Chapter 1 - The Baby Who Chose Her
The baby screamed in Matteo Varric’s arms.
“Please make it stop!”
Matteo turned as a stack of white linens hit the marble floor beside a new maid.
One towel had fallen open.
A tiny hospital bracelet was caught inside it.
Matteo knew immediately this was no ordinary accident.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then nine-month-old Nico Varric screamed again.
The sound tore through the foyer.
Liana Graves stared at the baby.
She had been employed at the Varric estate for less than four hours.
She had already learned three rules.
Never enter the west wing.
Never speak to Matteo Varric unless he spoke first.
And never, under any circumstances, approach his son without permission.
She broke the third rule before lunch.
Nico twisted violently against his father's chest.
Matteo tried adjusting him.
Nothing.
“Come on, Nico.”
The words were quiet.
Almost desperate.
“Please.”
That single word startled Liana more than the armed guards.
Everyone in the city knew Matteo Varric.
Or believed they did.
Newspapers called him a businessman when lawyers were listening.
Everyone else used darker words.
His family controlled shipping companies, construction firms, nightclubs, and enough politicians that most people lowered their voices before saying the Varric name.
But the man standing twenty feet from Liana did not look powerful.
He looked exhausted.
His white shirt was wrinkled.
His sleeves had been rolled unevenly.
Dark stubble covered his jaw.
His hair looked as though he had repeatedly dragged his hands through it.
And the baby in his arms did not care how many people feared Matteo Varric.
Nico screamed.
Liana's chest tightened.
Twenty-two days.
That was how long it had been.
Twenty-two days since she had stood beside a tiny grave.
Twenty-two days since someone had lowered a white coffin into the earth.
Twenty-two days since a doctor had told her there was nothing anyone could have done.
She still woke at night thinking she heard her own son crying.
Sometimes she reached toward the empty bassinet before remembering it was gone.
That morning, she had promised herself she would survive eight hours.
Fold sheets.
Polish silver.
Clean bathrooms.
Go home.
Sleep.
Repeat.
She had not prepared herself for this.
Nico released another broken cry.
Liana moved.
A guard stepped into her path.
“Stop.”
She stopped.
Matteo looked over.
His gaze was immediate and cold.
“Who are you?”
“Liana Graves.”
He waited.
“The new maid.”
“You're not assigned to the nursery.”
“No.”
“Then why are you approaching my son?”
She didn't know how to answer.
Because he sounds like mine had sounded?
Because my arms hurt when I hear him?
Because grief has apparently made me stupid?
Instead she whispered, “Please.”
Matteo's eyes hardened.
“Please what?”
Liana slowly raised her arms.
“Let me hold him.”
One guard glanced at another.
The silence would have been almost absurd if Nico weren't screaming through it.
“No,” Matteo said.
Liana nodded.
She lowered her arms.
“I'm sorry.”
She turned toward the fallen linens.
Then Nico stopped kicking.
Not crying.
Just kicking.
Matteo felt it.
He looked down.
Nico was staring past him.
At Liana.
The baby hiccupped through another sob.
Then stretched one hand toward her.
Liana froze.
Nico reached again.
Matteo shifted his body.
Nico leaned around him.
Toward Liana.
“Nico?”
The baby whimpered.
His tiny fingers opened and closed.
Liana's throat tightened.
Matteo stared at his son.
Then at her.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Have you been inside this house before?”
“No.”
His suspicion was unmistakable.
Liana should have been frightened.
Instead, she was watching Nico.
“He wants to come to me.”
“I can see that.”
Another cry escaped the baby.
Matteo closed his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them, something had changed.
Not trust.
Defeat.
He walked toward her.
The guards stiffened.
Matteo stopped directly in front of Liana.
“If he becomes more upset, you hand him back immediately.”
“Yes.”
“And you don't leave this room.”
“I won't.”
He hesitated.
Then transferred his son into her arms.
Nico became silent.
Instantly.
