Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Saverio

T he pain in my leg is relentless. It’s the only reason I take the glass of choice brandy that Nicole offers me. I’m about to lift it to my lips when one of the caterers I saw in the kitchen sprints into the tent with a wild look on her face. She skids to a halt in the entrance and scans the crowd with a frantic expression.

I only have to take one look at her owl-sized eyes to know something happened. I’m on my feet in a flash, the glass in my hand forgotten. It slips through my fingers, brandy sloshing over the rim. I catch it in reflex before it hits the floor, my gaze connecting with Dante’s where he’s chatting on the other side of the gazebo to one of the guests.

Like me, he’s already assessed the situation. Face drawn and muscles tense, he makes his way over to the woman. I’m slower in getting there. My limp delays me, but I miss nothing, not the panic in the woman’s body language as she gestures with her hands or the alarm in Dante’s eyes when I reach them.

We stare at each other for no longer than a millisecond, frozen in the way people are just before one of them delivers bad news, but it’s enough to tell me whatever is wrong is major.

The woman runs away without repeating her message.

Dante doesn’t make me wait. He gives it to me straight. “Claire is gone.”

Every one of those three little words slams into my chest like a ten-pound hammer.

No.

Impossible.

Someone misunderstood. Rosemary is walking her through the house because she woke up crying and wouldn’t go back to sleep. Yet even as my brain tells me there’s been a mistake, I act on instinct. Years of practice battle-hardened me enough to function like a soldier despite the shock blasting through me.

“Lock down the house,” I say under my breath as Dante and I hurry to the nearest door, which gives access to the kitchen. “Seal off the property. No one is allowed to leave.”

He hurries ahead to execute the order while I make my way inside as fast as my cursed limp allows. It’s only when I grip the door frame with both hands to lift myself up the step that I realize I didn’t take the cane. I don’t feel the pain. Adrenaline fuels my steps, killing the physical discomfort while fanning the flames of the fear that burns through me.

The staff stand at their makeshift workstations, looking scared and confused. I don’t make it to the hallway before a chilling scream pierces the space. The sound of that voice drives me harder. It’s a voice I know well, the voice of the woman I love, and it eats into my gut like acid.

Guards file through the front door as I take the stairs. I don’t stop to address them. Dante knows how this works. He would’ve told them to search every nook and cranny. Another team of armed men would’ve been dispatched to keep the guests from leaving the tent. Bathroom doors will be kicked open and every bed turned over. No one will be allowed to hide.

When I make it to the reading nook, Anya is gripping Rosemary’s shoulders, shaking her.

“Tell me,” Anya screams. “Tell me where she is!”

Rosemary’s head lolls to the side, her body like a rag doll under Anya’s assault.

“Anya.” I fasten my fingers around her arms and pull her off the woman. “She’s unconscious.”

“Tell me,” she yells again, fighting me like a wildcat.

I capture her between my arms, pinning her back against my chest. “She can’t answer you.”

She kicks and flails her arms, trying to push me away. “I want my baby!”

“Stop it,” I say, lifting her off her feet. “Calm down.”

My harsh tone has the desired effect. She stills, going limp in my hold.

Her heartbeat pounds against my chest, mirroring the wild galloping of my own.

Despite the anguish, I keep my voice even. “You’ll hurt yourself. I know what I ask is difficult, but you have to keep your head, tesoro .”

“She’s gone,” she says with a sob. “Gone.”

The sorrow and devastation in those words slice right through me. I turn her to face me, murder already coursing through my veins. “We’ll find her.”

Anya collapses in my arms, her knees giving out. “Sav.”

My name is a cry for help on her lips, a sound of agony that cuts me to the bone.

I press a kiss on the crown of her head, swallowing down my volatile emotions in lieu of rationality because getting our daughter back depends on my ability to think with a clear head. “We’ll find her. I promise you that.”

Nicole comes running with Livy on her heels. “What’s going on?”

Anya pushes away from me, trying to stand, but her knees wobble again. She stabs her fingers through her hair and looks at her friends with ghost-white, tear-streaked cheeks. “She’s gone. Someone took Claire.”

“Dear God,” Nicole says, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.

Livy jumps into action. “Here, Anya.” She takes her arm and leads her to a chair. “Sit down before you keel over. You need to be strong, understand?”

Trusting Livy to take care of Anya, I pat Rosemary’s cheek. She doesn’t react, but her skin isn’t cold like a corpse’s.

I feel her pulse.

It’s strong.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask Nicole.

