Chapter 3 - THE ADDRESS
Vanessa lunged at me.
She moved so fast I didn't have time to react. Her manicured hands reached for my face, her nails like claws.
“You lying bitch!” Vanessa shrieked.
Before she could touch me, Adrian was out of his chair. He caught Vanessa by the upper arms, hauling her backward with a terrifying, effortless strength. He shoved her into the heavy leather armchair opposite his desk.
“Sit down,” he roared. It was the first time I had ever heard him raise his voice. The sound seemed to vibrate in my teeth.
Vanessa collapsed into the chair, sobbing hysterically.
Adrian turned back to me. His chest was heaving, but his face was perfectly controlled.
“Where, Olivia?” he asked quietly.
I reached into my pocket with my good hand. Margaret hadn't just given me the photo. When she pressed my face through the iron bars, she had slipped something else into my apron.
I pulled out a small, heavy silver coin. It looked like a token from a Catholic orphanage, stamped with the image of Saint Jude. Wrapped tightly around the coin was a torn piece of paper.
I unwrapped it and read the address aloud.
“St. Jude’s Home for Boys. South Side. It says to ask for Sister Mary.”
Vanessa began to laugh—a dark, unhinged sound.
“You’re going to trust a maid and a crazy old woman over me?” she sneered, wiping mascara from her cheeks. “Go ahead, Adrian. Go to the orphanage. You won't find anything. Because my son is dead.”
Adrian looked at her for a long, heavy moment.
“If he is dead, Vanessa,” Adrian said, “then why are you so afraid of me going?”
He didn't wait for her answer. He picked up his gun, holstering it smoothly inside his jacket. He grabbed his keys from the desk.
“Olivia, come with me,” Adrian ordered.
“What?” I gasped, standing up. “Mr. Moretti, please, I can’t. I have to finish cleaning—”
“You are the only person Margaret trusted with this information,” Adrian said firmly. “I need you to identify her if she’s there. You’re coming.”
He turned to his head of security, who was standing quietly in the shadows of the hallway.
“Lock her in this room,” Adrian commanded, pointing at Vanessa. “Do not let her make any phone calls. Do not let her leave.”
“Adrian, you can’t do this to me!” Vanessa screamed, throwing herself against the heavy wooden door as the security chief pulled it shut.
The sound of the deadbolt locking echoed loudly in the corridor.
I followed Adrian out of the mansion and into the freezing Chicago rain. His black armored SUV was waiting. We climbed into the back, and his driver immediately tore out of the estate.
The drive to the South Side took thirty minutes. The towering glass skyscrapers gave way to crumbling brick and flickering streetlights.
Adrian sat in silence, staring out the rain-streaked window.
“Mr. Moretti,” I ventured softly, clutching my bandaged hand. “Why didn't she just tell you she had a child from a previous marriage? You’re a reasonable man.”
Adrian didn't look at me. “Because in my world, Olivia, a child is leverage. A child can be kidnapped, ransomed, or killed by rival families. I told Vanessa before we got engaged that I would never marry a woman who had children. I wouldn't put an innocent life in the crosshairs of my enemies.”
I stared at him, horrified. “So she… she gave her child away? Just to marry you?”
“That is what we are going to find out.”
The SUV pulled up to a massive, imposing brick building surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence. A faded sign read: St. Jude’s Home for Boys.
It was nearly midnight. The building was dark, except for a single light burning in an office on the ground floor.
Adrian and I walked to the heavy wooden doors. He didn't knock. He pushed the doors open, stepping into a cold, dimly lit hallway that smelled of floor wax and old paper.
An elderly nun in a gray habit stepped out of the office, looking alarmed.
“We are closed, sir,” she said firmly. “You cannot be here.”
“Are you Sister Mary?” Adrian asked, his voice returning to that quiet, dangerous calm.
“I am.”
Adrian pulled out the silver St. Jude coin and placed it on the small wooden table between them.
Sister Mary looked at the coin. She let out a long, heavy sigh, closing her eyes.
“Margaret told me she was going to do this,” the nun whispered. “I told her it was too dangerous.”
“Where is the boy?” Adrian demanded.
Sister Mary looked at him, then at me. “He’s asleep on the second floor. But you cannot take him, Mr. Moretti. You are the exact reason his mother abandoned him here.”
“I’m not taking him,” Adrian said. “I just need to see him. I need to know he’s alive.”
Sister Mary hesitated, then slowly turned and led us up the creaking wooden stairs. We walked down a long hallway lined with identical, closed doors.
She opened the door to room 204.
Inside, two small beds sat in the darkness. In the bed near the window, a small boy was sleeping deeply.
Adrian stepped into the room. He walked to the edge of the bed and looked down.
The boy was small, maybe five years old. He had dark, curly hair and a pale, peaceful face.
But it wasn't the boy’s face that made Adrian freeze.
It was what the boy was holding.
Clutched tightly to the sleeping child’s chest was a heavy, solid gold pocket watch.
Adrian stared at the watch, all the blood draining from his face.
“Mr. Moretti?” I whispered.
Adrian slowly reached down and turned the gold watch over in the boy’s sleeping hands.
Engraved on the back were the initials A.M.
“This is my watch,” Adrian whispered, his voice trembling. “The one I lost five years ago.”
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He looked up at Sister Mary, his eyes wide with a terrifying realization.
“This isn't Vanessa’s son from a previous marriage,” Adrian said, the pieces falling into place with a devastating crash. “This is my son.”
