Chapter 11 - The Woman in the Black Car
Damian stared at Sarah.
“What child?”
Sarah couldn't answer quickly enough.
He grabbed the table.
“Elena was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“At the time of the bombing.”
Damian’s face emptied.
“Mine?”
Sarah nodded.
The room became silent.
Hazel stepped back.
Not because she wanted distance.
Because Damian needed air.
Sarah explained that Elena had learned about the pregnancy days before the bombing.
After the explosion, doctors performed an emergency delivery.
A girl.
Premature.
Elena died shortly afterward.
Vittorio ordered the baby hidden.
He feared Michael would kill Damian’s heir.
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
Sarah looked at Marianne.
The older woman began crying.
“With me.”
Damian turned.
Marianne had raised the child under another name.
Outside Chicago.
She was four years old.
Her name was Lucia.
Damian sat down.
Hazel watched the strongest man she had ever known shake.
“I have a daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
Marianne nodded.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Elena made me promise.”
“She's dead.”
“She was dying and terrified.”
Damian turned away.
Hazel followed.
He stood on the balcony.
“I lost four years.”
“Yes.”
“She doesn't know me.”
“Not yet.”
He looked at Hazel.
“What if she hates me?”
It was such an ordinary fear.
Hazel took his hand.
“Then you give her time.”
“What if I'm terrible at this?”
“You will be.”
Damian frowned.
Hazel smiled.
“At first.”
He almost laughed.
“You're not helping.”
“You've never raised a four-year-old. Why would you magically know how?”
“People usually reassure me better.”
“People are scared of you.”
“You're scared of me.”
“Less every day.”
That mattered.
Lucia arrived the next morning.
She had Elena’s eyes.
Damian couldn't speak.
The little girl hid behind Marianne.
Hazel crouched.
“Hi, Lucia.”
Lucia studied her maid uniform.
“Are you a princess?”
Hazel looked down.
“Obviously.”
Lucia smiled.
Damian stared at Hazel as though she had performed a miracle.
Slowly, Lucia approached him.
“Are you Damian?”
“Yes.”
“Aunt Marianne says you're my daddy.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Lucia considered this.
“Do you have cookies?”
Damian looked helplessly at Hazel.
She laughed.
“He owns three kitchens. We'll find one.”
Lucia accepted him approximately fifteen minutes later after chocolate-chip negotiations.
The following days transformed the estate.
Toys appeared.
Crayons invaded Damian’s desk.
A stuffed rabbit occupied the chair where armed men once waited for orders.
Hazel watched Damian learn.
He was terrible at braiding hair.
Good at bedtime stories.
Overprotective about stairs.
Completely incapable of saying no when Lucia asked for pancakes.
One evening Hazel found them asleep together on the sofa.
Lucia lay on Damian’s chest.
The same place Hazel had accidentally fallen asleep days earlier.
Her heart tightened.
Damian opened one eye.
“Don't take a picture.”
“Too late.”
“You wouldn't.”
Hazel held up her phone.
He smiled.
Then headlights appeared beyond the window.
A black car stopped outside the gates.
No authorization.
Security surrounded it.
A woman stepped out.
Catherine Sullivan.
Released?
Impossible.
Marco brought her inside at gunpoint.
Catherine looked terrified.
“Michael wasn't the last one.”
Damian stood.
“Who?”
“My father.”
“Patrick Sullivan?”
“He knows about Lucia.”
Damian’s face changed.
Catherine placed a phone on the table.
A photograph showed Lucia in the garden that afternoon.
Taken from inside the estate.
Hazel’s stomach dropped.
Again.
Someone was still watching them.
Then the nursery monitor crackled.
Lucia’s voice came through.
“Daddy?”
Damian grabbed it.
“Yes?”
“There’s a lady in my room.”
Everyone froze.
Damian ran upstairs.
Hazel followed.
The nursery door was closed.
Lucia whispered through the monitor again.
“The lady says she knew Mommy.”
May you like
Damian reached for the handle.
Before he touched it, the door began opening from the inside.
