The woman standing beside billionaire Mafia boss Lorenzo Moretti was the same woman who had once offered me fifty thousand dollars to give away my unborn daughter.

Her name was Vivian Cross.

And according to Lorenzo’s sister, she had been sitting beside him just hours before the accident that left him in a coma.

I stared at the photograph, unable to breathe.

“Clara?” Isabella whispered. “You recognize her?”

I nodded.

“She tried to buy my baby.”

The silence that followed was terrifying.

Isabella slowly lowered herself into her chair.

“Then we have a much bigger problem than I thought.”

Three years earlier, Vivian had been the director of a private maternity clinic in Boston. I was twenty-four, pregnant, unmarried, and working two jobs.

My boyfriend had disappeared shortly after learning I was expecting.

I had no family to turn to.

One afternoon, Vivian invited me into her office and offered me an arrangement.

Fifty thousand dollars.

A new apartment.

A fresh start.

All I had to do was sign papers surrendering my unborn child to an anonymous family.

I refused.

Vivian smiled as though she already knew my answer.

“Clara, some children are born into the wrong families. Money can correct that.”

I left her office shaking.

Two days later, my medical records disappeared from the clinic’s computer system.

A week after that, someone broke into my apartment.

Nothing valuable was taken.

Only my ultrasound photographs.

I moved away before Emma was born.

And I never saw Vivian Cross again.

Until now.

“Why was she with Lorenzo?” I asked.

Isabella hesitated.

“Vivian is his fiancée.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“His what?”

“They were supposed to marry next spring.”

I looked again at the photograph.

Vivian wore a diamond necklace and stood with her arm wrapped around Lorenzo’s waist.

But something about his expression bothered me.

He wasn’t smiling.

He looked furious.

Isabella noticed.

“That picture was taken during their last public appearance. Lorenzo had already decided to end the engagement.”

“Why?”

“Because he discovered Vivian had been stealing from one of his charitable foundations.”

I frowned.

“What kind of foundation?”

“A private organization that pays medical expenses for struggling mothers and children.”

My stomach tightened.

“Did it operate in Boston?”

Isabella went completely still.

“Yes.”

Before either of us could speak, someone knocked.

Nurse Elena entered carrying a tablet.

“Miss Moretti, there’s been another response.”

Isabella stood.

“What happened?”

Elena looked directly at me.

“Mr. Moretti’s heart rate changed again. This time, when we played the recording of your daughter’s singing.”

I gripped the desk.

“Does that mean he recognizes her?”

“We can’t establish that from a heart-rate change,” Elena said. “But the doctors want to investigate.”

Then she added something that made Isabella’s face turn pale.

“His right hand moved when we mentioned the name Emma.”

Twenty minutes later, I stood outside Lorenzo’s medical suite.

Emma was asleep in my arms, her little bunny pressed against her cheek.

Inside, machines surrounded the powerful man whose name frightened half of Manhattan.

His dark hair fell across his forehead.

A tattooed hand rested beside the white blanket.

For the first time, he looked less like a Mafia boss and more like a man trapped somewhere nobody could reach.

Dr. Nathaniel Reed approached us.

“We’d like to conduct a carefully monitored assessment using familiar voices and music,” he explained.

“Familiar?” I repeated.

He glanced at Isabella.

“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”

I didn’t understand.

Emma had never met Lorenzo before coming to this mansion.

At least, I didn’t think she had.

Then Isabella took something from her handbag.

A tiny silver bracelet.

My knees nearly gave way.

It was a hospital identification bracelet.

The kind placed around newborn babies.

Printed across the faded plastic were two words.

BABY MORETTI.

I stared at Isabella.

“Where did you get that?”

She swallowed.

“From Lorenzo’s private safe.”

Before I could ask another question, a security alarm sounded downstairs.

A guard rushed toward us.

“Miss Moretti, we have a problem.”

“What problem?”

“The woman who was supposed to be in Switzerland just entered the property.”

Isabella’s expression hardened.

“Vivian.”

The guard nodded.

“She says she’s here to see her fiancé.”

Then he looked at Emma.

“And she specifically asked whether the housekeeper’s little girl was still living here.”

I clutched my daughter tighter.

Somehow, Vivian knew.

And whatever she had come to this mansion to find, I was suddenly certain it wasn’t Lorenzo.

It was Emma.

But the most frightening moment came thirty seconds later.

From inside the medical suite, an alarm sounded.

Elena ran to Lorenzo’s bedside.

His pulse was climbing.

His fingers were moving.

And as Vivian’s voice echoed from the hallway, Lorenzo Moretti opened his eyes for the first time in twenty-three days.

He looked directly at the doorway.

Then, with enormous effort, he whispered a single word.

“Run.”