PART 8 — The Petition from a Dead Woman

For six weeks, Sophie Lane almost believed peace was possible.

Not perfect peace.

Not the kind people wrote about in greeting cards or whispered over wedding cakes.

But the kind of peace that lived in small routines.

Matteo learned to sleep through most of the night. Lucia stopped hiding food in her pockets. Dominic learned how to warm bottles without looking like he was defusing a bomb. And Sophie learned that the Moretti mansion could sound less like a museum if children were allowed to laugh inside it.

Every morning, Lucia ran barefoot down the marble hallway with her stuffed rabbit dragging behind her. Every afternoon, Matteo slept in the nursery while Sophie folded tiny clothes that smelled of lavender detergent. Every evening, Dominic came home earlier than anyone expected and stood awkwardly in the doorway until Lucia decided whether she wanted to hug him.

Some days she did.

Some days she didn’t.

Dominic never forced it.

That, more than anything, made Sophie trust him.

The most feared man in Chicago could make grown men lower their eyes with one glance, but with his daughter, he waited.

One Friday night, Sophie found him sitting on the nursery floor, still in his white dress shirt, reading a children’s book upside down.

Lucia sat beside him, frowning.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said.

Dominic looked at the book, then at Sophie.

“I suspected.”

Sophie leaned against the doorframe, smiling before she could stop herself.

Dominic saw it.

For a second, the room softened.

Then Matteo stirred in his crib and made a tiny noise. Sophie crossed the room, lifted him carefully, and pressed him against her shoulder.

Lucia watched her.

“You sound like her,” the little girl whispered.

Sophie froze.

Dominic slowly lowered the book.

“Like who, sweetheart?” Sophie asked gently.

Lucia’s fingers tightened around her rabbit.

“The lady who sang in the dark room.”

Dominic’s face changed.

Sophie sat down beside Lucia. “What dark room?”

Lucia looked toward the window, where rain tapped softly against the glass.

“The room before the big house. Before Miss Evelyn.” Her voice shrank. “The lady cried. She said my name was Lucia. Then the red lady came and took me.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened.

“The red lady?” he asked.

Lucia nodded.

“She smelled like flowers. She had red nails.” Lucia looked at Sophie. “She told the crying lady to stop pretending.”

The air seemed to vanish from the nursery.

Dominic stood.

Sophie knew that look now. His body went still when his mind turned dangerous.

“Dominic,” she warned softly.

“I’m calling Agent Morris.”

But before he reached the door, the mansion intercom buzzed.

A guard’s voice came through.

“Mr. Moretti, Child Protective Services is at the gate.”

Sophie’s blood went cold.

Dominic turned slowly. “At this hour?”

“They have police with them.”

Lucia’s rabbit slipped from her hands.

Matteo began to fuss against Sophie’s shoulder.

Within ten minutes, the front hall filled with strangers.

Two uniformed officers. A woman in a gray suit holding a tablet. Another woman with a folder pressed to her chest. Cameras flashed from beyond the locked gate, where reporters had somehow already gathered.

Dominic came down the staircase with frightening calm.

“My children are asleep,” he said.

The woman in gray did not flinch.

“Mr. Moretti, we received an emergency petition alleging that Lucia and Matteo Moretti are in immediate danger in this residence.”

Sophie stepped down behind him, holding Matteo. Lucia clung to the back of her sweater.

“In danger from who?” Sophie asked.

The woman looked at her.

“From Mr. Moretti. And from you.”

Dominic’s eyes darkened.

Sophie felt the accusation land like a slap.

“Me?”

“You are not a licensed guardian. You are not a relative. There are claims of emotional dependency, possible manipulation, and inappropriate access to vulnerable children involved in an active criminal case.”

Dominic moved one step forward.

Sophie touched his arm.

He stopped.

That small act did not go unnoticed.

The woman in gray looked between them.

“I need to see the children.”

“No,” Dominic said.

The officer shifted. “Sir—”

Dominic’s voice lowered. “You will not wake my daughter and terrify her because someone with money found the right form.”

The woman opened the folder.

“This is not merely a form.”

She handed Dominic a copy.

Sophie watched his face as he read it.

The anger disappeared.

In its place came something colder.

Disbelief.

Then horror.

“What?” Sophie whispered.

Dominic said nothing.

He handed her the paper.

At the top was an emergency custody petition.

Below it was a signature.

A signature Sophie had seen before, on letters, in journals, on hospital forms.

Alessia Moretti.

Sophie looked up slowly.

“That’s impossible.”

The woman in gray spoke carefully.

“The petition claims the children’s mother is alive.”

Dominic’s voice came out rough.

“My wife is dead.”

“Then someone with her identification, her medical records, and a valid signature appeared before a judge this afternoon.”

Lucia began to cry silently behind Sophie.

Sophie pulled her close with one arm and held Matteo with the other.

Dominic stared at the paper as if the dead had reached through it and grabbed his throat.

Then the woman said the sentence that shattered the house completely.

“She is asking the court to remove both children from this home by morning.”