Chapter 2 - The Empty CradleThe rain beat a steady rhythm against the tall glass windows of the Moretti estate as I packed one leather duffel bag.
I took only what mattered: Sophie’s medical documents, her warm clothes, my late mother’s pearl necklace, and the hard drive containing the encrypted financial logs my father had left in my name. I stripped my finger of the six-carat diamond ring Roman had placed there three years ago, setting it flat on the mahogany dresser beside a single sheet of paper.
At 11:15 PM, a black armored SUV pulled silently into the rear service drive behind the estate.
Two of Julian’s federal transport officers, dressed in plain clothes, met me at the door. I held six-day-old Sophie securely against my chest, her pink blanket tucked tight against the cold November wind.
Without a word, I stepped into the back seat of the vehicle. The doors clicked shut, sealing out the dark walls of the estate.
As the SUV glided silently through the dark, rain-soaked streets of Milwaukee toward a private airfield, my phone vibrated in my lap.
It was 1:15 AM.
Roman had finally returned home.
Inside the master bedroom of the Moretti estate, the front door clicked shut.
Roman Moretti walked through the marble foyer, shaking the rain from his dark wool coat. His mind was heavy, tainted with a subtle edge of guilt he refused to admit. He had left Laya’s birthday party after she had fallen asleep at the club, telling himself he was coming home to check on his wife.
"Aaron?" he called out, his deep voice echoing through the silent halls.
No answer.
He frowned, walking toward the nursery. "Aaron, I'm back. The traffic was heavy..."
He pushed open the white nursery door.
The seventy-two-degree room was lit only by the soft glow of the nightlight.
Roman stepped toward the bassinet, a rare, soft smile touching his lips as he reached out to look down at his daughter.
The bassinet was empty.
The white silk blanket was gone. The pink sleep sack was gone.
Roman’s breath caught in his throat. Panic—sharp, sudden, and terrifying—slammed into his chest.
"Aaron?!" he roared, turning on his heel, sprinting into the master bedroom.
The room was pristine, dark, and silent. The closet doors stood open; my clothes were gone, my vanity cleared.
On the mahogany dresser, resting directly beneath the dim lamp light, sat my six-carat diamond wedding ring.
Beside it lay a single white sheet of paper containing four words written in my clear, elegant script:
You chose her. Goodbye.
Roman dropped the paper, his hands trembling violently as he pulled out his encrypted phone, dialing my number with frantic, shaking fingers.
“The number you have dialed has been permanently disconnected.”
"NO!" Roman roared, slamming his heavy fist flat against the mirror, shattering the glass into a hundred webbed shards. "MARCO! GET IN HERE NOW!"
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His chief of security rushed into the room, his face pale. "Boss?! What happened?!"
"Deploy every unit in the city!" Roman screamed, his eyes bloodshot, his face contorted in pure, unadulterated terror. "Block every highway out of Milwaukee! Lock down the airports! My wife and daughter are gone!"
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