Chapter 9 - THE BOY WHO RANMrs. Bellamy collapsed into the nearest chair as if someone had cut the strings holding her upright.
“Not Matteo,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t.”
Damian stood before her, blood still drying on his wrist.
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-three.”
“How long has he worked here?”
“Since he was sixteen. Kitchen first, then maintenance. He fixes things. He knows the tunnels.”
“And he had access to the generator.”
Mrs. Bellamy nodded, crying harder.
“I begged you to give him work after his mother died. You did. He was grateful.”
“Gratitude can be purchased,” Damian said.
She looked wounded.
“He is my blood.”
Damian’s face hardened.
“So is Rocco.”
That silenced her.
I shifted Leah in my arms. She was getting heavy, but I could not put her down. Not after the DNA. Not after Viola’s confession. Not after learning her very existence had begun as someone else’s crime.
Leah was mine.
My daughter.
The thought was too big to hold.
For two years, I had lived beside a grave that did not exist.
Now my child breathed against my chest in the house of the man who had unknowingly raised her.
I looked at Damian and realized the truth had not freed us.
It had trapped us together.
“What did Matteo take?” Damian asked.
The guard handed him a tablet.
“Exterior cameras caught him carrying a black case. Could be documents or drives.”
“The flash drive?”
Dr. Vale checked the desk.
“Still here.”
Damian frowned.
“Then what?”
Mrs. Bellamy lifted her head.
“Sofia had more than one hiding place.”
Damian turned to her.
“You knew?”
“No. But she was clever. And afraid. If she hid one thing in the nursery, she may have hidden another somewhere Matteo knew to look.”
“Where would he go?”
Mrs. Bellamy wiped her cheeks.
“His mother’s apartment in Queens. Or the church.”
“What church?”
“Saint Gabriel’s. Sofia used to meet him there.”
Damian’s eyes sharpened.
“Sofia met Matteo?”
Mrs. Bellamy nodded.
“She helped pay for his school. She said he reminded her of someone she failed.”
Viola let out a bitter laugh.
“Sofia and her charities.”
Damian turned so sharply Viola stopped.
“You will speak of my wife with respect or not at all.”
Viola looked away.
A guard entered again.
“Boss, police scanners are active near the estate. Someone reported gunfire.”
Damian’s expression did not change.
“Handle it legally.”
The guard nodded.
Legally.
The word sounded strange in that house.
Dr. Vale approached me.
“Ava, Leah needs rest.”
“She needs a place where no one is shooting at her.”
“I agree.”
Damian heard.
“You’ll both stay in the east wing. It has reinforced windows and independent power.”
I looked at him.
“I am not moving into your mansion.”
“For tonight.”
“Tonight is how men like you turn into forever.”
His eyes held mine.
“I will not imprison you.”
“Good.”
“But leaving now would be dangerous.”
“I know.”
That was what made me angriest.
He was right.
Rocco had people inside the estate. Viola had networks. Matteo had fled with unknown evidence. Someone had already tried to kill us or scare us into surrender.
I had no apartment security, no money for lawyers, no family, and no idea how to protect a child from a man who could manipulate hospitals across countries.
Damian had power.
I had truth.
Leah needed both.
“I stay tonight,” I said. “With Leah. Doors unlocked.”
“Agreed.”
“No guards inside the room.”
“Outside.”
“No one takes her while I sleep.”
His face shifted.
“No one takes her from you.”
I wanted to believe him.
But trust does not grow in one night.
It grows where lies stop.
We were not there yet.
Damian turned to his men.
“Find Matteo. Alive.”
One guard hesitated.
“Alive?”
Damian looked at Leah.
“Alive,” he repeated. “He may know what Sofia knew.”
Then he looked at me.
“And he may know how to stop Rocco.”
I followed Mrs. Bellamy upstairs to the east wing with Leah half asleep against me. The room she gave us was beautiful in a way that made me uncomfortable. Pale blue walls, thick curtains, a bed large enough for three people, a fireplace, and a balcony sealed behind glass.
Mrs. Bellamy stood near the door twisting her hands.
“I did not know he would betray us.”
I looked at her.
“I believe you.”
She cried again.
“He was a good boy.”
“Good people can be afraid.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You are kinder than this house deserves.”
“No,” I said. “I’m tired.”
She almost smiled.
Then she looked at Leah.
“When she was a baby, Sofia sang to her every night. Same song.”
“What song?”
Mrs. Bellamy hummed softly.
I knew the melody.
My mother used to sing it.
An old Italian lullaby.
I started singing before I realized I remembered the words.
Leah’s eyes opened.
She stared at me.
Then she relaxed completely, like some final lock inside her had opened.
Mrs. Bellamy covered her mouth.
“Sofia learned it from a recording,” she whispered. “A recording of you.”
My singing stopped.
“What?”
“She had a small device from the hospital. Leah would not sleep without it. Sofia said it was the mother’s voice.”
My hands shook.
“My voice?”
Mrs. Bellamy nodded.
“They recorded me?”
“To soothe the baby, she said.”
I looked down at Leah.
All those nights.
All those years.
My daughter had gone to sleep listening to the voice of a mother she was told did not exist.
A soft knock came at the door.
Damian stood outside.
He did not enter.
“I’m leaving for Saint Gabriel’s.”
“You found Matteo?”
“Not yet. But he called the church.”
I stepped toward him.
“What did he say?”
Damian’s face was unreadable.
“He asked for sanctuary.”
“From you?”
“No.”
May you like
He looked down the hall.
“From Rocco.”
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