Chapter 8 - THE NAME WE NEVER CHOSE|
I stared at the photograph until the screen dimmed in my hand.
The man outside the hospital wore a dark overcoat and a gold ring engraved with the same crown symbol that appeared on every threat against Elena.
I had spent years believing I knew every dangerous man in Chicago.
Now I was beginning to understand how many had been standing behind the people I trusted.
Dante moved beside me.
“Boss, what's wrong?”
I showed him the message.
His expression darkened.
“That's the south entrance.”
“Find out whether he's still there.”
Dante reached for his radio.
I stopped him.
“Coordinate with hospital security and Detective Torres.”
He gave me a strange look.
“You don't want our guys to grab him?”
“No.”
I looked through the window toward Elena.
“I want him arrested if there's evidence of a crime.”
Dante nodded reluctantly.
Within ten minutes, hospital security located the man on exterior surveillance footage.
He had left in a black sedan.
The plate belonged to a commercial cleaning company.
The company had dissolved eleven months earlier.
It was another dead end.
But the message bothered me more than the photograph.
Your daughter already has a name.
Elena and I had never discussed baby names after learning she was pregnant.
We hadn't even been in the same room during the first trimester.
I returned to her bedside.
She watched me carefully.
“Something happened.”
I sat down.
“Yes.”
“Another threat?”
I hesitated.
Then I showed her.
She read the message.
Her face drained of color.
“Nico.”
“What?”
“How would they know?”
I frowned.
“Know what?”
Her hand moved instinctively toward her stomach.
“The name.”
I felt something tighten inside me.
“Elena, what name?”
She looked toward the window.
“I've been calling her Isabella.”
For a moment, the hospital disappeared.
Isabella.
My mother's name.
I couldn't speak.
Elena wiped her eyes.
“I know we never talked about it.”
“I know I had no right to decide without you.”
“Elena.”
“I just thought—”
Her voice cracked.
“I thought if our daughter had your mother's name, you might love her even if you couldn't love me.”
I covered my mouth.
She started crying.
“I know that sounds foolish.”
“No.”
I moved closer.
“It's beautiful.”
She stared at me.
“You really think so?”
I nodded.
“My mother would have loved that.”
Elena lowered her eyes.
“I've been calling her Bella.”
I laughed through tears.
“Bella?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes when I'm alone, I talk to her.”
“What do you say?”
“Mostly that I'm trying.”
I looked at her.
“Trying what?”
“To be brave.”
My mother's words returned to me.
Being brave didn't mean never feeling fear.
It meant doing the right thing despite being afraid.
I reached toward Elena's stomach.
Then I stopped.
“May I?”
She hesitated.
For several seconds, I thought she'd refuse.
Then she lifted the blanket slightly.
“Okay.”
I rested my palm gently over the small curve of her belly.
The warmth beneath my hand felt impossible.
“Elena,” I whispered.
She watched me.
“I'm scared.”
Her expression softened.
“I know.”
“I've never been scared of anything like this.”
“You should be.”
I looked up.
She gave me a sad smile.
“Being a parent means caring about someone more than you care about yourself.”
I looked back toward our daughter.
For the first time in my life, I understood exactly what that meant.
“Hello, Bella,” I whispered.
“I'm your dad.”
Elena's fingers covered mine.
I swallowed.
“I've made a lot of mistakes.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“But your mom is the bravest person I've ever known.”
“And if she'll teach me how, I'm going to try to be brave too.”
Elena began crying again.
We stayed like that until the doctor came in.
For a few minutes, the threats, the lies, and the danger felt distant.
There was only Elena.
Our daughter.
And a future I hadn't yet earned.
Later that evening, Detective Torres brought new information.
The man outside the hospital had been identified as Martin Vale, a former private security contractor.
He'd once worked for Vincent.
But that wasn't the most disturbing discovery.
Vale had also been employed by a private medical records company.
A company contracted by several Chicago clinics.
Including the office where Elena received prenatal care.
