Chapter 2 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WALKED OUT ALONE
Lily’s note contained only seven words.
I’m sorry. Mommy can stay now. — Lily
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My men stood around the servants’ entrance waiting for orders, but for several seconds I could not produce one.
Poppy lay beside the note.
That bothered me almost as much as Lily being gone.
The rabbit was filthy, half bald, and missing one plastic eye.
Lily carried it everywhere.
Breakfast.
Bath time.
The garden.
My study.
Once, during a thunderstorm, she had refused to enter the basement shelter until someone went upstairs and rescued Poppy.
A child who loved a stuffed rabbit that much did not simply forget it.
She had left it deliberately.
Because she believed disappearing meant leaving everything behind.
Including the things she loved.
“Alessandro?”
Clara’s voice came from behind me.
I turned.
She wore a cardigan over her nightgown.
Bare feet.
Hair loose.
Her face was confused.
Then she saw Poppy.
Everything changed.
“Where is Lily?”
Nobody answered.
She looked at me.
“Where is my daughter?”
I held out the note.
Her hand shook while she read it.
Then Clara made a sound I hope never to hear again.
Not screaming.
Worse.
A mother realizing the world is suddenly missing her child.
“No.”
She ran toward the door.
I caught her arm.
“She can’t be far.”
“Don’t touch me!”
I released her immediately.
“You told us to leave.”
Her eyes burned into me.
“You ordered us out because of something my brother did, and she heard you.”
“I know.”
“She thought she was the reason.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know!”
Everyone in the hallway became very interested in the floor.
People did not speak to Alessandro Romano that way.
Clara did.
Good.
I deserved worse.
I turned toward Marco Bellini, head of estate security.
“Cameras.”
“We’re checking.”
“Check faster.”
He disappeared.
“Nico.”
My second-in-command stepped forward.
“Every street within five miles. Train stations. Bus stops. Parks. Churches. Twenty-four-hour stores.”
“You want the whole crew?”
“No.”
I remembered Lily hiding under my desk once when too many armed men entered the study.
“No visible army.”
Nico nodded.
“Plain clothes.”
“And call the police.”
That made several men look at me.
I looked back.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
The Romano organization had spent decades avoiding police attention.
Tonight I wanted every patrol car in Chicago looking for one three-year-old girl.
Pride could choke on itself.
Clara was already calling Lily’s name outside.
I followed.
Cold dawn air cut through the estate grounds.
“Lily!”
Nothing.
The rear gate stood closed.
I checked it.
Locked.
“How did she leave?”
Marco came running.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Camera feed dropped at 4:08.”
“For how long?”
“Seventeen minutes.”
My stomach turned cold.
“Technical issue?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
“Say it.”
“Manual interruption.”
Clara stopped.
“What does that mean?”
I looked at Marco.
“Someone disabled the cameras.”
Her face went white.
“This wasn’t just Lily leaving.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Then why disable cameras?”
Good question.
Marco continued.
“The servants’ gate opened at 4:11 with an internal access code.”
“Whose?”
He swallowed.
“Security master.”
Only six people had that credential.
All mine.
Now my fear changed shape.
I knelt near the garden path.
Tiny wet footprints crossed the stone.
Bare feet.
Lily had walked through freezing grass alone.
Then the prints reached the outer service road.
Stopped.
Beside them:
Tire marks.
Clara saw them.
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the ground.
This time she did not fight me.
“She got in a car.”
Her voice broke.
“Someone took my baby.”
I looked at the tracks.
Maybe.
Or someone found her.
Either possibility was unbearable.
Nico’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Found footage.”
“Where?”
“Gas station three blocks east.”
We were in the car thirty seconds later.
The security video showed 4:16 a.m.
Lily appeared at the edge of the frame.
Tiny.
Barefoot.
Nightgown beneath a pink coat she had apparently pulled on before leaving.
She stood at the corner holding nothing.
No rabbit.
No bag.
She looked both ways.
Then started walking.
My chest hurt.
Clara covered her mouth.
At 4:19, a black sedan entered the frame.
It slowed.
Stopped beside Lily.
A man got out.
We could not see his face clearly.
He crouched.
Lily stepped backward.
The man reached.
She ran.
My heart slammed.
She disappeared behind the store.
The man followed.
Thirty seconds later, the sedan accelerated away.
Without Lily.
Clara exhaled so hard she nearly collapsed.
“She ran.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Nico rewound another camera angle.
Behind the gas station was an alley.
Lily emerged.
Ran toward a row of closed businesses.
Then vanished from view.
The sedan turned another direction.
“She’s still on foot.”
Clara grabbed my sleeve.
“Find her.”
“I will.”
No promise I could guarantee.
I made it anyway.
At 5:02, a bakery owner opening for the morning called police after finding a little girl hiding beneath tables in a laundromat next door.
The laundromat’s front lock had been broken for weeks.
When I arrived, two patrol officers stood outside.
One recognized me.
His hand moved subtly toward his radio.
I walked past him.
Lily sat on top of a washing machine wrapped in a police blanket.
Her bare feet were dirty.
One knee scraped.
A female officer held hot chocolate beside her.
Lily saw me.
Her eyes filled.
But she did not run toward me.
That hurt more than it should have.
I crouched several feet away.
“Lily.”
She looked toward the doorway.
“Mommy?”
“Coming.”
Clara appeared behind me.
Lily screamed.
“Mommy!”
She launched from the machine.
Clara caught her.
They fell to their knees together.
I turned away.
Some moments do not belong to men like me.
Then Lily looked over Clara’s shoulder.
At me.
She became quiet.
I waited.
Finally:
“I left.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
“So Mommy can stay?”
Clara closed her eyes.
I crouched again.
“No.”
Lily’s face fell.
I immediately corrected.
“That came out wrong.”
Three-year-olds are not known for patience.
I tried again.
“You never had to leave.”
She stared.
“I said both.”
“Yes.”
“I heard you.”
“I know.”
“So I went.”
Every word was another blade.
I said carefully:
“I made a terrible mistake.”
She looked confused.
“Grown-ups make mistakes?”
Clara laughed through tears.
“Constantly.”
Lily looked back at me.
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
“At Uncle Gabriel?”
That was Clara’s brother.
The man accused of stealing $2.7 million from one of my shipping accounts.
“Yes.”
She squeezed Clara’s neck.
“Then be mad at him.”
Three years old.
Simple justice.
Better than mine.
I nodded.
“You’re right.”
Then Lily whispered:
“Bad man tried to get me.”
My body went cold.
“What bad man?”
“The car.”
“Did you know him?”
She thought.
“He had your circle ring.”
My blood stopped.
Every senior Romano man wore a black onyx ring engraved with a silver circle around an R.
Family mark.
Not public.
Not easy to imitate.
“Did you see his face?”
She shook her head.
“He said Mommy sent him.”
Clara tightened her arms around Lily.
Then:
“He said Uncle Gabriel wants Poppy.”
I looked at the child.
“What?”
“He said give rabbit.”
Poppy.
Back at the estate.
The man had not been trying to abduct Lily at random.
He wanted the rabbit.
I called Nico.
“Lock down the servants’ wing.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody touches Poppy.”
Silence.
Then:
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
But I was beginning to understand something.
Gabriel Bennett’s theft.
Lily.
The disabled cameras.
Someone wearing my ring.
None of it was separate.
And the order I had given against Clara’s family had done exactly what somebody inside my organization needed.
May you like
It had made them vulnerable.
When we returned to the estate, Poppy was gone.
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