Chapter 4 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
The note was written in Richard’s precise, architectural handwriting.
I know about the clinic in Ohio, Clare. And I know about the boy.
Dante stared at the paper as the SUV aggressively took the winding curves up into the Hollywood Hills. The massive iron gates of his compound swung open, revealing a sprawling, modern fortress surrounded by high walls and armed guards.
“What clinic?” Dante demanded, his voice tight. “What is he talking about?”
I felt a cold sweat break out across my neck. I looked at Leo, sleeping peacefully in his car seat.
“Before Maya was born,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “I worked as a fertility nurse at a private clinic in Cleveland. It was highly exclusive. Billionaires, politicians, people who wanted absolute discretion.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “My wife and I used a clinic in Cleveland. We tried for three years before we had Leo. We used a surrogate.”
“I know,” I breathed, the crushing weight of the truth finally forcing its way out of my chest. “Dante, I was the nurse who handled your wife’s file.”
Silas hit the brakes. The SUV jerked to a halt in the grand driveway of the compound.
Dante didn’t move. He stared at me, his mind racing to connect the pieces.
“You knew who I was on the plane,” Dante said slowly. “When you offered to nurse him. You didn’t just recognize my name from the news.”
“I recognized his face,” I cried softly. “Leo has his mother’s eyes. When I saw him crying, I knew who he was. I knew he was your son. But Richard... Richard used my security badge a year ago to hack into the clinic’s database. He was looking for blackmail material on wealthy clients. He must have found your file.”
“He knew Leo was born via surrogate,” Dante realized, his voice dropping to a horrifying whisper. “He knew my wife would be traveling to the clinic for the final paperwork. That’s how he knew where to plant the bomb.”
I covered my face with my hands, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he copied the files until it was too late. I’m the reason he found her.”
I waited for the explosion. I waited for the mafia boss to drag me out of the car and throw me to the wolves.
Instead, Dante unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned across the center console, and wrapped his arms around me.
He pulled me against his chest. He smelled like expensive cologne and pure, raw masculinity.
“You did not kill my wife, Clare,” Dante said fiercely into my hair. “Richard did. You are a victim of that monster just as much as I am. You saved my son tonight. Do not carry a guilt that belongs to a dead man.”
I clung to his lapels, crying until my chest ached. It was the first time in five years a man had held me to comfort me, not to control me.
When we finally walked into the compound, the opulence was staggering. Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing grid of Los Angeles, and an army of staff.
A kind, older housekeeper named Maria immediately took Maya and Leo, escorting them to a secure nursery wing.
Dante led me to a massive study. He poured us both a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter.
“Drink this,” he ordered gently. “It’ll calm your nerves.”
I took a sip. It burned my throat but warmed my frozen chest.
“Richard isn’t just trying to drag me back to be his punching bag,” I said, looking at the fire crackling in the hearth. “If he knows I’m with you, he’ll use me as leverage. He knows I can tie him to the clinic hack. He needs to silence me.”
“He will never touch you again,” Dante swore, sitting on the edge of his mahogany desk. “My men are tracing the flight he took. We’ll find where he’s hiding in LA.”
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors to the study swung open.
Silas walked in. He was holding a large, flat manila envelope. He looked deeply disturbed.
“Boss,” Silas said, holding the envelope out. “This was just left at the front gate. The guards didn’t see who dropped it. It was completely blind.”
Dante set his glass down. He took the envelope and tore it open.
He pulled out a piece of construction paper.
He stared at it, his jaw clenching so hard I thought his teeth would shatter.
“What is it?” I asked, standing up.
Dante slowly turned the paper around so I could see it.
All the air rushed out of the room.
It was a child’s drawing. Done in bright crayons. It was a picture of a little girl with a stuffed rabbit, holding hands with a taller man holding a baby.
I recognized the scribbled sun in the corner. I recognized the blue crayon.
“Maya drew this,” I whispered, horrified. “She drew this on the plane, right before she fell asleep.”
I ran to the desk and snatched the paper. I flipped it over.
Written in thick black marker on the back was a single sentence.
Did you really think the man in the gray suit was the only one on the plane watching them?
My knees buckled. Dante caught me before I hit the floor.
May you like
Richard hadn’t just tracked my flight. He had a mole inside Dante’s inner circle. Someone who had walked off that plane with us. Someone who had access to my daughter’s backpack.
And they were inside the compound right now.
