Chapter 5 - Eleven ChildrenThe list contained 11 children.
That fact changed everything.
For 48 hours, the Moretti estate stopped resembling a criminal fortress and began resembling an intelligence headquarters.
Computer equipment filled Vincent’s private library.
Former accountants worked beside cybersecurity specialists.
Dominic coordinated with 2 federal agents through unofficial channels nobody wanted documented.
Evelyn Vale remained under protection inside an isolated guest wing.
Vincent trusted her less than anyone else in the building.
But he needed her alive.
Isabelle spent most of her time beside Mateo.
The child continued gaining strength.
Each time his tiny fingers closed around hers, the world beyond the medical suite became temporarily irrelevant.
Then she would remember the list.
Ten others.
Somewhere, 10 children had been created or carried through the same conspiracy.
Some might live with families who believed everything about their births had been legitimate.
Some might already be hidden.
Some might be alone.
By the second evening, Dominic found the first one.
Case GH-1004.
A 4-year-old girl named Chloe Bennett living in Milwaukee.
Her biological parents were Daniel and Grace Bennett, technology entrepreneurs who used Genesis Hope after Grace survived ovarian cancer.
They believed their final embryo had failed during transfer.
It had not.
The embryo had been secretly implanted inside another woman.
The surrogate disappeared after delivery.
Three months later, Chloe entered the foster system under falsified records.
A year afterward, she was adopted by an elementary-school teacher and her husband.
Isabelle stared toward the photograph on the monitor.
Chloe possessed red hair and a wide smile.
“She has a family.”
“Yes,” Dominic said.
“Do they know?”
“No.”
“Then what are we supposed to do? Walk into their house and tell them their daughter was stolen before she was even born?”
Dominic did not answer.
Vincent stood near the fireplace.
“We tell the FBI.”
Isabelle looked toward him.
“You are giving them control?”
“Of this part.”
It surprised her.
Vincent noticed.
“I am learning.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It is unbearable.”
The second child was dead.
That discovery came 4 hours later.
Case GH-1007.
A boy born in Indianapolis.
The surrogate died from postpartum hemorrhage.
The infant disappeared before authorities arrived.
Dental evidence later suggested a 2-year-old child discovered inside a burned vehicle in Nevada had been him.
Isabelle left the room before Dominic finished explaining.
Vincent found her inside the hallway.
She had pressed both hands against the wall.
Her shoulders shook.
He approached quietly.
“Isabelle.”
“Do not tell me not to cry.”
“I was not going to.”
She turned.
“They killed her.”
“Yes.”
“The surrogate.”
“Yes.”
“She probably thought she was doing what I was doing.”
Vincent knew.
“Maybe she needed money. Maybe somebody in her family was sick. Maybe she thought she was helping somebody.”
Her voice broke.
“And they killed her after she gave birth.”
Vincent placed both hands gently around her shoulders.
“You survived.”
“Because Evelyn changed the medicine.”
“Yes.”
“What if she had not?”
He did not answer.
Isabelle understood.
Mateo would have been born.
She would have died.
Her death would have been described as a tragic complication.
The child would disappear.
Vincent might never learn that his son existed.
She pressed her forehead against his chest.
For several seconds, she simply cried.
Vincent held her.
No commands.
No promises.
No revenge.
Only his arms around her.
When she finally became quiet, Isabelle realized something.
She felt safe.
Not because of the armed men outside.
Not because of the reinforced doors.
Because Vincent was holding her.
That realization frightened her differently.
She stepped backward.
He released her immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You looked at me strangely.”
“I often look at you strangely.”
“This was different.”
She wiped her face.
“You are very observant for a criminal.”
“Former criminal.”
“You have been retired approximately 4 days.”
“I deserve recognition.”
A reluctant laugh escaped her.
Vincent’s expression softened.
Then Dominic appeared.
He stopped several feet away.
“I can return later.”
“No,” Isabelle said.
“What did you find?”
Dominic handed Vincent a printed record.
