Chapter 2 - The Phantom in the Dressing Room
The grandfather clock in the grand foyer chimed ten times.
Downstairs, the clinking of glasses had resumed, though the laughter was subdued and fragile.
Luca Moretti did not return to his seat at the head of the table.
He walked silently past the oil portraits of his ancestors lining the grand staircase.
His footsteps made no sound against the runner.
He smelled the heavy, sweet scent of lilacs before he even reached the second-floor corridor.
It was Vanessa's signature perfume, clinging to the air like a spider's web.
He reached the door of the west wing's corner suite.
A newly mounted brass plate gleamed beside the handle: Baby Moretti.
Luca stared at the engraved letters.
The brass was so fresh it had not yet been polished.
He turned the brass knob and pushed the heavy oak door open.
The room was immaculate.
The walls were painted a soft, muted sage, completely dry and devoid of any chemical odor.
There were no paint fumes.
There had been no painters here today.
White muslin curtains billowed gently in the draft from an open casement window.
In the center of the room sat a white wicker changing table, its edges trimmed in polished brass.
Luca walked toward it with measured steps.
He crouched beside the right front corner of the furniture.
A tiny, dark rust-colored stain smeared the sharp metal bracket.
Beside it, barely visible against the light wood, was a smudge of white powder.
A foundation compact had broken on the floorboards.
Luca rubbed the powder between his fingertips, recognizing the scent of high-end cosmetic clay.
Lauren did not wear makeup.
Her wages barely covered her mother's dialysis and their two-bedroom apartment in Pilsen.
Vanessa wore this brand.
Luca stood up, his dark eyes scanning the pristine nursery.
On the mantel above the gas fireplace rested a sterling silver frame.
Inside was a high-resolution sonogram.
He walked over and picked it up.
The black-and-white image showed the distinct outline of a developing infant.
The curved spine, the tiny hands, the perfectly formed skull.
Luca brought the frame closer to the lamplight.
The top border of the thermal paper had been precisely sliced off with a razor blade.
The patient identification number, the mother's legal name, and the clinic date were gone.
Luca turned the frame over.
On the velvet backing, caught under the brass retaining clip, was a sliver of adhesive paper.
A microscopic fragment of blue print remained: Mercy Women's Pavilion — Suite 402.
Mercy Women's was a clinic sixty miles south of Chicago.
It was a facility specializing in high-risk pregnancies and anonymous maternal care.
Vanessa had told him her obstetrician was based at Northwestern Memorial in Streeterville.
Luca set the frame down with deliberate gentleness.
A faint, rhythmic scraping sound reached his ears.
It came from the cedar-lined dressing room connected to the nursery's private bath.
The door was locked from the outside with a brass deadbolt that had been installed recently.
Luca did not hesitate.
He reached into his jacket, withdrew a slim titanium bypass tool, and slid it into the lock.
With a single sharp twist of his wrist, the bolt clicked open.
He pushed the door inward.
The dressing room was dimly lit by a single floor lamp.
Crouched in the far corner between rows of hanging cashmere coats was a young woman.
She could not have been older than twenty-two.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy knot, and her face was streaked with running mascara.
She wore an oversized gray wool sweater that could not conceal the heavy swell of her belly.
She was at least five months along.
In her trembling hands, she clutched a battered leather duffel bag.
"Don't touch me!"
The girl scrambled backward, her shoulders slamming against the wooden shoe racks.
"I didn't steal anything, I swear to God, I just want to go home!"
Luca did not draw a weapon.
He did not raise his voice.
He simply stood in the doorway, letting his massive silhouette block any hope of escape.
"Who are you?"
The young woman looked up, her tear-filled blue eyes widening in sudden, terrifying recognition.
"You're... you're Moretti."
"I am."
"She said you were downstairs... she said you'd have your men kill me if I walked out that front door."
Luca's jaw hardened.
"Who said that?"
"Vanessa."
The name spilled from the girl's lips like a curse.
"She told me if I made a sound before the dinner was over, I'd leave Chicago in a pine box."
Luca took one slow step into the closet.
"What is your name?"
"Hannah... Hannah Walsh."
"Why are you in my house, Hannah?"
Hannah pulled her knees up as far as her pregnant belly would allow.
"She brought me here three days ago."
Her voice shook with hysteria.
"She said she was hosting a private dinner to introduce me to the family."
"To introduce you as what?"
Hannah let out a broken, shuddering sob.
"As the surrogate."
Luca went completely still.
The air in the closet felt like it had been sucked into a vacuum.
"A surrogate."
"Yes! But I told her no! I told her I couldn't do it!"
Hannah pointed a trembling finger toward the adjoining nursery.
"I was eighteen weeks when I met her at the clinic."
"I was broke, my mother was in hospice, and Vanessa offered to pay every medical bill."
"She said she needed a child to cement her marriage to the head of the Moretti family."
"She told me you couldn't have children of your own, that you were desperate for an heir."
Luca's hands slowly clenched into fists at his sides.
"Go on."
"Today, she brought me that silver frame."
Hannah's voice dropped to a terrified whisper.
"She took my twenty-week scan out of my purse and cut my name off it with an X-Acto knife."
"She told me that tonight, she was announcing the pregnancy as her own."
"I told her she was insane."
"I told her I was packing my bag and walking out to the train station."
Luca glanced at Hannah's wrists.
Faint, purplish bruises encircled both of her pale arms.
"Did Vanessa do that to you?"
Hannah nodded, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks.
"She grabbed me. She screamed that I was ruining everything she'd worked two years for."
"She tried to drag me toward the bathroom to lock me in."
"And Lauren?"
Luca asked the question before Hannah could finish.
"The maid came in with fresh towels."
Hannah wiped her nose with her sleeve.
"She saw Vanessa hitting me."
"Lauren dropped the towels and pulled Vanessa off of me."
"She yelled at me to run, but Vanessa grabbed a bronze lamp from the nightstand."
"She swung it at Lauren."
"Lauren dodged, but her knee hit the brass corner of the changing table."
Hannah choked back a sob.
"There was so much blood, Mr. Moretti."
"Lauren couldn't stand up, but she still crawled to the door to block Vanessa from reaching me."
"Vanessa told Lauren that if she breathed a word, her mother's care would be terminated tonight."
"Then she locked me in this closet and took my phone."
Luca closed his eyes for a single second.
When he opened them, the cold darkness in his gaze was absolute.
He reached down and extended his hand to Hannah.
"Stand up, Miss Walsh."
Hannah looked at his hand, terrified to touch him.
"Are you... are you going to hurt me?"
"I do not wage war on children or mothers," Luca said softly.
"You are under my protection now."
Hannah took his hand.
Luca pulled her gently to her feet, steadying her when her balance wavered.
"Come with me."
May you like
"Where?"
"To finish this dinner."
