Chapter 7 - THE TRAITOR
The scent of lavender and copper filled the dusty church. I clutched the bloody scarf to my chest and finally broke down.
My mother was alive. For eight months, she had been a hostage, bleeding in the dark.
"We have to go," I cried, grabbing Dante's arm. "We have to give him the locket!"
Dante’s face was carved from stone. "If I give Julian the locket, he will kill her anyway. And then he will come for Leo."
"I don't care about your family's money!" I screamed at him, the sound echoing off the ruined rafters. "That is my mother!"
"She's not just your mother!" Dante roared back, the sudden volume making me flinch. He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes wild with grief and rage. "She is the only family I have left! Do you understand me? My wife is dead. My son is dead. Julian took everything from me. Rosa was the only one who tried to stop him."
He let go of me, running a hand over his face.
"When Gabriel was killed in that drive-by shooting," Dante said, his voice dropping to a raw whisper, "his girlfriend was pregnant with Leo. She died too. The doctors managed to save the baby. But Leo vanished from the hospital incubator three hours after he was born."
I stared at him. "Vanished?"
"For nine months, I thought my grandson was dead," Dante said. "Until three days ago. I received an anonymous tip about a safehouse. I raided it. I found Leo in a crib, alone."
I looked down at the lavender scarf. The pieces were slamming together with sickening speed.
Leo wasn't a fussy baby who hated strangers.
Leo reached for me in the restaurant because I smelled like lavender soap. Because I hummed the lullaby.
"My mother wasn't just hiding," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "She was raising him. Julian kidnapped the baby, and my mother traded herself to keep Leo alive. She raised him in captivity."
"Yes," Dante said. "And she made sure he remembered you. She made sure that if I ever found him, he would lead me back to you."
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It wasn't a call. It was a text message from an unknown number.
It was a photo.
In the picture, Julian Rosselli—a man who looked like a crueler, sharper version of Dante—was standing on a dark wooden pier. The ocean churned behind him.
In his arms, bundled in a blanket, was a baby.
Leo.
May you like
The text beneath the photo read: Your nurse has a price, brother. The docks. Now.
Dante saw the photo over my shoulder. The terrible sound that ripped from his throat was that of a wounded animal.
