Chapter 2 - I LEFT THE HOSPITAL WITH MY NEWBORN DAUGHTER AND REFUSED TO RETURN TO MY MAFIA HUSBAND—THEN HIS MISTRESS DISCOVERED THE ONE DOCUMENT HE HAD HIDDEN FROM BOTH OF US
Three days after Grace was born, Adrian sent a black SUV to collect us from the hospital.
I sent it away.
The driver looked genuinely confused.
"Mrs. Moretti, Mr. Moretti instructed me—"
"I know what my husband instructed you to do."
He lowered his eyes.
"Then where should I take you?"
"Nowhere."
Mara stood beside me, holding Grace's car seat.
"We have a ride."
The driver hesitated.
"Mr. Moretti won't like that."
I looked at him.
"Then he can learn to live with disappointment."
Mara almost smiled.
It was the first time I had heard myself speak like that.
And strangely, it felt good.
***
I didn't return to the Moretti estate.
Instead, Mara drove Grace and me to the small brick house my mother had left me in Lincoln Park.
It wasn't enormous.
It didn't have marble staircases, private guards, or chandeliers imported from Italy.
But it had sunlight.
A narrow garden.
A kitchen with yellow curtains.
And a nursery I had quietly prepared during the last months of my pregnancy.
Adrian didn't know about the nursery.
He thought I was planning to sell the house.
I had considered it.
Then something stopped me.
Perhaps a part of me had always known I needed somewhere that belonged to me.
***
Mara carried our bags inside.
I stood in the doorway with Grace in my arms.
For the first time in years, there was no security officer waiting for instructions.
No staff member asking whether I wanted dinner prepared.
No schedule organized around Adrian's movements.
Just quiet.
Mara looked at me.
"You okay?"
I nodded.
Then shook my head.
Then began crying.
She put down the bags and hugged me carefully.
I cried for the surgery.
For the loneliness.
For the photograph.
For the marriage I had spent three years defending.
And for the terrifying realization that I had no idea what came next.
***
That evening, Adrian arrived.
I watched through the window as his car stopped outside.
He stepped out carrying a small paper bag.
No flowers.
No expensive jewelry.
Just a bag from the bakery where we used to buy breakfast before we married.
My chest tightened.
He knocked.
I opened the door but didn't invite him inside.
"Claire."
His eyes moved immediately to Grace.
"How is she?"
"Sleeping."
He nodded.
"And you?"
"Recovering."
He swallowed.
"I brought your favorite pastries."
I looked at the bag.
"Thank you."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he asked:
"Can we talk?"
I hesitated.
"Not tonight."
His face fell.
But he nodded.
"Okay."
He placed the bag on the porch railing.
Then looked at me.
"I miss you."
My eyes filled.
I wanted to tell him I missed him too.
Because I did.
I missed the man who sat beside me in the hospital corridor five years earlier.
I missed the husband who made me laugh while we cooked dinner.
I missed the man who once drove across Chicago at midnight because I mentioned wanting strawberry ice cream.
But missing someone doesn't mean their presence is good for you.
So I said nothing.
Adrian looked down.
"I'll call tomorrow."
"Please text first."
He nodded.
"Of course."
And then he left.
***
The next morning, I called Eleanor Shaw.
She was a family-law attorney with a reputation for being calm in rooms where powerful men expected fear.
We had met years earlier when Bennett Interiors handled a renovation for her firm.
She listened as I explained what happened.
When I finished, she asked:
"What do you want, Claire?"
I stared at the window.
"I don't know."
"That's an acceptable answer."
I swallowed.
"I know I can't go back to the way things were."
"Then we begin there."
***
Eleanor explained my options.
Separation.
Financial disclosures.
Custody arrangements.
Protective boundaries.
I didn't ask her to file for divorce that day.
But I asked her to prepare the documents.
For the first time, I wanted to understand my choices before Adrian made them for me.
***
Meanwhile, Vivian Cross was making choices of her own.
I didn't know that yet.
I didn't know she had been secretly copying financial documents from Adrian's office.
I didn't know she had begun contacting people inside the Marchetti Alliance.
And I certainly didn't know the photograph she sent me had been only the first step in a much larger plan.
***
Four days later, an envelope arrived at my house.
No return address.
Inside was a copy of a bank transfer.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
From a Moretti-controlled investment account to a company called Cross Strategic Holdings.
The date was October fourteenth.
The day Grace was born.
Beneath the transfer was a handwritten note.
Ask your husband what Vivian was paid to do while you were giving birth.
My hands went cold.
***
I called Eleanor immediately.
She told me not to confront anyone.
Instead, she asked me to bring the documents to her office.
The following afternoon, Mara watched Grace while I met with Eleanor and a forensic accountant named Daniel Price.
Daniel studied the transfer.
Then frowned.
"This isn't a normal consulting payment."
I leaned forward.
"Why?"
"Because the receiving company appears to have been formed only six weeks earlier."
He looked at another page.
"And the payment description references a transaction code that doesn't match ordinary advisory services."
Eleanor folded her hands.
"Can you determine what it was for?"
