Chapter 1 - The Two Empty Cribs
At 5:03 in the morning, Victor Rinaldi came home smelling like another woman and found both cribs empty.
For several seconds, he did not understand what he was looking at.
That was unusual for Victor.
Understanding danger quickly was one of the reasons he was still alive.
Chicago knew his name even when people pretended they didn't. Men lowered their voices when they spoke about him. Business owners who had never met him knew which restaurants belonged to his associates, which warehouses were protected by his influence, and which doors were better left unopened.
Victor had spent half his life becoming a man who was never surprised.
Then, on a freezing January morning, two empty cribs destroyed that illusion.
Cigar smoke clung to his wool coat.
So did Sylvia Moretti's cherry-blossom lotion.
Victor could smell it when he lifted his hand toward his face.
He had spent the night telling himself Sylvia meant nothing.
A distraction.
A habit.
An escape from a home where two premature babies cried at unpredictable hours and where his wife no longer looked at him like he was invincible.
But now the scent made his stomach turn.
Twenty minutes earlier, his driver had dropped him beneath the covered entrance of Rinaldi Tower. Victor had stepped from the black sedan irritated by the weather.
Snow was falling sideways.
The storm had buried downtown Chicago beneath nearly a foot of white, and the wind off Lake Michigan was making the streets almost impossible to navigate.
Victor had complained about it.
Now he would remember that complaint for the rest of his life.
Because while he had been warm inside Sylvia's apartment, Nora had apparently carried two medically fragile infants into that storm.
The private elevator opened directly into the penthouse.
Victor expected ordinary things.
A refrigerator humming.
A bottle warming.
A pacifier abandoned on the floor.
Nora asleep in the nursery chair because Leo had been colicky again.
Maybe Mia crying before he could remove his shoes.
Instead, the front door stood open.
Four inches.
No more.
Victor stopped.
His instincts reacted before his emotions did.
His right hand slipped beneath his coat.
His fingers closed around the pistol concealed at his waist.
"Nora?"
Silence.
He stepped inside.
The marble foyer was undisturbed.
No broken lock.
No shattered glass.
No overturned furniture.
No blood.
That should have reassured him.
It didn't.
"Nora."
His voice traveled through the penthouse.
Nothing answered.
The curtains had been left open.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Chicago was disappearing behind sheets of snow. The skyscrapers looked like ghosts in the gray dawn.
Victor walked into the living room.
Something was wrong.
Not because something was there.
Because things were missing.
The apartment looked clean.
Too clean.
Since Leo and Mia had come home from the neonatal intensive care unit, the penthouse had never looked like this.
There were usually blankets everywhere.
Burp cloths.
Bottles.
Diapers.
Tiny socks.
Once Victor had found a pacifier inside one of his Italian loafers and had demanded to know how it got there.
Nora had laughed.
"Ask your daughter."
Mia had been six weeks old.
Victor had stared at Nora.
Nora had laughed harder.
He hadn't understood why that memory returned now.
Perhaps because there was no laughter left in the apartment.
He entered the kitchen.
Then stopped.
The bottle sterilizer was gone.
Victor stared at the empty section of granite beside his espresso machine.
He hated that sterilizer.
It was large, white, plastic, and ugly.
Three weeks earlier he had asked Nora whether it really needed to sit on imported stone.
She had looked at him while holding Leo against her shoulder.
"Your children don't care about your countertops, Victor."
He had rolled his eyes.
Now he touched the empty granite.
His pulse accelerated.
"Nora!"
He moved quickly.
Bedroom.
The bed was made.
Her side hadn't been slept in.
Victor opened the closet.
Empty hangers swung gently.
Nora's long camel winter coat was missing.
Her black coat too.
Her practical snow boots.
Three nursing sweaters.
Jeans.
Thermal clothing.
Two overnight bags.
Gone.
Victor backed away.
"No."
He crossed the hallway.
The nursery door was closed.
His hand reached the brass knob.
And stopped.
Victor Rinaldi had been threatened with guns.
He had been stabbed at twenty-six.
He had once sat calmly in the back seat of a burning car while one of his men kicked out a window.
Fear had always been something that happened to other people.
But his hand was trembling now.
He opened the door.
A soft blue nightlight illuminated the nursery.
Two mahogany cribs stood against the wall.
Both were empty.
Victor forgot how to breathe.
"Leo?"
He stepped forward.
"Mia?"
Nothing.
He checked Leo's crib first.
The fitted sheet still carried the faint impression of his tiny body.
Victor touched it.
Cold.
Mia's white stuffed rabbit was missing.
He turned toward the changing table.
Half the diapers were gone.
Formula was gone.
The insulated medicine pouch was gone.
Victor opened the miniature refrigerator.
Empty.
His throat tightened.
"No. No, no, no."
He grabbed his phone.