Elena stared at Torres.
“He had access to my medical records?”
“Possibly.”
Torres nodded.
“We're investigating whether anyone accessed your information improperly.”
I clenched my jaw.
Someone had taken the most private details of Elena's pregnancy and used them to threaten her.
It was a violation I struggled to comprehend.
Torres continued.
“We've also discovered repeated payments from a consulting company connected to Vincent Moretti.”
“To Vale?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What's the company's name?”
“Hawthorne Advisory Group.”
I went still.
I knew the name.
Hawthorne was one of the oldest companies in my father's financial network.
After his death, Vincent had insisted that it remain outside my direct control.
He claimed the company managed legitimate retirement assets for several former employees.
I'd never questioned him.
Another mistake.
Torres studied me.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“Then I suggest you prepare to explain everything you know.”
“I will.”
Elena looked between us.
“There's something else.”
We both turned.
“What?” Torres asked.
Elena reached toward the bedside drawer.
Inside was a small notebook.
The cover was decorated with tiny blue flowers.
“I started keeping this after the divorce.”
She handed it to Torres.
“Every strange call.”
“Every time I thought someone was following me.”
“Every appointment where something felt wrong.”
I stared at her.
“You were being followed?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes.”
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“I told the police once.”
“What happened?”
“They couldn't find enough evidence to identify the car.”
Torres opened the notebook.
Its pages contained dates, times, descriptions, and license plate fragments.
Elena had documented everything.
I felt ashamed.
While I'd spent three months believing my divorce had protected her, she'd been quietly fighting to protect herself and our unborn child.
Torres stopped at a page marked with a folded corner.
“What's this?”
Elena looked down.
“The first time someone called Bella by name.”
My entire body stiffened.
“When?”
“Four days ago.”
Torres read the entry.
“Caller identified himself as a representative from a family protection service.”
Elena nodded.
“He said he wanted to make sure Isabella would arrive safely.”
I stared at her.
“And you never told me?”
Her expression hardened.
“Nico, I didn't know whom I could trust.”
I lowered my eyes.
She was right.
Again.
Torres photographed the notebook.
Then she asked Elena to describe the call.
Elena remembered the man's voice as polite, almost cheerful.
He'd mentioned a nursery decorated in yellow.
A room Elena had begun preparing in the Maple Street house.
He'd also mentioned a white wooden rocking chair.
One Elena had found at a thrift store.
The details were too specific to be accidental.
Someone had been watching her home.
Possibly entering it.
I looked at Torres.
“You need to search the house for surveillance devices.”
“We're already arranging that.”
Elena's face changed.
“Wait.”
“What?” Torres asked.
“The rocking chair.”
She closed her eyes.
“When I bought it, there was something strange underneath.”
I leaned forward.
“What?”
“A small metal plate screwed into the wood.”
“I thought it was part of a repair.”
Torres immediately called the crime scene team.
The chair was recovered from Elena's nursery.
Beneath its seat, hidden behind a decorative wooden panel, investigators found a tiny electronic device.
It wasn't a tracker.
It was an audio recorder.
And it had been installed recently.
I stared at the photograph Torres sent.
Someone had been listening while Elena spoke to our unborn daughter.
Someone had heard her whisper the name Isabella.
Someone had turned a mother's private moments into weapons.
Elena began trembling.
I moved closer.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“They heard everything.”
“I know.”
“Every time I talked to Bella.”
“I know.”
Her voice rose.
“Every time I cried.”
I gently took her hand.
“Elena, none of that is something to be ashamed of.”
She looked at me.
“They were listening.”
“And we're going to make sure they can't do it again.”
Detective Torres remained near the doorway.
Her phone rang.
She listened for several seconds.
Then her expression changed.
“What is it?” I asked.
She ended the call.
“Martin Vale was found.”
“Where?”
“In his apartment.”
“Is he alive?”
Torres nodded.
“But he's asking for witness protection.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“Because he says Vincent Moretti isn't the person giving the orders.”