Daniel nodded slowly.
"Possibly."
He looked at me.
"But we need more records."
***
I returned home with a strange feeling.
For days, I had believed the worst thing Adrian had done was choose Vivian over me.
Now I wondered whether the truth was even uglier.
***
That evening, Adrian called.
I answered.
"Claire?"
"Yes."
His voice softened.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"And Grace?"
"Fine."
Silence.
Then he said:
"I know you're angry."
I closed my eyes.
"Adrian, I'm not just angry."
He swallowed.
"I know."
I took a breath.
"Did you transfer two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to Vivian on the day our daughter was born?"
The silence that followed told me everything.
"Claire."
My stomach dropped.
"Answer."
He exhaled.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Why?"
"It's complicated."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course it is."
He continued.
"The money was connected to the Marchetti negotiation."
I swallowed.
"What negotiation?"
He hesitated.
"I can't discuss every detail over the phone."
I stared at the wall.
"Then perhaps you should have thought about that before missing our daughter's birth for it."
His voice broke.
"Claire, please."
I ended the call.
***
Two days later, I received another envelope.
This one contained photographs.
Vivian entering a private building.
Vivian meeting a man I recognized from newspaper photographs.
Vincent Marchetti.
And Vivian standing beside Adrian's cousin, Luca Moretti.
I stared at the images.
Luca had worked with Adrian for years.
He was charming.
Ambitious.
And had never hidden the fact that he believed Adrian was too cautious.
***
I called Daniel.
"Can you identify the building?"
He studied the photograph.
"Looks like a private investment office."
"Whose?"
He paused.
"One of the Marchetti group's holding companies."
***
Something was wrong.
Not simply with my marriage.
With Adrian's business.
And perhaps with the people closest to him.
***
That night, I found a message on my phone.
Unknown number.
It contained one sentence.
Your husband isn't the only person being betrayed.
I stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
Check the ownership records for Bennett Interiors.
My heart stopped.
***
Bennett Interiors was my company.
I had built it before meeting Adrian.
It was my independence.
My work.
My name.
Why would anyone be looking at it?
***
The next morning, Eleanor arranged an emergency review.
Daniel examined the company's corporate records.
Then his expression changed.
"Claire."
I leaned forward.
"What?"
He turned the screen toward me.
A document had been filed six months earlier.
It purported to authorize a transfer of a controlling interest in Bennett Interiors to a Moretti-affiliated holding company.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Except I had never signed it.
***
I stared.
"That's impossible."
Daniel looked at Eleanor.
She leaned closer.
"Claire, did you authorize this?"
"No."
My voice shook.
"I've never seen it."
***
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Eleanor said:
"We need to preserve everything."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
She met my eyes.
"Because someone may have forged your signature to gain control of your company."
***
My hands trembled.
Adrian had always told me my career mattered.
He had praised my designs.
Bought me flowers when I won awards.
Celebrated my first major commercial contract.
But now a document existed that appeared to place my company under his family's control.
I felt sick.
***
"Did Adrian do this?" I whispered.
Eleanor's expression remained careful.
"We don't know."
I stared at the forged signature.
For the first time, I realized how much I had trusted my husband without ever asking what was happening behind the doors of his office.
***
That afternoon, Adrian arrived unexpectedly.
I met him outside.
He looked exhausted.
"Claire, we need to talk."
I crossed my arms.
"About what?"
His eyes moved to the folder in my hand.
"What is that?"
I held it out.
He opened it.
Read the first page.
Then the second.
His face changed.
"Where did you get this?"
I stared.
"Is that really your question?"
He looked at me.
"Claire, I didn't authorize this."
I swallowed.
"Then who did?"
Adrian looked at the signature.
Then at the company name.
His jaw tightened.
"Luca."
***
The name hung between us.
I stared.
"What?"
Adrian closed the folder.
"My cousin."
He looked at me.
"I think he's been using your company to move money."
My stomach dropped.
***
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I whispered:
"And Vivian?"
Adrian's expression darkened.
"I don't know yet."
I stepped back.
"You don't know?"
He shook his head.
"I trusted her."
I laughed bitterly.
"Yes, Adrian."
My eyes filled.
"You did."
***
He reached toward me.
I moved away.
He stopped.
I looked at him.
"You trusted Vivian with your secrets."
"You trusted Luca with your business."
I swallowed.
"But you couldn't trust your wife enough to show up when she was having your child."
His face crumpled.
***
I turned toward the house.
Then stopped.
"One more thing."
Adrian looked up.
I held his gaze.
"If someone used my company to commit fraud, I'm going to expose them."
His expression changed.
"Claire—"
"No."
My voice hardened.
"I don't care whose cousin he is."
Adrian stared.
Then slowly nodded.
"Neither do I."
***
I went inside and closed the door.
For the first time, I wasn't waiting for Adrian Moretti to protect me.
I was preparing to protect myself.
And across Chicago, Vivian Cross received a message from Luca Moretti.
Claire found the documents.
Vivian stared at the screen.
Then typed:
May you like
Then we move before Adrian finds the rest.
END OF CHAPTER 2
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