Nora.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
"Nora, answer the phone."
He hung up and called again.
"Nora."
His voice was different now.
Not commanding.
Begging.
"Pick up."
Nothing.
Victor ran back into the bedroom.
He opened the biometric drawer beneath his nightstand.
His emergency cash was there.
Fifty thousand dollars.
Untouched.
His backup passport remained beside it.
Nora's passport was gone.
So were the passports they had rushed to obtain for Leo and Mia after their premature delivery.
Victor stared at the empty spaces.
And suddenly everything became clear.
No one had kidnapped his family.
Kidnappers didn't pack diapers.
They didn't remember medicine.
They didn't take winter clothing and passports while leaving fifty thousand dollars behind.
Nora had planned this.
His wife had taken their children.
And she had left him.
Victor sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
His hand moved across his face.
Cherry blossom.
He smelled Sylvia again.
His eyes closed.
Memory came cruelly.
Nora standing barefoot in the kitchen at midnight, Mia crying against her chest.
"Can you take Leo for twenty minutes?"
"I have a meeting."
"Victor, please."
"I said I have a meeting."
The meeting had been Sylvia.
Another memory.
Nora at breakfast.
"Are you coming home tonight?"
"I don't know."
"Should I wait for you?"
"No."
Then, eventually, Nora had stopped asking.
Victor had mistaken her silence for acceptance.
Now he understood.
It had been preparation.
The elevator chimed.
Victor stood instantly, pistol in his hand.
Marco Bellini stepped into the penthouse.
He stopped when he saw Victor.
Marco had worked beside him for fourteen years. He had seen Victor furious, wounded, drunk, triumphant, and grieving.
He had never seen him frightened.
"Put that away," Marco said quietly.
Victor lowered the weapon.
"Nora's gone."
Marco's expression changed.
"The babies?"
"Gone."
"Taken?"
Victor shook his head.
"She packed."
Marco looked toward the nursery.
Victor pointed at him.
"Find her."
"Victor—"
"Find my wife."
"I need information."
"Use everything."
"Police?"
"No."
"Traffic cameras?"
"Everything."
Marco removed his phone.
Victor followed him into the living room.
"Check the garage first."
Marco made two calls.
Less than three minutes later, security footage appeared on the enormous television.
The timestamp read 3:41 A.M.
Victor stepped closer.
Nora appeared on-screen.
His chest tightened.
She wore the camel coat.
Snow whipped around her.
One infant carrier hung from each hand.
Leo.
Mia.
She was struggling.
Victor watched his wife walk through a blizzard carrying their premature twins while he had been lying beside another woman.
"Jesus," Marco whispered.
Victor covered his mouth.
Nora reached a dark SUV.
A woman stepped out and helped her.
Victor leaned closer.
"Who is that?"
Marco studied the screen.
"I don't know."
"Find out."
The footage continued.
Before Nora entered the vehicle, she stopped.
She looked directly toward the security camera.
Victor froze.
Even through grainy footage, he recognized the expression.
She wasn't angry.
That would have been easier.
She looked heartbroken.
Then Nora turned away.
The SUV disappeared into the storm.
Marco began calling people.
Victor remained in front of the television.
He watched the footage again.
And again.
And again.
At 6:17 A.M., Marco finally lowered his phone.
"The vehicle belongs to Rachel Bennett."
Victor looked at him.
"Who?"
"Nora's college roommate."
"Where does she live?"
"Evanston."
"Send someone."
"I already did."
Victor grabbed his coat.
Marco blocked him.
"Wait."
Victor's eyes hardened.
"Move."
"Rachel's house is empty."
Victor stared at him.
"Then find where they went."
Marco hesitated.
That hesitation frightened Victor more than anything else.
"What?"
"The SUV was found."
"Where?"
"Near Sheridan Road."
"And Nora?"
Marco swallowed.
"No one was inside."
Outside, the storm swallowed Chicago.
Victor slowly turned toward the television, where the image remained frozen on Nora carrying their children through the snow.
For the first time in his adult life, the man who could find almost anyone faced a possibility money couldn't fix.
Maybe Nora wasn't lost.
Maybe she didn't want to be found.
And somewhere beyond those windows, his premature son and daughter were in the middle of the worst snowstorm Chicago had seen in years.
Victor stared at their empty cribs.
Then his phone rang.
Marco looked at the screen.
Neither man moved.
The caller ID displayed a name Victor hadn't seen in almost three years.
DR. ELIAS BENNETT — CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.
Marco answered.
His face changed within seconds.
Victor stepped toward him.
"What happened?"
Marco lowered the phone.
When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper.
"They admitted a premature infant twenty minutes ago."
Victor went completely still.
"Which one?"
Marco looked him directly in the eyes.
"They won't tell me."
May you like
And suddenly Victor was running.
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