Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO STAYED DEAD
Alessandro opened the car door.
"Stay here," he told the driver.
Then he crossed the street.
Inside the bakery, Theo was eating his second pie.
Not quickly.
Not greedily.
But with an expression of pure happiness.
June sat beside him, holding a glass of water.
"Small bites, sweetheart."
Theo nodded.
"Okay."
He chewed thoughtfully.
Then looked up.
"Miss June?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have children?"
The question struck like a knife.
June's smile trembled.
"I..."
She looked away.
"Not anymore."
Theo frowned.
"What happened?"
June swallowed.
"I lost someone very precious to me."
His expression softened.
"My mommy got lost too."
June's heart nearly stopped.
"She did?"
He nodded.
"Daddy says she died in a fire."
June pressed her hands together beneath the table.
"But sometimes..."
Theo hesitated.
"Sometimes I think she's just hiding somewhere and can't find us."
June couldn't breathe.
She stared at him.
He continued softly.
"When I was little, she made pies like these. She sang songs in the kitchen. And she always let me lick the spoon."
A tear slid down June's cheek.
She quickly wiped it away.
Theo noticed.
"Why are you crying?"
June shook her head.
"I'm sorry, honey."
"Did I say something bad?"
"No."
She reached toward him, then stopped herself.
"You didn't say anything bad."
Theo studied her face.
Then he did something that shattered her heart.
He tore the last piece of his pie in half.
And held one portion toward her.
"Here."
June blinked.
"What's that for?"
"You look sad."
He placed the pastry in her hand.
"My daddy says when somebody's sad, you should share something good with them."
June stared at the little piece of pie.
Her fingers shook.
Then she began to cry.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quiet, helpless tears she could no longer hold back.
Because she recognized the kindness.
The gentle heart.
The way he worried more about someone else's sadness than his own.
Her little boy hadn't changed.
He was still the child who used to share his cookies with the gardener and leave pieces of bread outside for stray birds.
The little boy she'd believed she would never see again was sitting right in front of her.
Alive.
Breathing.
Smiling.
June wanted to pull him into her arms.
Wanted to kiss his forehead.
Wanted to say the words she'd kept buried for four terrible years.
It's Mommy, baby.
I'm right here.
I never stopped looking for you.
But she couldn't.
Not yet.
Because the men who had taken her four years ago had made one promise very clear.
If she ever returned to her son, he would die.
Four years earlier, Clara Moretti had been the happiest woman in Chicago.
Not because she lived in a mansion.
Not because she wore diamonds.
And certainly not because her husband controlled one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country.
She had never cared about those things.
She'd fallen in love with Alessandro long before she understood how dangerous his world truly was.
She loved the quiet man who brought her flowers after difficult days.
The man who stayed awake when their baby had a fever.
The man who looked terrifying to everyone else but cried the first time he held their newborn son.
She knew Alessandro had enemies.
But she'd believed their family was safe.
Until the night of the fire.
Clara remembered being awakened by a strange noise.
The smell of smoke.
Men shouting outside their bedroom.
Then someone grabbing her from behind.
A cloth pressed against her mouth.
She struggled.
Kicked.
Screamed for Alessandro.
But nobody came.
Before she lost consciousness, she heard one sentence.
"Make sure Moretti believes his wife is dead."
When she woke, she was in a locked room in an unfamiliar house.
Her wrists were bruised.
Her head throbbed.
And a man she'd never seen before stood near the door.
He showed her a photograph.
A little boy lying unconscious in a hospital bed.
Theo.
Her baby.
The man told her the boy had survived the fire but remained within their reach.
"If you ever contact Alessandro, we'll finish what the fire started."
Clara screamed.
Begged.
Promised anything.
But the man simply smiled.
"You want your son to live?"
She nodded desperately.
"Then stay dead."
For the next four years, Clara was kept in an isolated property far from Chicago.
She was told Alessandro had accepted her death.
That Theo was growing up without her.
That any attempt to escape would bring danger to them both.
She tried to flee twice.
Both attempts failed.
Then, six weeks earlier, a violent storm damaged the property's electrical system and disrupted its security.
Clara escaped through a service gate.
She walked for hours.
Hid in the back of a delivery truck.
And eventually made her way toward Chicago.
She had no working identification.
Almost no money.
And a long scar on her forehead from an injury sustained during her captivity.
She cut her hair.
Dyed it dark.
And began calling herself June Harper.
Her captors had always refused to tell her who ordered her disappearance.
She suspected the conspiracy came from within Alessandro's organization, but she had no proof.
Coming forward too soon might expose Theo to the very people who'd threatened him.
So she stayed hidden.
She took a job at Rosewood Bakery.
And began searching quietly for evidence that could lead her back to her family safely.
She had never imagined her son would walk through the door on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.
Or that the smell of her apple pies would bring him straight to her.
"Miss June?"
Theo's voice pulled her back.
She blinked through her tears.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
He was watching her carefully.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
He looked at her hands.
Then at the pie.
Then at her face.
His small forehead wrinkled.
"Have we met before?"
Clara's heart stopped.
"Why would you think that?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know."
He leaned closer.
"You feel familiar."
She couldn't speak.
Theo smiled shyly.
"When you talk, I feel safe."
Clara pressed a hand over her mouth.
He continued.
"Like when I was little and Mommy used to sing to me."
The tears came harder.
May you like
She turned her face away.
But Theo wasn't finished.
