Chapter 3 - The Child in Room 402
Elena turned her back on the estate and hurried through the iron gates before Alessandro could issue an order to detain her. She dragged her soaked suitcase down the winding access road until she reached the main avenue, where she hailed a late-night yellow cab into the city. Her clothes clung cold against her skin, and her shivering wouldn't stop, but adrenaline kept her mind laser-focused. In Room 402 of the modest brick hotel off 8th Avenue, an innocent four-year-old boy was waiting for his bedtime story.
When she finally unlocked the door to Room 402, the soft glow of a bedside lamp welcomed her. Marcus Vale stood up instantly from the armchair by the window, his hand instinctively dropping to the holster concealed under his jacket. When he saw Elena soaked to the bone and trembling, he exhaled a heavy sigh and relaxed his posture.
“Did he follow you?” Marcus asked, his tone tense, eyes scanning the hallway behind her before he secured the deadbolt.
“No,” Elena said, sinking onto the edge of the bed as she slipped off her ruined shoes. “Victoria showed him the photograph. She knows I met you. Alessandro thinks I betrayed him.”
Marcus swore under his breath, running a hand through his graying hair. Marcus was fifty-two, an old-guard soldier of the underworld who had refused to bow to the corrupt coalition being formed between the Hale family and rogue elements of the Moretti syndicate. “He’s going to tear the city apart searching for me, Elena. And when he finds this room, he’ll think the worst.”
A small voice interrupted them from the adjoining bedroom. “Aunt Ellie?”
Noah appeared in the doorway, rubbing his sleep-filled hazel eyes, clutching a worn stuffed bear. He had messy dark curls and high cheekbones that were an unmistakable, terrifying mirror image of the Moretti bloodline. Elena’s heart swelled with fierce, protective love. She opened her arms, ignoring her damp clothes as Noah hurried across the carpet and buried his small face into her neck.
“You’re cold, Aunt Ellie,” Noah mumbled into her shoulder.
“Just caught in a little rain, sweetheart,” she whispered, kissing his forehead.
Lena Carter, Noah’s mother, had died in a Newark hospital six months ago from leukemia. On her deathbed, Lena had revealed the secret she had guarded with her life: Noah was the son of Julian Moretti. Lena and Julian had carried on a passionate, secret romance away from the ruthless politics of the mafia. When Julian discovered that Victoria Hale’s father was skimming millions from the family shipping ports and planning a coup, he had sent Lena into hiding to protect her and their unborn child. Julian was assassinated forty-eight hours later.
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Lena had spent years living in terror, knowing that if the Hales discovered Julian had left an heir, the child would be eliminated to ensure Victoria’s bloodline inherited the Moretti empire. On her final night, Lena had made Elena swear to protect Noah at all costs. Marcus Vale had been Julian’s only trusted confidant outside the family—the man Julian had tasked with securing safe passage for Lena if anything happened to him.
Yesterday’s meeting at the hotel hadn't been about betraying Alessandro; it had been Marcus delivering forged European passports and trust funds so Elena could take Noah far away from the bloodshed. But now, Victoria had weaponized the meeting, and the clock was ticking down to zero.