“The third case.”
Unlike Chloe, the third child had never been adopted.
He lived in Chicago.
His name was Samuel Ortega.
Six years old.
Biological origin: embryo created for Thomas and Maria Ortega.
Thomas Ortega was a federal judge.
A judge who had spent the previous decade approving wiretaps against organized crime families.
Including the Morettis.
Vincent stared toward the name.
“That cannot be coincidence.”
“It is not.”
The child was being raised by a single woman named Elena Ruiz.
She had been the surrogate.
She survived.
“How?” Isabelle asked.
Dominic turned toward Evelyn, who had entered behind him.
Evelyn looked at the file.
“Elena refused the clinic medication after delivery.”
“Why?”
“She was a nurse before becoming a surrogate. She noticed the vial labels did not match what she was told.”
“So she ran?”
“Yes.”
“With Samuel.”
Evelyn nodded.
“My father searched for her for years.”
Vincent looked toward Dominic.
“Where is she now?”
“Pilsen.”
“Protected?”
“No.”
“Then move her.”
The FBI objected.
Vincent ignored the objection.
Two hours later, Elena Ruiz and Samuel were escorted through the Moretti estate gates.
Elena entered holding her son tightly.
She was 38, small, exhausted, and furious.
The moment she saw Evelyn Vale, she crossed the room and slapped her.
The sound echoed.
Nobody stopped her.
Evelyn touched her cheek.
“I deserved that.”
“You killed women.”
“My father—”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
Elena’s eyes filled with tears.
“You watched us sign papers.”
“Yes.”
“You watched women walk into that clinic believing they were helping families.”
“I know.”
“You knew.”
Evelyn lowered her head.
“Yes.”
Isabelle stepped forward.
“Elena.”
The woman turned.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them immediately.
Recognition without familiarity.
Two women selected because someone believed desperation made them disposable.
Isabelle looked toward Samuel.
He stood partly behind his mother.
“Hi.”
Samuel watched her suspiciously.
Then he noticed Mateo sleeping inside the portable bassinet.
“Is that a baby?”
“Yes.”
“Is he loud?”
“Very.”
Samuel considered that.
“Babies are supposed to be loud.”
“I have discovered that.”
Elena’s expression softened slightly.
Later that night, she and Isabelle sat together inside the kitchen.
No guards.
No Vincent.
No questions.
Only tea.
“I knew something was wrong before the implantation,” Elena said.
“What?”
“The money.”
Isabelle nodded.
Too much.
Both of them had recognized it.
Neither had wanted to ask why.
“Elena,” Isabelle said carefully.
“Samuel’s biological parents are alive.”
Elena’s cup stopped halfway toward her mouth.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I discovered it 2 years ago.”
“Why did you never contact them?”
“Because Samuel is my son.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“I carried him. I almost died for him. I spent 6 years protecting him.”
Isabelle understood more than she wanted to.
Mateo was biologically Vincent and Isabella’s child.
But she had carried him.
She felt his first movements.
She spoke to him at night while cleaning tables.
She endured the contractions.
She delivered him.
What did that make her?
Vincent had called her his mother without hesitation.
Yet biology remained complicated.
Elena studied her.
“You are wondering whether your baby belongs to you.”
Isabelle looked up.
“How did you know?”
“Because I wondered every day.”
“What did you decide?”
Elena looked toward the doorway where Samuel was playing cards with Dominic.
“That motherhood is not a laboratory result.”
Isabelle became silent.
“You do not need permission to love a child you carried.”
“But Isabella—”
“His biological mother?”
“She died.”
“And?”
“I do not want to replace her.”
“Then do not.”
Elena shrugged.
“Love is not a chair. Somebody does not have to stand because another person sits down.”
The sentence stayed with Isabelle.
At midnight, Vincent found her inside Mateo’s room.
She was sitting inside a rocking chair with the baby against her chest.
“You should sleep.”
“You need another sentence.”
Vincent leaned against the doorway.
“I am considering options.”
“Good.”
