PART 4 — The Woman in the Rain

Sophie Lane should have walked away after the hospital.

That was what any reasonable person would have done.

She should have returned to Bellavita, tied her black apron around her waist, carried plates of pasta to table six, smiled at customers who did not know her name, and pretended the richest, most dangerous man in Chicago had not looked at her like she was the only person who had ever told him the truth.

But two weeks after Matteo Moretti almost stopped breathing, Sophie stood outside St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital at midnight, staring through the glass at the private floor entrance.

Rain fell in silver lines beneath the emergency lights.

Inside, Dominic Moretti sat beside his son’s crib.

He had not gone home.

Not once.

The nurses whispered about it. The guards rotated every eight hours. Doctors came and went. Lawyers arrived with briefcases. Reporters waited across the street with cameras hidden beneath umbrellas.

And Dominic stayed.

No meetings. No dinners. No public appearances.

Just a father in a wrinkled charcoal shirt, holding his sleeping newborn’s hand.

Sophie told herself she only came because Dr. Feld had asked if she could stop by. Matteo responded to her voice. He ate better when she held him. He slept longer when she hummed.

But deep down, Sophie knew the truth.

She came because Matteo’s tiny fingers had wrapped around hers the way Leo’s had.

And because Dominic Moretti, terrifying as he was, looked at his son with the same helpless devotion Sophie had once carried into every hospital room.

She stepped off the elevator.

One guard nodded at her.

“Miss Lane.”

She was still not used to that. To being recognized. To being respected. To men with guns lowering their voices when she passed.

Dominic looked up when she entered.

His expression softened by half an inch.

For him, that was almost a smile.

“He’s been waiting for you,” he said.

Sophie removed her raincoat. “He’s a newborn. He doesn’t wait for anyone.”

Dominic looked down at Matteo. “You underestimate him.”

Matteo was awake in the crib, blinking at the ceiling lights, one tiny fist pressed against his cheek. His skin had color now. His breathing was steady. The marks on his neck had faded.

Sophie touched his blanket.

“Hi, little warrior,” she whispered.

Matteo made a small sound.

Dominic watched her closely. Too closely.

“What?” Sophie asked.

“You talk to him like you’ve known him longer than I have.”

Sophie’s hand stilled.

“I know what scared babies sound like.”

Dominic’s face tightened. “And scared mothers?”

She looked at him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Sophie said, “I was one once.”

Dominic looked away first.

That surprised her.

Men like him did not retreat. They attacked, negotiated, threatened, purchased, controlled. But grief had strange rules. It made even powerful people step back from doors they were not invited to open.

A nurse entered with formula and a soft smile. “He’s cleared for discharge tomorrow morning.”

Dominic’s jaw clenched.

“That’s good news,” Sophie said.

“It means I have to take him home.”

“You sound like you’re afraid of the house.”

“I’m afraid of who has been inside it.”

Sophie understood.

The Moretti mansion on Lake Shore Drive had once belonged to Dominic and Alessia. Now it was evidence, memory, and danger all under one roof.

“Hire new staff,” Sophie said.

“I did.”

“Replace security.”

“I did.”

“Install cameras.”

“I already had cameras.”

“Then use them.”

Dominic’s eyes turned cold.

“I did,” he said. “The footage from the night Alessia died is missing.”

Sophie felt the air shift.

“What do you mean missing?”

“The entire hour before her death. Gone.”

“And Victor had access?”

“Victor had access to everything. My house. My accounts. My wife’s medical team. My grief.”

He said the last word like it disgusted him.

Sophie was about to answer when a crash came from the hallway.

Dominic stood instantly.

The guard outside shouted.

A nurse screamed.

Sophie grabbed Matteo from the crib without thinking and pulled him against her chest.

Dominic moved to the door, but before he reached it, the lights flickered once.

Then went out.

For one terrible second, the private hospital floor disappeared into darkness.

Matteo whimpered.

Sophie held him tighter.

“Dominic,” she whispered.

“I’m here.”

His voice came from near the doorway, calm but deadly.

Emergency lights blinked on, painting the hall red.

A guard lay on the floor outside, conscious but dazed. Another guard had his hand pressed to his shoulder. At the far end of the corridor, the elevator doors were closing.

Dominic ran toward them.

Too late.

The elevator was gone.

On the floor near the nurses’ station sat a white envelope.

Dominic picked it up.

His name was written on the front in black ink.

Not typed.

Handwritten.

He opened it slowly.

Inside was a photograph.

Sophie saw Dominic’s face change before she saw the image.

Not anger.

Horror.

He turned the photograph toward her.

It showed Alessia Moretti lying in a hospital bed the night she died.

Her eyes were closed. Her skin pale. Tubes ran from her arms.

But that was not what made Sophie’s blood turn cold.

A woman stood beside Alessia’s bed.

Her face was partly turned away from the camera.

Blonde hair.

Cream silk.

Diamonds at her ears.

Bianca.

On the back of the photograph, one sentence had been written.

She was not alone when she died.

Sophie looked at Dominic.

Dominic’s hand trembled.

Then Sophie noticed something else in the picture.

Something small.

Something nearly hidden beneath Alessia’s limp fingers.

A folded blue hospital bracelet.

Sophie stepped closer.

Her voice barely came out.

“Dominic…”

He looked at her.

Sophie pointed to the bracelet in the photograph.

“That bracelet isn’t Matteo’s.”

Dominic went still.

Sophie swallowed hard.

“It says Baby Girl Moretti.”