Ten Years After One Fateful Night, Nine Beggar Girls Called the Ruthless Mafia Boss “Daddy”—But Their Mother's Secret Brought Him to His Knees

The first thing Grace noticed about Luca Moretti's mansion was the silence.

Not the expensive marble. Not the chandelier that looked like a frozen waterfall. Not the gate that opened without anyone touching it. The silence.

At Hannah's house, somebody was always laughing, arguing over a hairbrush, or singing the wrong words to a song. Even when the heating stopped working, the rooms felt full. Here, nine wet children stood beneath a ceiling high enough to swallow their voices.

"Does anyone live here?" Emma asked.

Luca glanced at the staircase. "I do."

"All by yourself?"

He had never considered that a difficult question until an eight-year-old asked it.

"Mostly," he admitted.

His housekeeper, Rosa Alvarez, appeared carrying towels, followed by two staff members and a physician whose coat was still buttoned crookedly. Rosa took one look at the girls, then at their bare feet, and pressed a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, you poor darlings. Come with me. We've got soup. And cocoa. And enough blankets to build a mountain."

June, the youngest, clutched her one-eared rabbit. "Mommy says cocoa makes bad days shorter."

Rosa blinked rapidly. "Then your mommy is a very wise woman."

Luca expected the girls to rush toward the food. Instead they waited for Grace. All eight looked at her, silently asking permission. Grace nodded only after she watched Rosa take the first sip from June's cocoa.

Luca noticed that, too.

He had seen soldiers enter unfamiliar territory with less caution.

Dr. Simone Park examined the children in the downstairs sitting room. Mae's breathing worried her; the girl had a history of asthma, and the smoke from the fire had aggravated it. Nora had a blistered heel. Ruby's fingertips were raw from trying to open a locked door. None of them had been eating enough. June fell asleep in the middle of having her temperature taken.

"They need rest," Simone told Luca privately. "And a pediatric trauma specialist. The youngest may not understand what happened. The oldest understands far too much."

Across the room, Grace sat rigidly beside Emma, still holding the silver medal. She hadn't let anyone wash her blue coat.

"They can stay here," Luca said.

Simone's expression softened, but not into agreement. "Children aren't luggage, Luca. You don't get to decide custody because you have the largest house in Chicago."

A decade ago, he might have regarded that as a challenge. Tonight he heard a warning worth respecting.

"Then tell me who does."

"A child welfare worker, probably a judge, and eventually the children themselves. First, let them know they aren't going to be moved in the middle of the night without an explanation."

Luca nodded and called his attorney, Ruth Calder, a woman who had spent twenty years telling powerful men they couldn't buy their way around the law.

By midnight, Ruth had a social worker on the way, a family-court emergency hearing requested for morning, and half a dozen questions Luca couldn't answer. Were the eight girls Hannah's adopted children? Foster placements? Legal wards? Had anyone filed missing-child reports after the fire?

"Find out," Luca said.

"I will. And you're going to cooperate with the state, even if it's inconvenient."

"Understood."

Ruth paused. "That was easy. Are you ill?"

"I have nine children asleep in my house, Ruth. I can't afford to be the most dangerous person in it."

But they weren't all asleep.

At one in the morning, he found Grace in the conservatory, sitting beneath the dark glass roof. Her wet coat lay folded in her lap. Beyond the windows, rain streaked across the lawns like scratches.

"Rosa made a room for you," he said. "There are books. And clean pajamas."

"I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For somebody to tell us we have to leave."

Luca sat on a bench several feet away, careful not to crowd her. "A social worker is coming. She'll ask questions. She might not like all my answers."

"Are you going to lie?"

The question landed where no accusation from a rival ever could.

"No."

"Mommy never lied about important things." Grace ran her thumb along the medal's edge. "She said you don't have to promise everything will be okay. You just have to tell the truth about what happens next."

He stared into the rain. "Then here's the truth. I don't know where your mother is. I don't know why my brother would hurt her. And I don't know what a judge will decide tomorrow."

Grace's shoulders slumped.

"But I know I won't stop looking for her."

She considered him, searching for the distance between a rich man's comforting words and a father's promise.

"Why didn't you come on my birthdays?"

He could have blamed the letter. Blamed Adrian. Blamed the security men who had searched the wrong addresses. Instead he said, "Because I didn't know you were there. That's not your fault. And being angry at me is allowed."

Grace looked startled. "Even if you're my daddy?"

"Especially then."

A tiny sound escaped her, almost a laugh, almost a sob.

When she finally reached for his hand, he held it very gently.

At two fifteen, a vehicle stopped outside the gate without requesting entry. The surveillance monitor in Mateo's office showed a white van on the far side of the road. Its headlights stayed off. Its windshield faced the house.

"Delivery?" Luca asked over the phone.

"No company markings," Mateo replied. "It's been there seven minutes."

"Keep the girls away from the front windows. Call the police. Nobody approaches it alone."

He heard a rustle behind him. Grace stood in the conservatory doorway.

"That van," she whispered. "Is it white?"

Luca turned. "How did you know?"

She began to shake.

"Mommy made us count to one hundred while she pushed us through the back window. When I looked back, there was a white van beside our mailbox."

"Did you see the driver?"

"No. But I saw a little red bird painted near the back door."

Luca relayed the description to Mateo. On the screen, the van started moving before the police arrived. It took a slow turn at the intersection, revealing a red bird decal beneath the rear window.

Mateo captured the image.

Luca took Grace back to the conservatory and waited until her breathing steadied. "You did exactly the right thing telling me."

"Mommy said if we saw the bird again, we should run."

"What else did she tell you?"

Grace's fingers tightened around his.

"That the bird belongs to the man who taught your brother how to make people disappear."