Chapter 8 - What Grace Survived

I wanted to threaten Dante.

Grace took the phone from my hand.

"Where is my baby?"

Silence.

Then Dante laughed softly.

"Still fighting. I told Vittoria you'd be difficult to break."

"You didn't break me."

"No. That's why this has become expensive."

Grace's knuckles whitened around the receiver.

"If you hurt Noah—"

"Nobody wants to hurt the child. The child is valuable."

I saw murder enter Grace's eyes.

"Say that again."

"You heard me."

The line went dead.

Grace stood very still.

Then she placed the receiver back in its cradle with careful precision.

"We go now," she said.

She took two steps and stumbled.

I caught her again.

"You can barely stand."

"I gave birth seventeen days ago in a basement while your mother watched. I'm aware of my limitations."

The words stopped me cold.

Grace looked away.

"I was in labor for nineteen hours. Halpern wanted to take me to a hospital. Vittoria refused because there would be records."

My stomach twisted.

"Grace—"

"No. You need to hear it once. Then we move."

She sat on the edge of the bed.

"They gave me something for pain, but not enough. Your mother kept papers beside me while I was contracting. Guardianship papers. A statement saying I was mentally unstable. A confession saying I had stolen family documents."

"She tried to make you sign during labor?"

"Every hour."

I could barely breathe.

"Why didn't she just forge your name?"

"Because she didn't want paper. She wanted obedience."

Grace looked at the wall.

"When Noah was born, they let me hold him for maybe three minutes. He had dark hair. He made this angry little sound like the whole world had offended him."

A broken laugh escaped her.

"He sounds like you."

I knelt in front of her.

"I'm going to bring him back."

"We are."

"Grace—"

"Don't you dare put me in another room and tell me it's for my protection."

I shut my mouth.

Marco turned away to hide a smile.

Grace stood again.

This time she stayed upright.

"The maintenance passage reaches the river boathouse," Elias said. "There should be vehicles there."

We moved through the narrow corridor in single file.

At the end, daylight cut through a rusted hatch.

Marco forced it open.

We climbed into the boathouse.

Three black SUVs were gone.

One old truck remained.

I reached for the driver's door.

Grace stopped me.

"Adrian."

She pointed to the windshield.

A photograph had been tucked under the wiper.

It showed Noah asleep in a white blanket.

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On the back, in my mother's handwriting, were four words.

CHOOSE YOUR FAMILY CAREFULLY.