Chapter 4 - The Anatomy of a Lie
Dr. Evans, our family’s private physician for two decades, wiped the needle of an IV bag with an alcohol swab and glanced at me nervously.
We were in the master suite of the private west wing, three levels above the ballroom and completely soundproofed from the revelry below. The room smelled of antiseptic, fresh pine, and the damp wool of Sophia’s discarded coat.
Sophia lay beneath heavy down comforters, an IV drip hydrating her veins, a sterile white bandage pressed over the laceration on her temple. Her color was slowly returning, a faint peach dusting her cheekbones.
In the adjoining sitting room, sitting on an oversized leather armchair, was Lily.
She was drinking warm milk from a porcelain cup that Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, had brought up on a silver tray. The little girl hadn't spoken since I brought her mother inside. She just watched me.
Her hazel eyes were identical to Sophia’s, but the shape of her jaw, the slight cleft in her chin, the stubborn set of her dark brows—it was looking into a mirror that reflected my own childhood.
I knelt down in front of the chair, keeping my movements deliberate, slow, shedding the violent aura that clung to my skin like smoke.
"Lily?" I said softly.
She put the cup down on the saucer with both hands, careful not to spill a drop. "Is Mommy awake?"
"Not yet, sweetheart," I replied, my voice catching on the word. *Sweetheart.* It was the first time I had ever spoken to my child. "A doctor is helping her. She was very cold, but she’s warm now. She isn't in pain."
Lily reached out a small, hesitant hand. Her tiny fingers touched the lapel of my dress shirt, which still bore faint, darkened stains of Sophia’s blood.
"You're the man in the picture," she whispered.
My breath caught. "What picture?"
"Mommy keeps it in her bible," Lily said matter-of-factly, her voice high and pure, entirely untainted by the monsters who occupied the floors beneath us. "She told me whenever I was scared of the thunder, I had to look at you. She said you were a lion, and lions protect their cubs."
A sharp, violent ache bloomed behind my sternum. Four years. For four years, while I sat in smoky boardrooms and dark backrooms believing Sophia had abandoned me for an easy payout, she had been holding my daughter through thunderstorms, telling her I was her protector.
"She was right," I said, reaching out to gently brush a dark lock of hair away from Lily's forehead. "I'm going to protect you both. Forever. Do you understand me?"
Lily nodded solemnly. "Can I hold Mommy’s hand?"
"Come here."
I picked her up. She weighed almost nothing, a feather-light bundle of warmth that nestled instantly into the crook of my neck. Her small arms looped around my shoulders with complete, unquestioning trust. The feeling struck me with the force of an avalanche. All the money, the shipping lines, the concrete docks, the political influence I wielded across this city—none of it meant a damn thing compared to the tiny heartbeat drumming against my collarbone.
I carried her into the bedroom. Dr. Evans backed away with a respectful nod.
As I sat Lily on the edge of the bed, Sophia’s eyes opened.
"Lily..." Sophia gasped, struggling to push herself up on her elbows.
"Mommy!" Lily scrambled across the comforter, throwing her arms around Sophia’s neck.
Sophia broke. Great, racking sobs tore through her chest as she buried her face in Lily's dark curls, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her hands, checking every inch of her as if she still couldn't believe they were both breathing.
I stood at the foot of the bed, watching them, feeling like a ghost haunting his own life.
Finally, Sophia settled Lily beneath the blankets beside her, keeping one protective arm locked around the little girl's waist. Then, her hazel eyes lifted to meet mine.
"You have to let us leave, Dominic," she said, her voice shaking with terror. "Before they find us here. You don't understand what they're capable of."
"Nobody is leaving this room," I said calmly. "And nobody is touching you. But you are going to tell me what happened four years ago. Every word. Every lie."
Sophia let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. "Four years ago? Your mother invited me to lunch at the St. Regis. I thought she wanted to get to know me. I was twenty-four, Dominic. I was a public school teacher. I thought love was enough."
She closed her eyes, remembering.
"She sat across from me, drank Earl Grey tea, and put a folder on the table. It had pictures of my younger brother—the one with cerebral palsy. It had the address of his care facility. Then she showed me pictures of men with rifles sitting in cars outside his window."
A cold rage flooded my veins, turning my blood to liquid nitrogen.
"She told me," Sophia continued, tears spilling silently down her pale cheeks, "that if I didn't sign the agreement and disappear by midnight, my brother’s medical funding would be revoked, and he would have a 'tragic accident' in his sleep. She said you were going to be the Don of New York, and a weak, poor girl from Queens would only get you killed by your rivals. She said if I loved you, I would save your life and my brother's life by vanishing."
"I searched for you," I said, my voice raw, bleeding. "I spent millions of dollars, Sophia. I tore this city apart."
"I know," she whispered. "Because every time your investigators got close, your mother sent men to remind me what would happen to my brother. When I found out I was pregnant with Lily, I was terrified. I gave birth in a rural clinic in Vermont under a fake name. But your mother found out anyway. She forced me to sign another paper, promising to pay for Lily's care only if you never knew."
"And the Vitale family?" I asked, stepping closer to the bed. "How did Antonio find you?"
"Two weeks ago, Isabella’s brother, Lorenzo, showed up at my front door," Sophia said, shivering despite the heavy blankets. "He threw an eviction notice at me. He laughed and said the Moretti-Vitale merger wasn't going to have any loose ends. He said Isabella knew all about the 'bastard in the woods' and that after the wedding tonight, there wouldn't be any Moretti money left to keep us alive."
She looked up at me, her eyes burning with an agonizing mixture of heartbreak and fierce maternal fury.
"I didn't bring Lily here to ruin your wedding, Dominic. I brought her here because I knew you were the only man on earth dangerous enough to stop them."
Before I could answer, the double doors of the master suite swung open with a violent click.
Standing in the doorway, wearing an emerald silk gown that cost more than a teacher’s annual salary, was Isabella Vitale.
Her face was white with shock, her diamond-clad fingers clutching a crystal flute of champagne.
May you like
"Dominic?" she breathed, her eyes darting from me to the bed, landing on Sophia, and finally settling on Lily. The crystal flute slipped from her fingers, shattering into a hundred glittering shards against the hardwood floor. "What... what is this?"
***
