Chapter 2 - The Secret Clara Never Told Him
Dominic read the message three times.
ASK YOUR WIFE WHO THE FATHER IS.
The implication was obvious.
It was also exactly the kind of implication designed to make an angry man act before thinking.
Five years earlier, Dominic would have done precisely that.
Tonight, he stared through the glass toward the operating suite.
“No.”
Mateo looked at him.
“No what?”
“I’m not playing their game.”
He handed Mateo the phone.
“Trace it.”
Mateo studied the photograph.
“Clara met Moretti?”
“We don’t know that.”
“The message says—”
“I can read.”
Dominic’s voice became colder.
“I want facts.”
Mateo nodded.
Dominic walked toward a window.
Chicago glittered below him.
For years, he had told himself Clara was distant.
Now memories returned differently.
Clara waiting for him at dinners he missed.
Clara remembering the birthdays of his men’s wives and children.
Clara sitting beside his mother during her final illness.
Clara keeping his house functioning while Dominic treated the marriage like another contract already signed.
She had never been cold.
She had simply stopped begging for warmth.
That distinction hurt.
An hour later, Dr. Patel returned.
“The surgery is complete.”
Dominic stood immediately.
“She survived?”
“Yes.”
The breath left Dominic’s chest.
“But the next twenty-four hours remain critical.”
“Can I see her?”
“For a few minutes.”
Dominic entered the intensive-care room alone.
Machines surrounded Clara.
He approached slowly.
For once, there was no audience to impress.
No soldiers.
No rivals.
No Serena.
Only his wife.
Dominic sat beside the bed.
His fingers hovered over Clara’s hand before gently touching it.
Her wedding ring had been removed and placed inside a clear belongings bag.
The empty mark around her finger disturbed him.
“Clara.”
Nothing.
Dominic swallowed.
“I don’t know if you can hear me.”
His voice sounded unfamiliar.
“I should have been there.”
The monitor continued its steady rhythm.
“I should have been home.”
He looked down.
“I should have listened three weeks ago.”
A tear reached his cheek before he could stop it.
Dominic almost laughed bitterly.
Men had begged him for mercy without producing this reaction.
Clara merely lay silent.
And he was unraveling.
“I don’t care what that message said.”
He squeezed her fingers.
“I just need you to wake up.”
The door opened.
Dr. Patel entered with another physician.
“Mr. Valente?”
Dominic stood.
“What?”
“We received laboratory results.”
The doctors exchanged a glance.
Dominic’s heart began pounding.
“Tell me.”
“Your wife is pregnant.”
Everything became silent.
Dominic stared at him.
“What?”
“Approximately eleven weeks.”
Dominic sat back down.
Eleven weeks.
He calculated automatically.
Eleven weeks earlier, he and Clara had spent one rare weekend alone at their Wisconsin lake house.
He remembered the storm.
The electricity had gone out.
Without phones, staff, meetings, or Serena, they had talked until two in the morning.
For one night, their marriage had felt real again.
He remembered Clara sleeping against his chest.
He remembered waking to find her watching him.
Eleven weeks.
The baby could be his.
Almost certainly was.
But the anonymous message had been designed to plant doubt.
“How is the baby?”
Dominic asked.
“Still viable.”
“Still?”
“The trauma creates risks. We’re monitoring both patients carefully.”
Both patients.
Dominic looked at Clara.
His wife.
His child.
Two lives he had nearly failed without even knowing the second existed.
Later, Mateo returned with more information.
“Serena didn’t leave the hospital through the main entrance.”
“Then how?”
“Service elevator.”
“Find her.”
“We are.”
“And the security company?”
“Serena’s management company made three payments to them.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“For what?”
“That’s the strange part. The invoices say event protection.”
“But?”
“The dates don’t match any events Serena attended.”
Dominic turned.
“So she paid them for something else.”
“Looks that way.”
Mateo handed him another folder.
“We also checked Clara’s movements.”
Dominic opened it.
“She did meet Lorenzo Moretti.”
“When?”
“Twice.”
Dominic looked up.
“Where?”
“First time at St. Catherine’s church. Second at a restaurant owned by a neutral family.”
Dominic felt anger rising.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
His phone rang.
Maria.
“Mr. Valente, I found something.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Valente left instructions that if anything happened to her, I should give you a key.”
Dominic went still.
“A key to what?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“Bring it.”
Forty minutes later, Maria arrived carrying a small envelope.
Inside was a brass key and a handwritten note.
Dominic recognized Clara’s handwriting immediately.
Dominic, if you are reading this, then I waited too long to tell you. Go to Union Station. Locker 318. Go alone if you can. Trust Mateo. Trust no one else until you see what is inside.
Dominic read it twice.
At the bottom was another sentence.
And whatever you discover, please remember that I loved you even when loving you became lonely.
Dominic folded the letter.
Mateo looked away, giving him privacy.
“Stay with her,” Dominic said.
“You’re going alone?”
“That’s what she asked.”
“Dom—”
“If Clara planned for this possibility, she had a reason.”
Union Station was nearly empty when Dominic arrived.
Locker 318 stood near the end of a quiet corridor.
He inserted the key.
Inside sat a small black case.
Dominic opened it.
A flash drive.
A photograph.
And an ultrasound image.
His fingers stopped.
Written across the ultrasound in Clara’s handwriting were four words:
Baby Valente — 10 weeks.
Dominic pressed his thumb against the image.
Then he picked up the photograph beneath it.
Clara stood beside Lorenzo Moretti.
They were not embracing.
They were exchanging documents.
On the back Clara had written:
Lorenzo is not the enemy.
Dominic stared.
Beneath the photograph was another note.
The person trying to destroy our families is already inside yours.
His phone rang.
Mateo.
Dominic answered immediately.
“What?”
Mateo sounded breathless.
“Get back here.”
“What happened?”
“Clara woke up.”
Dominic’s heart jumped.
“I’m coming.”
“Dom, wait.”
Mateo’s next words stopped him.
“She said one name.”
“Whose?”
“Serena?”
“No.”
Dominic gripped the phone.
“Then who?”
Mateo lowered his voice.
“Your brother.”
Dominic went completely still.
Anthony Valente.
His younger brother.
His own blood.
May you like
And according to Clara, the danger had been sleeping under Dominic’s roof all along.
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