Chapter 3 - THE MISTRESS WHO DELETED MY CALLSDante had interrogated men who would rather die than betray a secret.
He'd negotiated with international criminals, survived two assassination attempts, and watched powerful executives crumble under a single question.
But nothing prepared him for the sight of Bianca DeLuca standing in front of him, trembling because he'd discovered she had read my messages.
"Answer me," he said.
Bianca glanced toward the hospital door.
"Dante, you're frightening me."
"You were holding my phone when Elena called?"
"I was trying to help you rest."
"My wife was in labor."
"We didn't know that at the time."
He turned the screen toward her.
"Read the message."
She hesitated.
"Please, not here."
"Read it."
Bianca swallowed.
"'Our son is dying. Please come home.'"
"And when did Elena send it?"
"Nine forty-one."
"What did you do after reading it?"
"I told the captain we needed to leave."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"The captain says you didn't contact him until noon."
She looked startled.
He had already checked.
Bianca had spent the previous two hours shopping at the resort's private boutique, visiting the spa, and arranging to have champagne delivered to the jet.
For two hours, she had known my baby was fighting for his life.
For two hours, she'd said nothing.
"Why?" Dante whispered.
Bianca folded her arms.
"Because every time we're together, Elena finds some reason to interrupt."
Something dangerous shifted in his expression.
"Careful."
"Her pregnancy has been an emergency since the day she found out. Every headache, every doctor's appointment, every little discomfort—"
"She was bleeding."
Bianca stopped.
"She had an emergency delivery at twenty-nine weeks," Dante continued. "My son spent twelve hours fighting to breathe."
His voice was no longer loud.
That was what frightened her.
"I didn't know it was that serious."
"You knew enough to read the message."
"She exaggerates!"
Dante moved toward the incubator.
Gabriel was no longer inside it.
Only a neatly folded hospital blanket remained.
He pressed one hand against the transparent wall.
"Leave."
"Dante—"
"Get out."
Her expression hardened.
"You can't blame me for what happened. You were the one who chose to come with me."
He turned.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Dante said the words Bianca had spent two years believing she'd never hear.
"You're right."
She blinked.
"What?"
"I chose to leave my pregnant wife. I chose to ignore her calls before you ever touched my phone. I chose to believe the world could wait until I finished enjoying myself."
He glanced toward Gabriel's photograph.
"And my son paid for the kind of man I became."
Bianca reached for him.
He stepped away.
"Don't touch me."
She tried to recover her confidence.
"You're upset. I understand. But Elena has always wanted to separate us."
"There is no us."
The words landed like a slap.
Dante opened the door.
"Security will escort you out."
"You'll regret humiliating me!"
He looked at her without expression.
"Not nearly as much as I regret knowing you."
By 8:30 that evening, Bianca had left the hospital.
At 8:46, she called her father.
And at 9:02, Victor DeLuca called someone who had no business discussing my medical records.
Dr. Adrian Voss.
Unfortunately for them, they weren't the only people searching for him.
I spent that night at Salvatore's estate, where the guest bedroom had once belonged to Dante's mother.
Rosa brought me warm tea.
I couldn't drink it.
She made soup.
I couldn't eat.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Gabriel's tiny chest rising and falling.
I heard the monitor.
I remembered how carefully I'd held him, terrified that my arms might hurt him.
And I remembered the moment when I knew he was gone.
There are kinds of grief that arrive like waves.
Mine felt like the ocean had disappeared entirely, leaving me stranded on the bottom.
At 11:17 P.M., Margaret knocked.
"Elena, there's someone here."
I sat up.
"Who?"
"A nurse from the hospital."
My stomach tightened.
"Did something happen to Gabriel?"
Margaret's expression softened.
"No. But she says she has information you need to hear."
I followed her downstairs.
A young woman sat in Salvatore's library, twisting her fingers together.
I recognized her immediately.
Nurse Hannah Brooks.
She had been beside me when Gabriel died.
When she saw me, she stood.
"Mrs. Romano, I'm so sorry."
I couldn't speak.
She approached slowly.
"Your baby was beautiful."
I nodded.
Hannah wiped her eyes.
"I wasn't sure whether to come. I don't want to interfere with your grief. But I couldn't stop thinking about something."
"What?"
She looked toward Margaret.
"Two weeks ago, I saw your records flagged for a specialist review. The request came from Dr. Voss's office."
"Specialist review?"
"Maternal-fetal medicine. There were concerns about your blood pressure and some laboratory findings. I don't know the full details, and I'm not your treating physician."
I stared at her.
"No one told me."
"I know."
"Dr. Voss said everything was fine."
Hannah's face tightened.
"I can't tell you what another doctor knew. But after you arrived in emergency labor, I noticed the referral had been marked completed, even though I couldn't find a specialist consultation attached."
Margaret leaned forward.
"Could that be an administrative error?"
"Yes. It could. But when I asked about it, a supervisor told me to stop checking."
"Who?" I asked.
Hannah hesitated.
