Chapter 1 - The Echo of an Empty House
The marble floors of the Moretti penthouse had never felt so cold. Vincent stood in the center of the vast, quiet foyer holding two first-class tickets to the Amalfi Coast. He actually believed a luxury getaway would sweep everything under the rug. In his mind, Claire was simply throwing a tantrum. She would pout for a few days, maybe stay at a boutique hotel downtown, and then return once she realized that being Mrs. Moretti meant accepting the responsibilities of his status. To him, keeping Sophia and Noah safe and sheltered was merely an old obligation wrapped in charity. He had convinced himself that Claire was being irrational, petty, and excessively emotional over a simple school race.
"Claire?" his deep voice echoed off the high vaulted ceilings. Silence answered him. The silence was thick, heavy, and devoid of the familiar scent of vanilla and lavender that normally filled the penthouse. Vincent’s jaw tightened. He walked into the primary suite, throwing the tickets onto the king-sized bed. The closet doors stood slightly ajar. When he pulled them open, half the wardrobe was bare. Claire hadn’t just packed an overnight bag; she had taken her documents, her personal heirlooms, her clothes, and every piece of jewelry she had owned before their marriage. On the vanity counter sat her diamond wedding band and the heavy family signet ring, resting cold and unyielding on polished stone.
Panic, an alien emotion to a man who commanded Chicago’s underworld without blinking, clawed at his chest. He turned around sharply, his boot catching the rim of the small chrome wastebasket next to the bathroom door. It clattered against the floor, spilling its contents across the marble. Vincent muttered an irritated curse and leaned down to set it upright, but something caught the light. A white plastic stick with two unmistakably bold pink lines.
May you like
Vincent froze. His breath hitched in his throat. Beside the plastic stick lay a crumpled piece of heavy thermal paper. With fingers that had pulled triggers without trembling, he smoothed out the crinkled document. It was a formal ultrasound printout dated three days prior. Claire Bennett. Six weeks gestation. Fetal heartbeat detected.
The room seemed to spin violently. The air left his lungs as if he had taken a hollow-point bullet straight to the chest. While he had looked Claire in the eye and coldly claimed Noah needed a devoted father before they could ever think of conceiving, his wife had been carrying his own flesh and blood. She had discovered his betrayal, signed the papers, discarded the evidence of their miracle, and walked away into the wind. Vincent dropped to his knees on the cold marble floor, clutching the fragile slip of paper to his chest, let out a strangled roar of agonized realization that shattered the silence of his hollow empire.
