Chapter 2: The Baby Who Wasn't Mine
The click of my seatbelt echoed through the silent cabin.
Every head turned toward me.
Four armed bodyguards shifted almost simultaneously, their hands instinctively moving beneath their jackets.
The nanny looked up with red, frightened eyes.
"What are you doing?" one of the guards demanded.
His voice carried the kind of authority that expected immediate obedience.
I swallowed hard.
"I... I think I can help."
The words sounded much steadier than I felt.
The guard frowned.
"You need to sit back down."
"I understand why you're suspicious," I said quietly, keeping my hands where everyone could see them. "But if that baby doesn't eat soon, she's going to become dangerously weak."
The nanny hugged the infant tighter.
"How would you know that?"
I hesitated.
Because I was supposed to be feeding my own children.
Instead, I buried them.
"I was a mother."
The sentence almost broke me.
The cabin fell silent again.
"I had twins."
Past tense.
Even after three months, saying those words still felt like swallowing broken glass.
The nanny's expression softened.
"I'm sorry."
I nodded once.
Then, before I could lose my courage, I whispered the truth I had hidden from everyone except my doctor.
"My babies are gone... but my body doesn't know that."
Confusion crossed several faces.
Then realization.
The elderly Italian woman lowered her novel.
The nanny's eyes widened.
One of the guards actually looked away.
"My milk never stopped," I admitted, barely above a whisper.
No one spoke.
The only sound was the weak breathing of the infant.
"I know this sounds strange," I continued. "But if she's refusing formula..."
The nanny looked from me to the tiny baby in her arms.
"I don't know what else to do."
One of the guards immediately stepped between us.
"Absolutely not."
The word landed like a gunshot.
"No stranger is touching her."
Another guard nodded.
"We don't know who this woman is."
"I'm Emily Carter," I answered softly. "I'm a thirty-four-year-old elementary school music teacher from Chicago. My purse is under the seat. My driver's license is inside. You can check everything."
"We're not interested."
The first guard didn't even look at the purse.
His eyes never left me.
The man by the window finally folded his newspaper.
For the first time, I saw his face clearly.
He looked to be in his late forties.
Dark hair threaded with silver.
A perfectly tailored charcoal suit.
No jewelry except a simple platinum wedding band.
A thin scar traced across his jawline, disappearing beneath his collar.
His face wasn't cruel.
It was unreadable.
The kind of face that had learned long ago never to reveal emotion.
But his eyes...
Cold.
Calculating.
They examined me the way a surgeon studies an X-ray.
Searching for hidden fractures.
Hidden lies.
He stood.
The entire cabin seemed to tense with him.
Even the guards unconsciously stepped aside.
No one introduced him.
No one needed to.
Power announced itself before words ever could.
He walked toward me without hurry.
Every polished step echoed across the cabin floor.
Stopping only a few feet away, he studied me in complete silence.
"What did you say your name was?"
"Emily Carter."
"And you're claiming you can feed my daughter."
Claiming.
Not offering.
Claiming.
"I think I can."
"You think?"
"I can't promise anything."
His gaze sharpened.
"But I've heard that cry before."
He glanced toward the baby.
The tiny girl's eyelids were fluttering now.
Her crying had almost disappeared completely.
That frightened me more than anything.
Healthy babies cry loudly.
Weak babies stop.
The nanny's voice trembled.
"Mr. Moretti..."
My heart skipped.
Moretti.
I'd heard that name before.
Not in person.
On television.
Newspapers.
Federal investigations.
Anthony Moretti.
One of the most powerful crime figures in America.
A man prosecutors had chased for nearly twenty years without ever securing a conviction.
The newspapers called him many things.
Businessman.
Philanthropist.
Mob boss.
Ghost.
The man standing in front of me was the last person on earth I should have trusted.
And yet...
His daughter was dying.
He looked back at me.
"If this is some kind of trick..."
"It isn't."
"If you harm her..."
"I won't."
His expression didn't change.
"I'll kill you."
The words were spoken with the same calm tone someone might use to discuss tomorrow's weather.
No anger.
No raised voice.
Just certainty.
Oddly, I believed him.
I looked directly into his eyes.
"If I wanted to hurt your daughter, I wouldn't be trying to save her."
For the first time, something flickered across his face.
Not trust.
Respect.
Only a little.
The elderly woman finally spoke.
"Anthony."
Her voice carried surprising authority.
"The child comes first."
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at his daughter.
For just a heartbeat, the terrifying man disappeared.
In his place stood nothing more than a frightened father watching his only child slip away.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the decision had been made.
"Search her."
Two female security agents appeared from the rear of the aircraft so quietly I hadn't even realized they were onboard.
Within seconds they checked my pockets, sleeves, shoes, and handbag.
One of them handed my driver's license to Anthony.
He glanced at it.
"Emily Rose Carter."
"Yes."
"Teacher."
"Yes."
"Widow."
I couldn't answer.
He looked at the death certificate folded inside my paperwork.
The obituary.
A hospital bracelet I'd forgotten to remove from my wallet.
His eyes lingered on a tiny photograph.
My husband holding our newborn twins.
Smiling.
Alive.
He returned everything without a word.
"She's clean," one of the women confirmed.
Anthony looked at the nanny.
"Prepare the guest suite."
The nanny blinked.
"The... the nursery room?"
"Now."
She hurried down the hallway toward the rear of the aircraft.
Anthony stepped aside.
"You'll have privacy."
I stood frozen.
Reality suddenly caught up with me.
I was about to nurse the daughter of America's most feared mafia boss.
Nothing about this felt real.
Anthony spoke again.
"If my daughter survives..."
He stopped himself.
The unfinished sentence somehow sounded even more dangerous than the threats.
The nanny returned moments later.
"The room is ready."
She carefully placed the tiny infant into my trembling arms.
The moment the baby's weight settled against my chest...
Everything inside me shattered.
She weighed almost exactly what Noah had weighed.
The same soft blanket.
The same tiny fingers curling instinctively around my shirt.
The same faint scent of baby shampoo.
My knees nearly gave out.
I hadn't held a baby since the hospital.
Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them.
The nanny gently guided me toward the private room.
As the door closed behind us, I looked down at the fragile little girl.
She was so pale.
So frighteningly quiet.
"Hi, sweetheart," I whispered through my tears.
"My name's Emily."
The baby's tiny eyes opened just enough to meet mine.
And somehow...
May you like
For the first time in three endless months...
I didn't feel completely empty anymore.
