Chapter 4 - The Midnight Audit
By 2:00 a.m., the sprawling estate was locked down tighter than a federal prison.
The forty guests had been politely but firmly escorted off the property by Dante’s security team. Rain continued to pour over the dark waters of Lake Michigan, battering the glass doors of the grand library.
Inside the library, a fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace.
I sat on a plush velvet sofa, wrapped in a cashmere throw blanket, sipping hot chocolate that Chef Henri had personally delivered to the room. Beside me, Lily was fast asleep, her small head resting on my lap, her pink sneakers tucked beneath her leggings.
Across the room, sitting behind a massive carved mahogany desk, was Rocco Moretti.
He had changed out of his formal suit jacket into a black charcoal sweater, his dark sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He was reviewing a thick stack of financial documents, legal trusts, and security logs with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.
In a bassinet near the desk, tiny Matteo was sleeping peacefully, lulled by the crackle of the hearth.
"Drink your chocolate, Maya," Rocco said without looking up from his papers. "You're still pale."
"I'm fine, Mr. Moretti," I said softly. "I'm just... trying to process everything."
Rocco set his glasses down on the desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked tired—not the physical exhaustion of a long day, but the deep, bone-weary exhaustion of a man who had buried his wife six days ago and nearly lost his son six hours later.
"Call me Rocco," he said quietly.
I hesitated. "Sir?"
"Nobody in this house calls me Rocco except my family," he said, turning his gray eyes toward me. "And tonight, your four-year-old daughter did what forty security guards and a ten-million-dollar surveillance system failed to do. She saved my son's life."
He stood up, picked up a thin glass of scotch from his desk, and walked over to stand near the fireplace.
"Elena didn't act alone," Rocco revealed, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone. "The cream-colored memo used to frame you wasn't printed on a local network printer. The digital footprint traces back to an external server registered to Blackwood Holdings."
My eyes narrowed. "Blackwood Holdings? Isn't that the private equity firm represented by Caleb Stone's former security agency?"
Rocco looked at me, a sharp glint of approval in his eyes. "You pay attention."
"I told you, Mr... Rocco," I corrected myself quickly. "I notice everything."
"Caleb Stone was paid three million dollars to turn off the third-floor hallway cameras for precisely four minutes tonight," Rocco explained, his jaw tightening. "Elena was supposed to carry Matteo out to a waiting vehicle in the service driveway. They were going to leak the fake nursery memo to the press tomorrow morning, claim you kidnapped the child due to financial ruin, and use the scandal to declare me an unfit father."
"And then Elena would claim legal guardianship of Matteo," I realized with a shudder, "giving her full access to Mara’s eighty-million-dollar trust fund."
"Exactly," Rocco said, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "It was a brilliant, cold-blooded corporate takeover disguised as a tragic family kidnapping."
"What about Caleb?" I asked nervously.
"Dante picked him up forty minutes ago at O'Hare Airport," Rocco said flatly. "He had a one-way ticket to Dubai and a briefcase filled with bearer bonds. He is currently joining Elena in the lower basement holding room."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. The sheer speed and ruthlessness with which Rocco had dismantled his enemies was terrifying—yet sitting here in the warm library, watching him glance softly toward Matteo's bassinet, I realized something else.
This man was not a monster. He was a father protecting his child with every weapon at his disposal.
Before I could speak, tiny Matteo began to squirm in his bassinet, letting out a small, hungry cry.
May you like
Rocco instantly walked over to the bassinet, reaching down to lift the infant. He held the tiny baby against his chest, but his huge hands moved clumsily, struggling to adjust the soft flannel blanket around Matteo's head.
"Here," I said gently, standing up from the sofa without waking Lily. "Let me help."
