Chapter 2: The Woman Who Buried My Name
I found Isabella in the restaurant's main dining room.
She was standing near the front entrance, trying to put four coats on four impatient boys.
Noah was asking for his gloves.
Ethan was complaining that his zipper was stuck.
Lucas had somehow managed to put one shoe on the wrong foot.
Caleb was holding the orange she had dropped.
It was an ordinary family scene.
A mother trying to get four children out of a restaurant.
Except I couldn't stop looking at them.
They were mine.
I didn't need a DNA test to feel the truth settling into my bones.
Their eyes were mine. Their expressions were mine. Even the way Noah frowned when his zipper wouldn't move was something I had seen in my childhood photographs.
And Isabella was trying to leave before I could ask another question.
I approached slowly.
"Isabella.""
She stiffened.
"Not here.""
"Then tell me where.""
"Dominic, please.""
"No. Not this time.""
She turned toward me.
Her voice dropped.
"You have no idea what you're walking into.""
"Then explain it.""
She glanced at the boys.
"Not in front of them.""
I looked at Noah, who was studying my grandfather's cuff links.
"Those are shiny," he said.
I crouched slightly.
"They belonged to my grandfather.""
"Was he a king?""
I almost smiled.
"No. He just liked expensive things.""
"Like my mom's watch.""
Isabella immediately stepped between us.
"Come on, Noah.""
I stood.
"Let me talk to you for five minutes.""
"You had six years.""
The words came out quietly.
But they cut.
I stared at her.
"I didn't leave you.""
She laughed once, bitterly.
"You don't know what happened.""
"Then tell me.""
Her phone vibrated.
She looked at the screen and immediately declined the call.
I noticed the change in her expression.
"Who's that?""
"Nobody.""
"Someone who makes you look frightened?""
"Dominic, stop.""
Another call came through.
This time, I saw the name.
*MOTHER.*
Isabella pressed the phone against her chest.
I knew that name.
Evelyn Hayes.
Her mother.
The woman who had never approved of me.
Before I could say anything, Isabella's phone vibrated again.
A message appeared on the screen.
She read it.
Her fingers tightened around the device.
"What happened?"" I asked.
"Nothing.""
"You're a terrible liar.""
She looked at me sharply.
"And you're still arrogant.""
"Some things haven't changed.""
"Neither has your ability to destroy everything you touch.""
I flinched.
She seemed to regret saying it, but she didn't apologize.
Noah tugged at her sleeve.
"Mom, can we go home now? Caleb is hungry.""
"Yes, sweetheart.""
She turned toward the entrance.
I stepped aside, but I wasn't finished.
"Where do you live?""
"Why?""
"Because I need to know where my children sleep.""
Her face went completely still.
"Don't call them that.""
"They look like me.""
"Lots of people look alike.""
"Four identical boys with my face?""
She looked away.
For a moment, I thought she might cry.
Then she lifted her chin.
"You have a fiancée, Dominic.""
The reminder hit me.
"Sloane.""
"Yes. Sloane.""
"I was supposed to propose tonight.""
"I know.""
My eyebrows drew together.
"How?""
"Boston isn't exactly a small town when your family owns half the places people talk about.""
I studied her.
"Did you know I was getting engaged?""
She gave a humorless smile.
"Congratulations. I'm sure your grandfather is thrilled.""
"Isabella.""
"Go back to your perfect life.""
She opened the restaurant door.
Cold October air swept into the lobby.
The boys rushed outside.
But before Isabella followed, Caleb turned around.
He walked back toward me with the orange still in his hand.
"Here.""
He held it out.
I looked at him.
"What?""
"You look sad.""
My throat tightened.
"I'm fine, buddy.""
"Mom says oranges have vitamin C.""
He placed it in my palm.
"That helps when people are sick.""
I stared at the little boy.
Then I closed my fingers around the orange.
"Thank you, Caleb.""
He nodded solemnly.
"You're welcome.""
Isabella called his name.
Caleb ran toward her.
She gathered all four boys and disappeared into the evening.
I stood in the doorway holding an orange.
Then my phone rang.
Marco.
"Mr. Moretti, where should I take you?""
I looked toward the street.
"Find out where Isabella Hayes lives.""
There was a pause.
"Is that the woman from—"
"Yes.""
"Understood.""
"And Marco?""
"Yes, sir?""
"Don't approach her. Don't contact her. I just want to know where she is.""
"Of course.""
I ended the call.
At 7:42, I walked into the Moretti family conservatory.
The glass roof reflected the city lights. White roses covered the tables. A string quartet played softly near the windows overlooking the Charles River.
Everything had been arranged for a perfect proposal.
My grandfather, Vittorio Moretti, stood beside the fireplace.
At seventy-two, he still carried himself like a man who could make an entire boardroom fall silent with one look.
His silver hair was perfectly combed. His black suit had cost more than most people's monthly salaries.
He looked at me.
"You're late.""
"I'm not proposing.""
His expression barely changed.