Nicole shoves me away and peels open one of Rosemary’s eyelids. “She’s knocked out good. I don’t see blood or obvious injuries.” She runs her fingers along the vertebrae at Rosemary’s nape before carefully checking her skull. “No head trauma.”

Dante arrives with two men in tow. He comes over while the men continue down the hallway.

I bark out an order. “Get the video feed from the security cameras outside.”

“Already done,” he says. “The feed is being sent to your phone as we speak.”

“Wake her up,” I tell Nicole.

Nicole straightens. “You need to call an ambulance.”

I get into her face. “No one leaves until we find Claire, so wake her up. Now.”

Nicole flinches at my volume, leaning away from me to escape the verbal outburst, but she doesn’t argue.

I walk to the nursery, my chest squeezing until I can’t breathe. The feeling I get when I look into that empty crib is something I can’t name. All I know is that I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s like claws digging my heart out of my chest. It’s like being in a vise that slowly tightens, like a flower that’s left to die and dry between the pages of a heavy book.

Fuck.

I feel her behind me. Anya.

I can’t look at her. I don’t have the courage. If I see the pain on her face, I won’t be able to tear myself away from her and do what must be done.

Reaching around me, I take her hand and pull her under my arm. I keep her close to me, giving her my strength as we stare at the empty bed where we left our daughter not three hours ago. Time is of the essence. Even as I comfort my wife, I take my phone from my pocket with my free hand and access the security app.

The video feed connects just as Dante pops his head around the door frame.

After a brief hesitation, he says, “The men did a first round of the house and the grounds. We’re going through every room more thoroughly now, looking in the less obvious hiding places.”

The part he leaves unsaid rings the loudest. They haven’t found her. She’s not here.

“Oh God,” Anya cries out in a broken whisper.

I turn her to me, holding her in a steel embrace with her head cradled against my chest. She wraps her arms around my waist and clings to me as if she’s never going to let go.

“Listen to me, Anya. I need you to go help Nicole. Get whatever she tells you from the medicine kit. We need Rosemary conscious.”

She nods, untangling her arms from my body. Every step she takes away from me is like a spike through my heart. But I can’t let her hear what I have to tell Dante. And what she needs right now is a task to stay busy.

I wait until she’s gone before delivering my instruction in a lowered voice. My tone is level-headed. It’s no indication of how torn up I am inside, of how my gut twists inside out. “Get an ultraviolet light. We need to scan for blood and body fluids.”

“Already on it,” he says with a deadly fury that burns in his brown eyes. “We’re keeping the guests in the tent under armed guard. The working staff are locked in the kitchen. I have a dedicated team questioning everyone in case someone saw or heard something. The rest of the men are combing through the yard and the house. I’m going back there to oversee the search.”

I nod, my throat tight with the emotions I push down. “Keep me posted.”

He disappears down the hallway. I linger another moment, taking in the stuffed toys and the story books Anya reads diligently to Claire. Clenching my hands into fists, I make a silent oath. I’m going to find my baby. I’m going to smoke the motherfucker who dared to take her out of the woodwork, and I’m going to snap his goddamn spine in two.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I walk with uneven steps back to the landing. Livy kneels in front of Rosemary, holding a gauze swab under her nose. Anya stands next to her with a bottle of household ammonia in her hand.

“Rosemary.” Nicole has two fingers on her pulse. “Open your eyes. Blink if you can hear me.”

Nothing.

The footage from the cameras comes through. I pace as I open the video file. The feed is clear. The security system sends a notification every time a person is detected outside, but we switched it off because of the party. Otherwise, our monitor would’ve blown up with notifications. I needed the guards to focus on any suspicious activity. Instead of being distracted by ten thousand pings for every caterer, waiter, and guest who crossed the threshold, the guards have orders to watch out for Raphael and his men. They’re equipped with face recognition software that’ll alarm them if a Morelli dares it onto my property. Every invitee received a printed invitation. A guard ticked off the names of the guests and checked their IDs as they arrived, which means we have a full inventory of everyone on site.

I fast-forward the feed from the time we arrived home to three hours ago and then play it on double speed.

I’m at the ten o’clock mark when Rosemary groans. In between studying my screen, I steal glances at them, praying to God that Nicole will bring Rosemary to so we can get answers.

“That’s it,” Nicole says, bending over the babysitter. “Open your eyes, Rosemary. Thanks, Livy. That’s enough. Let her breathe. Anya, get me a glass of water.”

Anya pours water from a bottle into a glass and hands it to Nicole.

