Chapter 2 - The Little Girl Who Saw What the Doctors Missed|
Dante Moretti's hand closed around Sophie Miller's wrist before he was fully awake.
Anna screamed.
Not loudly.
Just one sharp, terrified sound that cut through the quiet library.
“Mr. Moretti, please!”
Dante's eyes were open now.
Dark.
Confused.
Dangerously alert.
For one terrible second, he looked like a man who didn't recognize where he was.
Or whom he was holding.
Sophie stared at him.
Her little pink bow had slipped sideways, and her free hand still held the white cloth she'd used to examine his neck.
“Mommy,” she whispered.
Anna dropped to her knees beside the sofa.
“Sir, she's only five. She didn't mean to disturb you.”
Dante looked at the child's wrist.
Then at his own hand.
His expression changed.
He released her immediately.
“Did I hurt you?”
Sophie shook her head.
But her eyes were wet.
Dante sat upright, wincing as pain shot through the base of his skull.
“I'm sorry.”
Anna froze.
She had never heard the feared head of the Moretti family apologize to anyone.
Certainly not to a housekeeper's child.
Dante looked at Sophie again.
“What did you say?”
Sophie glanced at her mother.
Anna shook her head quickly.
“Nothing, sir. She was playing.”
But Dante had heard enough.
He remembered a small voice.
Something about his neck.
“Tell me.”
His tone was quiet.
Sophie pointed toward the back of his head.
“You have a bug.”
Dante frowned.
“A bug?”
“A metal one.”
Anna felt sick.
“Sophie, sweetheart—”
“It has little legs.”
Dante slowly raised a hand to the scar beneath his hairline.
Three years earlier, surgeons had removed fragments of metal and glass after a car bombing nearly killed him.
He had been told that a tiny piece remained embedded near the base of his skull.
Too dangerous to remove.
Too insignificant to worry about.
That was what Victor Hale always said.
Dante touched the raised spot.
It was tender.
It had always been tender.
“What kind of bug?” he asked.
Sophie thought carefully.
“Like the silver thing inside my music box.”
He looked at her.
“You've seen something like it before?”
She nodded.
“My music box broke. Daddy showed me the little pieces.”
Anna's throat tightened.
Sophie's father had been an electronics repair technician.
Before he died eighteen months earlier, he used to let their daughter sit beside him while he fixed radios, watches, and music boxes.
He taught her the names of tiny components.
Springs.
Coils.
Wires.
Sophie couldn't explain them properly.
But she remembered their shapes.
Dante watched her face.
“Can you draw it?”
Anna stared.
“Sir?”
Dante looked toward the coffee table.
“There's paper in the drawer.”
Sophie nodded eagerly.
“I can draw good.”
For the first time, the corner of Dante's mouth moved.
“I'm sure you can.”
Anna brought her daughter a pencil and several sheets of paper.
Sophie settled onto the rug.
Her tiny hand moved across the page.
An oval.
Two short lines.
A small rectangular shape.
Then three dots.
Dante watched carefully.
There was something deeply unsettling about seeing a five-year-old calmly drawing the object that might have been lodged beneath his skin for years.
When Sophie finished, she handed him the paper.
“See?”
Dante examined it.
He wasn't a medical professional.
He couldn't identify the object.
But it didn't look like an ordinary piece of shrapnel.
It looked manufactured.
Intentionally shaped.
His headache suddenly seemed worse.
“Anna.”
She straightened.
“Yes, sir?”
“Has anyone else seen this?”
“No.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“No, sir.”
Dante looked toward Sophie.
“Has she?”
Anna hesitated.
“Not that I know of.”
He studied the drawing.
Then reached for his phone.
But before he could dial, the library doors opened.
Victor Hale entered.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired, impeccably dressed, and had been Dante's closest adviser since Dante was a teenager.
Victor took one look at the scene.
Anna kneeling.
Sophie sitting on the rug.
Dante holding a drawing.
And his expression changed.
“What happened?”
Dante looked up.
“Apparently, I have a bug in my neck.”
Victor laughed.
A little too quickly.
“Excuse me?”
Dante held up the paper.
“The child drew this.”
Victor approached.
He studied the picture.
Then went completely still.
It lasted less than a second.
But Dante saw it.
The hesitation.
The tightening jaw.
The way Victor's eyes moved immediately toward the back of Dante's neck.
Then Victor smiled.
“Oh, Dante. Children imagine all kinds of things.”
Sophie frowned.
“I didn't imagine it.”
Victor looked down at her.
His smile disappeared.
“Little girl, you shouldn't touch things that don't belong to you.”
Anna pulled Sophie closer.
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“Victor.”
The older man turned.
“Yes?”
“Don't speak to her like that.”
Victor blinked.
Then laughed.
“Of course. I'm merely saying—”
“She saw something.”
“A scar.”
“She drew something.”
“A child's drawing.”
Dante placed the paper on the table.
“Then there's no reason to be concerned.”
Victor hesitated.
“Certainly not.”
“Good.”
Dante reached for his phone again.
“I'll have a doctor examine it.”
Victor stepped forward.
“There's no need.”
The words came too quickly.
Dante looked up.
“Why?”
Victor smiled.
“Because Dr. Lang already explained everything. That fragment has been there for three years.”
“Then another doctor can confirm it.”
Victor's expression tightened.
“Dante, you know how dangerous it could be to disturb that area.”
“I'm not asking anyone to remove it.”
Dante's voice hardened.
“I'm asking someone to look.”
For several seconds, the men stared at each other.
Then Victor lowered his head.
“Of course.”
He glanced toward Anna.
“Perhaps the child should return to the staff quarters.”
Dante nodded.
“She should.”
Anna quickly gathered Sophie's crayons.
But as they reached the doorway, the little girl turned.
“Mister?”
Dante looked at her.
“Yes?”
“Don't let the bad man take your picture.”
The room went silent.
Anna froze.
Victor's face lost its color.
Dante slowly lowered his phone.
“What picture, Sophie?”
She pointed toward Victor.
“The one I made.”
Victor took a step forward.
“Enough.”
Dante stood.
The movement sent a sharp wave of dizziness through him.
He caught the arm of the sofa.
Then looked directly at Victor.
“Why would you want her drawing?”
Victor said nothing.
May you like
Dante's expression went cold.
And for the first time in three years, he wondered whether the man managing his recovery was the very reason he had never fully recovered.
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