The quiet was so complete that the ticking of a clock somewhere across the foyer suddenly seemed loud.
Matteo didn't move.
Neither did the guards.
Liana barely breathed.
Nico rested his cheek against her chest.
His tiny body softened.
His fist closed around the burgundy fabric of her uniform.
Then he sighed.
A small, sleepy sigh.
Liana's eyes filled.
Her arms remembered.
The weight.
The warmth.
The tiny breath against her collarbone.
For one dangerous second, grief and reality collided so violently she nearly lost her balance.
Matteo reached forward.
She steadied herself.
“I'm fine.”
His hand stopped.
Nico made a quiet sound.
Not a cry.
Almost a murmur.
Liana instinctively rubbed his back.
“There you go,” she whispered.
Matteo stared.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“He hasn't stopped like that in weeks.”
Liana looked up.
“Weeks?”
“Six.”
“Constantly?”
“Almost.”
“While sleeping?”
“He barely sleeps.”
“Eating?”
“Some days better than others.”
“Fever?”
“No.”
“Doctors?”
“Seven.”
The answer came too quickly.
Matteo had counted them.
Liana looked back at Nico.
“Seven doctors found nothing?”
“They found reflux. Then they said it wasn't reflux. One said teething. Another said overstimulation.”
“And before six weeks ago?”
Matteo's face changed slightly.
“He was different.”
“How?”
“Happy.”
The word sounded strange coming from him.
“He laughed. Slept through most nights.”
Liana gently shifted Nico.
The baby flinched.
Very slightly.
But she felt it.
Her hand stopped.
She shifted him again.
Another flinch.
“What?”
Matteo had seen her expression.
“Nothing yet.”
“Don't say ‘yet.’”
Liana ignored the warning.
She had spent months learning the smallest movements of a baby.
What meant hunger.
What meant gas.
What meant exhaustion.
What meant pain.
Nico wasn't simply distressed.
He was protecting something.
She carefully touched his left side.
Nothing.
His right.
Nico stiffened.
Liana frowned.
“Has anyone examined his ribs?”
“Of course.”
“Recently?”
“Three days ago.”
She slowly lifted the edge of his pale blue shirt.
Nico remained quiet.
Then Liana saw it.
Her fingers stopped.
Near the lower right side of his rib cage was a faint mark.
Barely larger than a fingernail.
Not a bruise.
Not exactly.
Three pale dots formed a small triangle around a thin curved line.
Liana stopped breathing.
The foyer disappeared.
She saw fluorescent hospital lights.
A white blanket.
Her baby's tiny body.
A nurse saying she was sorry.
And that mark.
The same three dots.
The same curved line.
“Liana?”
She heard Matteo as though from underwater.
She touched the mark with one trembling fingertip.
Nico stirred.
“What is it?”
Matteo stepped closer.
Liana pulled the shirt down.
Too quickly.
His eyes narrowed.
“What did you see?”
She couldn't answer.
“Liana.”
Her heart hammered.
“When was Nico born?”
Matteo stared at her.
“Why?”
“What hospital?”
“Why?”
“Please answer me.”
His voice dropped.
“St. Catherine's.”
Liana nearly dropped the baby.
Matteo caught her elbow.
“What happened?”
She looked at him.
St. Catherine's.
The same hospital.
“No.”
The word escaped before she could stop it.
“What?”
“My baby was there.”
Matteo's expression shifted.
“What baby?”
Liana looked down at Nico.
“My son.”
Something in her face made Matteo stop questioning her.
“He died twenty-two days ago.”
The hardness left Matteo's expression.
Only for a moment.
“I didn't know.”
“You wouldn't.”
Nico's fingers tightened around her uniform.
Matteo glanced at them.
“How old?”
“Seven months.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“They said respiratory failure.”
“They said?”
Liana looked up sharply.
“I believed them.”
“Until now?”
She didn't answer.
Matteo stepped closer.
“What did you see on Nico?”
Liana swallowed.