"Excuse me?""
"I said I'm not proposing to Sloane.""
My grandfather placed his glass on the table.
"Have you lost your mind?""
"Possibly.""
"Do you understand what this evening means?""
"Yes.""
"Then act like it.""
Sloane Barrett appeared from the adjoining room.
She wore a champagne-colored dress that fit her perfectly. Her blond hair was swept into an elegant bun, and a delicate diamond necklace rested against her throat.
She looked beautiful.
She also looked completely unaware that her engagement was about to become a public embarrassment.
"Dominic?""
She glanced at my empty hands.
"Where's the ring?""
I slipped the velvet box out of my jacket.
Her eyes brightened.
Then I placed it on the nearest table.
"I can't do this.""
Her smile disappeared.
Vittorio stepped forward.
"Dominic, take a moment.""
"I've taken six years.""
"Six years of what?"" Sloane asked.
I looked at her.
"Something I should have dealt with a long time ago.""
Sloane folded her arms.
"Is there another woman?""
I didn't answer quickly enough.
Her face changed.
"Oh, my God.""
"Sloane—"
"Who is she?""
"My past.""
"That's not an answer.""
Vittorio moved between us.
"Enough. We will discuss this privately.""
"No," I said.
"I'm finished discussing my life as if it's a business transaction.""
My grandfather's jaw tightened.
"Everything you have is because this family made sacrifices.""
"And everything I am is because I spent my life trying to earn your approval.""
"Watch your mouth.""
I looked at him.
For the first time, I wasn't afraid of disappointing him.
"I met four children tonight.""
He frowned.
"What children?""
"Four boys. Six years old.""
Sloane's expression shifted.
"Dominic, what does this have to do with us?""
"They look exactly like me.""
Silence.
My grandfather's face went blank.
It lasted only a second.
But I saw it.
I saw the smallest movement in his eyes.
The kind of reaction a man made when someone mentioned something he had spent years trying to forget.
I stepped closer.
"Do you know something?""
Vittorio picked up his glass.
"You're tired.""
"Answer me.""
"Not here.""
Sloane looked between us.
"Vittorio?""
He ignored her.
I lowered my voice.
"Do you know Isabella Hayes?""
The glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
That was enough.
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
"You do.""
Vittorio placed the glass down.
"That girl was a mistake.""
I stared at him.
"Don't call her that.""
"She brought chaos into this family.""
"She was twenty-six years old.""
"And you were a fool.""
I stepped toward him.
"Did you know she was pregnant?""
His silence answered before his mouth did.
My hands curled into fists.
"You knew.""
"Dominic—"
"You knew I had a child.""
Vittorio looked toward the empty dining room.
"Be careful what you accuse people of.""
"Four children, Grandfather.""
His face changed.
"Four?""
I felt sick.
"Yes. Four.""
For the first time in my life, Vittorio Moretti looked genuinely unsettled.
Then he recovered.
"Leave this alone.""
I laughed.
A short, disbelieving sound.
"You're telling me to leave my own children alone?""
"I'm telling you that some doors should remain closed.""
"Not this one.""
Vittorio came closer.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You don't understand what happened six years ago.""
"Then explain it.""
He looked toward Sloane.
"Not tonight.""
I picked up the ring box.
For one moment, I considered throwing it against the glass wall.
Instead, I placed it back on the table.
"I'm going to find the truth.""
My grandfather's expression hardened.
"If you do that, you may lose everything.""
I looked at him.
"Then perhaps I should find out what everything is worth.""
I walked out.
Behind me, Sloane called my name.
I didn't turn around.
At 9:16, Marco sent me an address.
Isabella lived in a modest three-story brick building in East Boston.
Not the neighborhood I remembered her dreaming about.
Not the apartment with the enormous windows and the little balcony where she used to grow basil.
This was a quiet residential street with narrow sidewalks and parked cars.
I arrived without my driver.
I stood across the street for almost twenty minutes.
Then I saw the apartment lights come on.
A curtain moved.
Four little shadows ran past the window.
I smiled despite myself.
My sons.
I was still trying to understand how to say that without feeling like I might collapse.
Then another figure appeared.
Isabella.
She carried a laundry basket and was talking to someone on the phone.
Even from across the street, I could recognize the way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
I had missed that movement.
I had missed everything.
My phone vibrated.
A message from Marco.
*Sir, I found something unusual.*
I typed back.
*What?*
Three dots appeared.
Then:
*Isabella Hayes has been receiving regular payments from an account connected to Moretti Holdings for the past six years.*
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
*The payments were authorized by your grandfather.*
I looked up at the apartment window.
Isabella was standing there now.
She had stopped talking on the phone.
She was looking directly at me.
Her face went pale.
She pulled the curtain shut.
And then Marco sent one final message.
*Sir, the account is still active. The last payment was made yesterday.*
I read it twice.
Six years.
My grandfather had been paying the woman I thought had abandoned me.
May you like
But why?
And what had he been buying with that money?