Rosemary’s eyelids flutter. Her head bobs to the side, seeming too heavy for her neck.

Ten-thirty. The only movement on the feed is from the guards patrolling the grounds. One of the guards at the gates lights up a cigarette and smokes it under the light. Then he goes back to his post in the guardhouse.

“Oh my head,” Rosemary croaks.

Thank fuck.

“Do you have anti-inflammatories?” Nicole asks.

“I have some.” Livy pushes to her feet. “I’ll go get them.”

She shoots me a worried look as she scurries past me down the hallway in the direction of her room.

“Rosemary,” Nicole says a little louder. “What happened?”

I go closer.

Rosemary looks between Anya and Nicole, frowning. Her voice is groggy. “Did I fall asleep?”

I’m about to shake some answers from her when, close to the eleven o’clock mark on the feed, the front door opens and a thick-set woman with a bundle in her arms steps out.

My heart jerks to a stop. The bundle in her arms is wrapped in Claire’s pink blanket, the one with the white polka dots.

“Where’s Claire?” Anya asks in a teary voice.

Rosemary blinks. “What?”

The hand in which I clutch my phone shakes. The woman turns to the guard at the door and says something. He nods.

“Claire is missing,” Nicole says. “You have to tell us what happened.”

“But…” Rosemary coughs. “What’s going on?”

The woman climbs down the steps and walks to a car that’s parked in the driveway with the cars of the guests. I asked them to park down the street before we arrived because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise for Anya. Once we were inside the gazebo, a couple of trusted valets brought the vehicles into the property where the fancy models would be safe from car thieves.

Rage mounts inside me as I watch the woman open the back door and put the bundle on the seat. Like a fucking sack of potatoes. No car seat.

“You were out cold,” Nicole says. “What happened? Who took Claire?”

“I don’t understand,” Rosemary whines.

“Claire is gone,” Anya bites out, her voice thick with grief. “You have to tell us who took her.”

Rosemary stutters, her tongue tripping over the words. “What do you mean Claire is gone?”

The woman gets behind the wheel. She starts the engine and drives toward the gates. The man who smoked his cigarette earlier lets her out.

Motherfucker.

My whole body is wired for war. Every muscle is geared for battle.

I’m willing to bet the one eye I have left that bundle on the backseat was our baby. And if that’s the case, the woman who took her is dead.

Nicole flicks her fingers in front of Rosemary’s face. “Rosemary, focus.”

I zoom in on the license plate and take a screen shot. Then I fire off a message to Dante, sending him the license plate number and instructing him to bring the guards in question—the one who manned the door as well as the gates—to my study.

The babysitter touches her temple. “My head. It hurts.”

“We’ll give you something for your headache in a minute,” Nicole says. “Think, Rosemary. What’s the last thing you remember?”

My pulse hammers out an unsteady rhythm as I stare at my phone. I suppress the fury and bottle it up for later because I’m going to find out who that woman is and then I’m going to savor her screams while I peel off her skin right before I snap her spine like a twig.

Nicole’s words come through to me.

“Rosemary, you have to focus.”

Focus.

I email the license plate number to our informant on the force, telling him I want that car tracked down or I’ll have his head on a spike. As soon as the message is delivered, I tap into the feed and pull up a camera from a different angle to get a better visual on the woman’s face.

“Rosemary,” Nicole says, her tone harsh. “Do you understand what’s at stake?”

Rosemary sounds in shock if not close to tears. “I don’t get it.”

While I wait for the feed to load, I glance at Anya. Fuck. How do I tell her? How do I tell her someone walked into our house and stole our child right from under our noses?

“Someone took Claire,” Nicole stresses. “She’s gone, and we better find her fast. Now tell me. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I…” Rosemary wets her lips with her tongue. “The last thing I remember was eating the birthday cake Mrs. De Luca’s mother brought me.”

“What?” Anya goes deathly pale. “What did you say?”

The feed from the side of the porch loads. I enlarge the image, focusing on the face.

“Your mother,” Rosemary says. “She brought me cake from the party.” Her voice cracks. “She said you asked her to bring me a slice.”

Anya stumbles a step backward, shock painted over her face. “My mother.”

The woman on the feed lifts her head when she reaches the bottom of the porch steps. I didn’t recognize her in the fancy ball gown and the wig that makes her hair look thicker, but I should’ve fucking known.

Rosemary’s tone carries fear now. Uncertainly, she says, “Surely, your mother was invited.”

“No,” I say, clenching my teeth as I stare at Mary Brennan’s ugly face on my phone. “She wasn’t.”