Chapter 4 - The Woman I Never Stopped Loving
“Naomi looked straight into that camera because she knew I would eventually see the footage.”
I couldn't stop watching those final seconds.
Her frightened eyes.
The way she pulled away from Adrian.
The desperation in her expression.
Five years earlier, I'd promised her I would protect her.
Now I was staring at another moment when I hadn't been there.
Gabriel closed the laptop.
“Dante, our contractor found a maintenance log. Someone disabled the camera for eleven minutes.”
“Can we trace the authorization?”
“Yes. It came from Carlo's office.”
I stood.
“Then we're going downstairs.”
Gabriel blocked the door.
“No.”
I glared at him.
“Move.”
“Listen to me. If Naomi is being held somewhere, the fastest way to lose her is to announce we're coming.”
I stopped.
He lowered his voice.
“I've already requested assistance through an independent investigator. We also have an address connected to the service-level contractor.”
“What address?”
“An abandoned records facility near the waterfront.”
I looked at him.
“Then that's where we start.”
We didn't find Naomi there.
We found something almost as important.
A disposable phone beneath a filing cabinet.
The facility manager said two men had arrived the previous afternoon and stayed for less than twenty minutes.
A woman had been with them.
“She looked upset,” he admitted. “I thought it was some kind of employment dispute.”
“Did she leave with them?” Gabriel asked.
The man shook his head.
“No. One of the men got a call. There was an argument. Then the woman ran out through the back entrance.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“She escaped?”
“That's what it looked like.”
Gabriel examined the phone.
It had one outgoing call.
Tessa Ward.
The housing advocate.
Naomi hadn't simply disappeared.
She was trying to reach help.
We contacted Tessa through an attorney Gabriel trusted.
She insisted on meeting at St. Brigid's Family Center, a small nonprofit serving families displaced by housing instability.
The building stood between an aging apartment complex and a neighborhood grocery store.
It had peeling blue paint and a handwritten sign advertising free meals.
Nothing about it resembled the empire my family controlled.
Inside, children colored pictures at plastic tables while volunteers organized donated coats.
A woman with dark skin and tired, intelligent eyes approached us.
“Tessa Ward,” she said.
I introduced myself.
She studied me.
“You're Vittorio Moretti's son.”
“Yes.”
Her expression remained guarded.
“Your father's foundation promised homes to families sitting in this building.”
I looked around.
“Did they receive them?”
“Some received temporary hotel rooms. Some received nothing.”
“How many?”
“Forty-three households were displaced after the warehouse fire. Several are still struggling to find stable housing.”
I swallowed.
I'd attended a gala celebrating that foundation.
My father had given a speech.
I'd written a check.
And somehow, I'd never asked whether the people in the photographs actually received the help we promised.
Tessa watched my face.
“You really didn't know.”
“No.”
“That doesn't make the damage disappear.”
“I understand.”
She considered me for a moment.
“Good. Then maybe we can talk.”
She led us through a hallway toward a small office.
A familiar voice came from behind the door.
“Tessa, did you find the medical supplies?”
I stopped breathing.
The door opened.
Naomi stood in front of me.
For five years, I'd imagined this moment.
Sometimes I thought I would shout.
Sometimes I thought I would demand answers.
Sometimes I imagined pulling her into my arms and refusing to let go.
But when I saw her, none of those things happened.
I simply stood there.
She wore faded jeans and a pale blue sweater.
Her dark curls framed a thinner face.
There were shadows beneath her eyes.
But she was still Naomi.
The woman who once laughed at my terrible cooking.
The woman who kissed me in an elevator because she couldn't wait until we reached her apartment.
The woman I'd loved more than anything in the world.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Dante?”
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
She took one step backward.
“How did you find me?”
“Julie.”
Her face drained.
“Where's Lily?”
“She's safe.”
Naomi moved toward me immediately.
“Where is she?”
“With Julie, at a protected apartment.”
She studied me.
Then she looked at Gabriel.
“Does your father know?”
“He knows I found out about Lily.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“Oh, God.”
I took a careful step toward her.
“Naomi, I'm not here to hurt you.”
Her eyes opened.
Tears glistened there.
“That's what he said.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
I felt something inside me fracture.
“Tell me what happened.”
Naomi looked at Tessa, who quietly stepped outside with Gabriel.
We were alone.
Five years of silence stood between us.
Naomi sat on the edge of a worn sofa.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified,” she said. “But I was happy, too.”
I sat across from her.
“I would have been happy.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You don't know how badly I wanted to believe that.”
“Naomi—”
“Let me finish.”
I nodded.
She explained how a man had approached her after her doctor's appointment and delivered a warning.
Then she described a meeting in my father's office.
Vittorio had shown her documents accusing her of stealing company information.
He claimed that if she stayed with me, she would be prosecuted.
Worse, he said certain men connected to our business would consider her unborn child a threat.
“He told me you knew,” she whispered. “He said you had agreed I should disappear.”
I shook my head.
“I never agreed to anything.”
“I know that now.”
“Then why didn't you come back?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because every time I thought about returning, I remembered his warning. And then Lily was born.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Suddenly, my pride didn't matter anymore. My love for you didn't matter more than her safety.”
I leaned forward.
“You sent me a message telling me not to look for you.”
Naomi shook her head.
“I didn't send that message.”
I went still.
“What?”
“Your father made me surrender my phone. He said he'd arrange for someone to send you an explanation.”
I stared at her.
For five years, I'd believed those six words came from the woman sitting across from me.
They hadn't.
Someone else had ended our relationship.
Someone else had stolen our family.
Naomi stood and crossed to a metal filing cabinet.
She removed a blue folder.
“There's something else you need to see.”
Inside was a copy of an old financial authorization.
Forty-one million dollars had been transferred out of the Harbor Light Relief Trust.
The document carried the Moretti Holdings seal.
And beneath the approval line was a familiar name.
Mine.
Dante Moretti.
May you like
Naomi looked at me.
“Dante, according to this document, you personally approved the transfer that started everything.”
