Chapter 1 - The Weight of MemoryThe rhythmic pressure of Sophie’s hand against the infant’s back was a language of its own. It was a language she had learned in the quiet, suffocating hours of her own grief four years ago. As she swayed in the center of the restaurant, the world seemed to hold its breath. Dominic Moretti, a man who commanded legions of men and controlled the flow of
"He's not a target," Sophie murmured, her voice steady despite the adrenaline. "He’s a person. You’re all radiating enough cortisol to panic a grown man, let alone a newborn."
The baby gave one final, hiccuping sob and went silent. The tension in his tiny body dissipated, and he began to drift into a shallow, exhausted sleep against Sophie’s arm.
Dominic didn't look at his men. He didn't look at the manager. He looked only at the locket.
It was tucked into the corner of the bassinet, a delicate silver piece shaped like a weeping willow. Sophie felt her blood run cold. It was identical to the one she had buried with Leo—a piece of jewelry her grandmother had given her, a one-of-a-kind design she thought had been lost forever in the dirt of a small grave.
"Where did you get that?" Sophie asked, her voice failing.
Dominic’s focus shifted from the baby to the locket, then to Sophie’s face. He didn't ask her why she cared. He didn't ask her to leave. He stood up, his massive frame looming over the table, and looked at her with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"It was in the box with him," Dominic said, his voice unusually strained. "He was left on my doorstep three days ago. There was no note. Only this."
Sophie’s heart hammered against her ribs. Three days ago. Leo had been dead for four years. This was an impossibility, yet her hand, still resting on the sleeping infant’s back, felt the undeniable, terrifying truth of his existence.
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"I need to leave," Sophie said, backing away.
"You aren't going anywhere," Dominic said, and as he signaled his men, the restaurant doors locked with a heavy, final thud.
