“Nervous. Excited. Terrified.” She settles into the chair across from my desk. “Normal pregnant woman emotions, according to the books I’ve been reading.”
“You’re reading pregnancy books?”
“Five of them. Did you know our baby has fingernails already? And can hiccup?”
The wonder in her voice makes my chest tight. She’s embracing this pregnancy with the same determination she brought to the family meeting, throwing herself into motherhood like it’s another skill to master.
“What else do the books say?”
“That stress isn’t good for the baby. That expectant fathers need to be supportive, not overprotective.” She gives me a pointed look. “That pregnant women don’t need bodyguards following them to the bathroom.”
“They do when their husband has enemies who would love to use them as leverage.”
“Speaking of enemies, any progress on the signature investigation?”
“Nothing concrete. But I’m expanding the inquiry beyond our accounting department.”
“You think it’s someone else?”
“I think it’s someone with access to family information that goes beyond financial records.”
Her expression grows troubled. “Like who?”
Instead of answering, I pull the drawer open and retrieve Dante’s photograph. The sight of his innocent face makes my stomach clench with familiar guilt.
“I keep thinking about this,” I say, placing the photo on the desk between us.
Kasimira studies the image, her face carefully neutral. “How old was he?”
“Six. Right around this time, his mother started using drugs heavily. Right before she left us.”
“He looks happy.”
“He was. For a while.” I trace the edge of the photograph with my finger. “I used to wonder what would have happened if I’d done things differently. If I’d been gentler, more patient, less focused on making him strong.”
“You can’t blame yourself for what he became. You’re not the same man who raised Dante. You’ve learned from your mistakes. You’ve changed because of what we found together.” Her thumb strokes across my knuckles. “Our child will grow up with two parents who love each other.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I see how you look at me when you think I’m not watching. Because you gave up a lucrative contract rather than leave me alone for three weeks. Because you’re asking these questions instead of assuming you know all the answers.”
Before I can respond, my phone rings. Benedetto’s name appears on the screen.
“What is it?” I answer.
“We have a problem. Marco never showed up for his meeting with the Portland contacts. They’ve been waiting three hours.”
“Did you try calling him?”
“Straight to voicemail. His security detail says he left the hotel this morning and never came back.”
Ice flows through my veins. Marco missing. Forged signatures. Strange sightings on the West Coast. The pattern is starting to make sense in ways I don’t like.
“Find him,” I order. “Use every resource we have.”
“Already on it. But, boss…there’s something else. The Portland contacts mentioned seeing someone who looked like Dante yesterday. In the same hotel where Marco was staying.”
I end the call and look at Kasimira, who’s been listening to my side of the conversation with growing alarm.