“Did he have that mark when he was born?”
“What mark?”
She lifted his shirt again.
Matteo looked.
His expression went still.
“This.”
“I've never seen it.”
“Who has been caring for him?”
“Nannies. Nurses. Me.”
“His mother?”
The effect was immediate.
Matteo's jaw tightened.
“No.”
Liana waited.
He gave nothing else.
She looked back at the mark.
“My son had one.”
Matteo's eyes returned to her.
“The same kind?”
“The exact same pattern.”
“That could be coincidence.”
“Yes.”
But neither sounded convinced.
Matteo crouched slightly to examine it.
“Was your son's congenital?”
“No.”
“When did it appear?”
Liana hesitated.
“I saw it after he died.”
Matteo slowly straightened.
The guards were watching now.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You must have some idea.”
“I don't.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
Because she remembered something else.
Something she had spent twenty-two days trying not to remember.
A woman in pale blue scrubs.
Standing outside the hospital room.
Watching while Liana held her dying child.
And later, after he died, that same woman had asked a strange question.
Had anyone photographed his chest?
At the time, Liana thought it was medical procedure.
Now she remembered the woman's face.
She had also seen her photograph downstairs that morning.
Framed in silver.
Beside Matteo.
Liana stared toward the staircase.
Matteo followed her gaze.
“What?”
“There was a photograph.”
“Where?”
“In the east sitting room.”
“Of whom?”
“A woman.”
Matteo became motionless.
“What woman?”
“Dark hair. Green eyes. She was wearing a white dress.”
His face lost color.
“You're mistaken.”
“I don't think I am.”
“Describe her.”
Liana did.
With every detail, Matteo became quieter.
When she finished, he asked, “Where did you see her?”
“At St. Catherine's.”
“When?”
“The night my son died.”
One guard shifted.
Matteo heard it.
His eyes flicked toward him.
Then back to Liana.
“What was she doing?”
“She wore hospital scrubs.”
“That woman was never a nurse.”
Liana tightened her hold on Nico.
“Who was she?”
Matteo didn't answer.
He walked to a console table, opened a drawer, and removed a silver-framed photograph.
He held it toward Liana.
“Her?”
Liana stared.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
“Yes. That's her.”
Matteo's fingers tightened around the frame.
Liana looked from the photograph to him.
“Who is she?”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then:
“My wife.”
Liana looked at Nico.
“Where is she now?”
Matteo's gaze turned colder than anything Liana had seen since entering the house.
“Dead.”
The word landed heavily.
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
Liana stared at him.
“That isn't possible.”
“I buried her.”
“I saw her seven months later.”
Matteo's expression changed.
The guards exchanged another glance.
This time Matteo caught it.
“Leave.”
Neither moved.
“Now.”
They obeyed.
When the foyer doors closed, Matteo approached Liana.
“Tell me exactly what you remember.”
She did.
The blue scrubs.
The corridor.
The woman watching her baby.
The strange question about photographs.
Matteo listened without interrupting.
Then Liana remembered one final detail.
“She called him Nico.”
Matteo stopped.
“What?”
“My son.”
Her voice trembled.
“She looked at my baby and said, ‘Poor Nico.’”
Matteo's face went blank.
“But my son's name wasn't Nico.”
The silence between them became unbearable.
A faint vibration sounded.
Matteo pulled his phone from his pocket.
Unknown number.
One message.
He opened it.
A photograph appeared.
Matteo stared at the screen.
Then slowly looked at the baby in Liana's arms.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He turned the phone toward her.
The photograph showed two hospital bassinets.
Two newborn babies.
And between them stood Matteo's supposedly dead wife.
On the back wall was a date.
Nine months earlier.
Liana stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
Three words appeared beneath the photograph.
CHECK THE GRAVE.
Matteo looked toward the mansion doors.
A car had just stopped outside.
May you like
Someone stepped out.
And the woman walking toward the house was wearing pale blue hospital scrubs.