"Dr. Peter Lang. He oversees several private-care contracts. He said the Romano account had been handled outside the usual system."
My hands began to shake.
"Can you prove any of this?"
"I can tell the hospital's investigators what I saw. I've already reported it through the patient safety process."
She took a folded piece of paper from her purse.
"This is the contact information for the hospital's patient advocate. You have the right to request a review."
I looked at the paper.
Then at Hannah.
"Do you think someone hurt my son?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I don't know, Elena. Premature births can happen even when doctors do everything right. But I think you deserve to know whether you received the care you should have."
That answer frightened me more than a dramatic accusation would have.
Because it was honest.
Because it meant there might be something to investigate.
And because nothing we discovered could bring Gabriel back.
After Hannah left, I called Dr. Hayes.
She answered despite the late hour.
I asked her directly whether my son's death could have been prevented.
There was a long silence.
"Elena," she said gently, "Gabriel was extremely premature and critically ill. Even with perfect care, some babies don't survive. I won't make promises about what earlier treatment might have changed."
"But you'll help me find out?"
"Yes."
"Even if powerful people don't want you to?"
"Especially then."
I cried after we hung up.
Not because she'd offered certainty.
Because for the first time since Gabriel died, someone had promised me the truth without pretending the truth would make everything better.
The following morning, my son's death certificate was placed inside a plain folder.
I sat at Salvatore's desk and stared at the words.
Gabriel Matteo Romano.
I had chosen Matteo for my father.
Dante had chosen Gabriel because his mother used to say that angels watched over children.
I wondered what she'd think of the man her son had become.
At 9:00 A.M., the emergency board meeting began.
I attended by video from Salvatore's library.
Dante appeared from Romano Global's headquarters.
He looked as though he hadn't slept.
His eyes were swollen.
His tie was missing.
The directors avoided looking at him.
Margaret presented the trust documentation, the voting agreement, and evidence of unauthorized transfers.
A temporary restriction on high-risk transactions had already been authorized under the company's governance rules.
Then Salvatore spoke.
"I move that Dante Romano be suspended as chief executive pending an independent investigation."
Dante didn't object.
Not immediately.
One director, Thomas Greer, protested.
"This is a private family tragedy. We cannot let emotions dictate corporate governance."
I turned toward the camera.
"My son's death isn't the corporate issue, Mr. Greer. The missing eighteen million dollars is."
Greer went pale.
Dante looked up sharply.
"What missing money?"
Margaret displayed the disputed transfer.
"Authorized using Elena's digital credentials."
Dante stared at the transaction.
"I never approved that."
"Neither did I," I said.
Greer cleared his throat.
"There may be a legitimate explanation."
"Then an independent forensic audit should find it," I replied.
The vote took less than twelve minutes.
Dante was suspended.
An interim chief executive was appointed.
Every payment to DeLuca Maritime was frozen pending review.
When the result was announced, Dante remained perfectly still.
Then he looked directly into the camera.
"Elena."
My heart clenched at the sound of his voice.
It had once been my favorite sound in the world.
"Don't," I said.
"I need to see you."
"You needed to see Gabriel."
His face crumpled.
I continued before I lost my courage.
"You'll receive the funeral arrangements through Margaret. And you will respect whatever boundaries I set."
"Please."
I disconnected.
Margaret closed her laptop.
No one celebrated.
There was nothing to celebrate.
I'd gained control of a billion-dollar company.
And I would have surrendered every share to hear my baby cry again.
At 10:38 A.M., a sealed envelope arrived at Salvatore's estate.
It had no return address.
Inside was a photograph taken outside the hospital three days before Gabriel's birth.
The picture showed Dr. Voss speaking to Victor DeLuca beside a black SUV.
On the back, someone had written:
Ask why the specialist referral was canceled.
Beneath the photograph was a small flash drive.
Salvatore stared at it.
Margaret immediately contacted a digital forensic investigator.
Within an hour, we learned the drive contained a single audio recording.
Twenty-seven seconds long.
A man's voice said, "The referral has to disappear before Elena finds out."
Another voice answered, "Victor wants the situation controlled. He doesn't want her asking questions before the shares move."
Then came the sentence that made my blood run cold.
"Once the baby is born, the trust arrangement gets complicated."
I recognized the second voice.
Thomas Greer.
The board member who'd just argued that my son's death was a private family tragedy.
But the recording didn't tell us who had made it.
Or whether the men were talking about medical treatment, corporate documents, or both.
And as Margaret arranged to have it authenticated, my phone lit up.
An unknown number.
One message.
If you want to know what happened to Gabriel, come alone to the old bakery at midnight.
Tell no one.
I stared at the screen.
My father's bakery had been closed for five years.
No one outside the family knew I still owned it.
Whoever sent that message knew more about my life than they should have.
And they wanted me somewhere I could be hurt.
I showed Margaret immediately.
She read it twice.
Then she said, "Elena, we're not going to that bakery alone."
I looked down at Gabriel's photograph.
May you like
"No," I answered.
"We're going to find out who's trying to frighten me."
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