He entered.
Isabelle looked toward him.
“What happens when all this ends?”
“We leave.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it remains true.”
“Where?”
“I own property in several countries.”
“That sounds exactly like something a terrifying rich person would say.”
“Choose one.”
She stared.
“What?”
“Choose where you want to live.”
“Vincent, I cannot choose a country as though I am ordering dinner.”
“Then choose a city.”
“I have never left Illinois except once when I was 12.”
His expression changed.
“Where did you go?”
“Indiana.”
“That barely qualifies.”
“Exactly.”
A smile moved across his face.
Isabelle watched it.
Vincent Moretti did not smile often.
When he did, the transformation was startling.
The hardness around his eyes disappeared.
For a moment, he looked younger.
Less dangerous.
Human.
She looked away first.
“What about you?”
“I do not care.”
“You must care.”
“I care where Mateo is.”
Her chest tightened.
“And me?”
The question escaped before she could stop it.
Vincent became completely still.
Isabelle immediately regretted asking.
Then he moved closer.
“Yes.”
His voice was low.
“You.”
She looked at him.
“I care where you are.”
The room seemed smaller.
Mateo slept between them.
Vincent lifted one hand.
He stopped before touching her face.
Isabelle could have moved away.
She did not.
His fingers gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
The gesture contained none of the authority he displayed everywhere else.
Only uncertainty.
“Isabelle.”
An alarm sounded throughout the estate.
Vincent changed instantly.
His hand disappeared.
Dominic entered 10 seconds later.
“We have movement outside the southern perimeter.”
“Vale?”
“Unknown.”
Vincent reached for the pistol he still carried despite his promise to leave violence behind.
Isabelle noticed.
“So much for retirement.”
“This is why retirement takes planning.”
Gunfire did not follow.
Instead, a black sedan stopped outside the gate.
A man stepped out.
Unarmed.
Approximately 50 years old.
He carried a briefcase.
Security surrounded him.
The man raised both hands.
“I have information for Vincent Moretti.”
Dominic watched him through the camera.
“Do you recognize him?”
Vincent did.
“Anthony Falcone.”
Isabelle’s blood chilled.
A member of the rival syndicate.
Anthony was Salvatore Falcone’s younger brother.
Vincent ordered him searched and brought inside.
Ten minutes later, Anthony entered the library.
He looked toward Mateo’s bassinet.
Then toward Vincent.
“Congratulations.”
Vincent’s eyes became cold.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Anthony placed the briefcase upon the table.
“I did not come to threaten your child.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because Adrian Vale stole something from my family too.”
He opened the case.
Inside was a photograph of a 9-year-old girl.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
“She is my granddaughter.”
Anthony’s voice changed.
“The clinic told us she died before birth.”
He looked toward Vincent.
“She is Case GH-1001.”
Dominic checked the ledger.
The number matched.
Anthony swallowed.
“Vale contacted me this morning.”
Vincent’s hand tightened.
“What did he want?”
“The same thing he wants from you.”
“Which is?”
Anthony looked around the room.
“Every file Lorenzo stole from Genesis Hope.”
“And if we refuse?”
Anthony slid a phone across the table.
A video waited upon the screen.
Vincent pressed play.
A frightened little girl sat inside a white room.
The date and time appeared in the corner.
Live recording.
Case GH-1001 had already been taken.
Anthony’s voice broke.
“He has my granddaughter.”
Then a distorted voice came from the video.
“Ten children remain.”
A pause.
“Mateo Moretti will be the eleventh.”
Vincent’s expression became absolutely still.
Isabelle knew that stillness now.
It was the moment before the darkest part of him emerged.
But this time she reached for his hand.
Vincent looked toward her.
“Do not become Lorenzo,” she whispered.
His fingers closed around hers.
Then he looked toward the terrified child on the screen.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“I am going to become something far worse for Adrian Vale.”
Not a crime boss.
May you like
Not a murderer protecting territory.
A father hunting the man who had declared war upon children.
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