boss. There's a problem."

Dominic immediately became alert.

"What?"

"Someone accessed the restaurant's security system remotely."

"When?"

"Four minutes ago."

"What did they do?"

"Deleted the camera footage from the service corridor."

Dominic's expression hardened.

"Did you save a copy?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Marco hesitated.

"That's not the worst part."

Dominic waited.

"The person who logged in used an administrative account registered to Moretti Holdings."

Elena went pale.

Dominic looked toward the dark parking garage.

Someone inside his own company was helping the man in the gray coat.

Someone with access to the family security infrastructure.

Someone who knew about Elena and the boys.

He reached for his phone.

Before he could dial, a notification appeared.

An email.

Unknown sender.

No subject.

One attachment.

Dominic opened it.

A scanned hospital document filled the screen.

At the top was the name of the medical facility where Elena had delivered six years earlier.

Beneath it were five numbered infant identification bands.

Dominic enlarged the fifth.

INFANT MALE E. ROSSI — BABY E

The status field did not read deceased.

It read:

TRANSFERRED — PRIVATE NEONATAL CARE

And beneath the transfer authorization was a signature.

Not Elena's.

Not Vittorio Moretti's.

Dominic stared at the name.

Richard A. Moretti.

His uncle.

The same uncle who had arranged his engagement.

The same uncle who had managed the family fortune since his father's death.

The same uncle who had insisted Dominic never speak Elena Rossi's name again.

Elena gripped his arm.

"Dominic?"

He couldn't answer.

Because the document contained one final detail.

A receiving address.

A private medical residence outside Boston.

And next to it, a handwritten note dated only three weeks earlier.

Patient Gabriel Rossi-Moretti. Age six. Condition stable. Guardian authorization required for relocation.

Elena read the words.

Her knees nearly buckled.

"He's alive."

Dominic caught her before she fell.

Then his phone rang.

The caller ID displayed:

RICHARD MORETTI

Dominic answered without speaking.

His uncle's familiar voice came through the line.

"Dominic, we've been waiting for you."

A pause.

Then Richard said something that turned Dominic's blood cold.

"Before you do anything foolish, understand this: Gabriel is alive because I kept him alive. And if you want to meet your fifth son, you will bring Elena to me. Alone."