Chapter 3 - THE MAN MY CHILDREN CALLED UNCLEDominic Rinaldi had been part of my life for twenty-three years.
He had worked beside my father.
He had attended my wedding.
He had stood beside me when I buried Claire.
And he had carried Emma and Noah around my living room when they were newborn babies.
My children called him Uncle Dominic because I trusted him like family.
That trust was older than their lives.
Older than my marriage.
Older than most of the men who now worked for me.
I looked down at Emma.
"Sweetheart, are you sure Uncle Dominic came yesterday?"
She nodded.
"He brought Noah a train."
Noah appeared behind her.
"A red one," he added.
I remembered the wooden train on the floor of the nursery.
The same train Hannah had helped him repair that morning.
"Did he stay long?"
"Not very," Emma said. "He said you were busy."
"Who let him inside?"
She shrugged.
"Mr. Gabriel wasn't there."
Gabriel stood beside me, his expression darkening.
"I was inspecting the east gate yesterday afternoon. Dominic wasn't on the visitor schedule."
I turned toward him.
"Find out how he entered."
"Yes, sir."
"And Gabriel?"
He stopped.
"Do it quietly."
He understood.
If Dominic was involved, openly confronting him might warn everyone connected to the attack.
If he was innocent, an accusation could destroy a friendship that had survived more than two decades.
Either way, I needed facts.
Rosa led the children downstairs again.
Before leaving, Noah looked back at Hannah.
"Are you coming?"
"In a minute."
"You promised."
"I know."
He considered her answer.
Then he held up his little finger.
"Pinkie promise?"
Hannah crossed the room and hooked her finger around his.
"Pinkie promise."
The gesture was so gentle that it nearly made me forget what I had seen her do twenty minutes earlier.
When the door closed, Gabriel spoke.
"I should have been aware of every visitor."
"Yes," I replied.
"I'll find out what happened."
I studied him.
Gabriel had spent eleven years protecting my family.
He was forty-three, broad-shouldered, and carried an old scar beneath his chin from a job long before he worked for me.
He had a wife and a teenage daughter.
I trusted him with my life.
But an hour earlier, I would have said the same thing about Dominic.
"From now on," I said, "trust is not a substitute for verification."
Gabriel nodded.
Hannah watched him leave.
"You suspect him, too?" I asked.
"I suspect someone had access."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only honest answer I have."
I wanted certainty.
A name.
A face.
Someone to blame.
But Hannah refused to give me what I wanted simply because it would make me feel better.
That irritated me more than I cared to admit.
"Dominic wouldn't hurt my children."
"I hope you're right."
"He practically raised me after my father died."
"Then I hope you're very right."
I turned away.
Outside, the darkness was thinning.
The first gray light of dawn touched the garden.
The police were still working downstairs.
A crime scene investigator had photographed the nursery, and detectives were interviewing staff.
My own attorney had arrived.
By sunrise, reporters would likely be gathering outside the gates.
A story involving gunmen, a wealthy family, and the Moretti name never stayed private for long.
I went into my office and called Dominic.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"Vincent."
His voice was warm.
Familiar.
"Something wrong?"
"Where are you?"
"London. Just finished dinner with the investors."
I looked at the clock.
It was shortly after four in the morning in New York.
Nine in London.
Dinner?
"You're eating dinner at nine in the morning?"
A pause.
Then a quiet laugh.
"Breakfast, actually. I've been working through the night. You know what I mean."
"Of course."
"What's happened?"
"Someone broke into my house."
Silence.
Then his voice sharpened.
"What?"
"Three armed men."
"Are the children safe?"
"They are now."
"Dear God. I'll get on the first flight."
I stared at Claire's photograph on my desk.
"That's not necessary."
"Vincent, you're like a brother to me."
"I know."
"Who did it?"
"We're trying to find out."
"Let me call our people. We can handle this."
"No."
Another pause.
"What?"
"The police are handling it."
Dominic lowered his voice.
"You want strangers digging around your house? Your business? Think carefully."
I leaned back.
"Someone came for my children. I'm thinking very carefully."
His tone changed.
"You're upset."
"Wouldn't you be?"
"Of course."
"Then let me handle my family."
He exhaled.
"As you wish. I'll call when I land."
We disconnected.
For a long moment, I stared at the phone.
Then I called a London hotel where Dominic usually stayed.
The front desk confirmed he had checked out two days earlier.
I said nothing.
I simply ended the call.
Behind me, Hannah spoke.
"He lied."
I turned.
She stood in the doorway wearing a clean sweater.
A small bandage covered the cut above her eyebrow.
I hadn't heard her enter.
"Yes."
"Are you going to confront him?"
"Not yet."
"Good."
I frowned.
"Do you always approve of people so sparingly?"
"Only when their decisions deserve it."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then my eyes fell on the object she carried.
Emma's stuffed rabbit.
Its pink ear had been torn.
"Why do you have that?"
"One of the intruders was reaching for it."
My expression changed.
"He wanted the rabbit?"
"I don't know. But he seemed interested in it."
She carefully opened a seam that had already been loosened during the struggle.
A tiny electronic object fell onto my desk.
I stared.
"What is that?"
"A tracking device."
For the second time that morning, the ground seemed to shift beneath me.
"Someone put a tracker inside my daughter's toy?"
Hannah nodded.
"It may explain how they expected to locate her if she was moved."
I picked up the rabbit.
Claire had bought it from a small toy shop in Brooklyn.
Emma had carried it everywhere since her mother's death.
She slept with it.
Ate with it.
Sometimes she talked to it when she thought nobody was listening.
And someone had turned that small comfort into a way of following her.
My rage was immediate.
I swept a stack of papers from my desk.
They scattered across the floor.
Hannah didn't react.
"Anger won't tell us who planted it."
"I know."
"Then keep asking questions."
I looked at her.
"How do you stay so calm?"
"I don't."
Her voice was quiet.
"I just try not to let fear make my decisions."
That answer stayed with me.
For most of my adult life, I had used fear to control the people around me.
Hannah treated fear as something to understand.
Something to move through.
Not something to impose on others.
I had never met anyone quite like her.
A moment later, my phone vibrated.
An incoming call.
Unknown number.
I nearly ignored it.
Then I noticed the name displayed beneath the notification.
Claire Moretti.
My breath stopped.
Claire's phone service had been canceled months earlier.
Her phone was locked inside my bedroom safe.
Yet her name was glowing on the screen.
Hannah saw my expression.
"What is it?"
I showed her.
For the first time, her face lost its composure.
"Don't answer that on speaker."
I answered anyway.
"Hello?"
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then I heard something that made my knees weaken.
A woman's voice humming the lullaby Claire used to sing to our children.
The melody stopped.
A man spoke.
"Stop asking questions, Vincent."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Who is this?"
"Your wife should have learned when to be quiet."
I felt my pulse hammering against my throat.
"Say her name again."
The man ignored me.
"You've already lost one person you love."
A pause.
May you like
Then he whispered:
"Next time, we'll know exactly which bed Emma is sleeping in."
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