Chapter 2 - THE DOCTOR’S CONFESSION

Glass rained down on Adrian’s back like jagged diamonds.

He didn’t even flinch. His broad shoulders completely shielded me and Elias from the devastating spray. Beneath us, the boy didn’t scream. He just pressed his face harder against my chest, his little hands gripping the fabric of my uniform as if I were his only anchor in a storm.

“Move!” Adrian ordered his men.

Gunfire erupted from the lobby doors. Adrian’s bodyguards returned fire, their weapons equipped with silencers that made deadly, rhythmic thwip-thwip sounds.

Adrian grabbed my arm, his grip bruising but necessary. He hauled me to my feet, keeping Elias sandwiched safely between us.

“To the service elevator,” I said, the words flying from my mouth before I even thought them. “It goes down to the laundry sub-basement. There’s an old delivery tunnel that connects to the subway system.”

Adrian shot me a stunned look. “How do you know that?”

“I work here,” I lied. It wasn’t a total lie, but hotel maids didn’t know the architectural blueprints of the subterranean tunnels. I knew it because... I just knew it.

We ran.

The chaos of the lobby faded as Adrian kicked open the heavy metal door to the service hallway. We plunged into the dim, fluorescent-lit corridor, the sounds of the shootout muffled behind reinforced steel.

Dr. Aris was gone. She had vanished in the panic, leaving only the silver key on the floor, which Adrian had snatched up before grabbing me.

We reached the service elevator. Adrian hit the button, his dark eyes scanning our surroundings. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his expensive suit now dusted with plaster and glass.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rough.

“No,” I whispered. I looked down at Elias. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Elias looked up at me. His gray-blue eyes—so much like Adrian’s, but softened with an innocence that broke my heart—were wide. He reached into the small pocket of his crooked navy coat.

“I kept it,” Elias whispered.

He pulled out a tiny, worn, knitted blue bear. The yarn was frayed, the button eyes scratched.

My breath caught in my throat. I reached out with a trembling hand and touched the bear. The moment my fingers brushed the yarn, a violent flash of memory assaulted my brain.

Rain lashing against a clinic window. The agonizing pain of labor. The smell of sterile alcohol. Knitting this exact bear in the dark, humming a four-note melody.

“You gave it to me,” Elias said softly. “Daddy said an angel made it. But it was you.”

I looked at Adrian. He was staring at the bear, his jaw tight.

“I found it in his crib the night of the fire,” Adrian said quietly. “It was the only thing of yours that survived. He hasn't slept a single night without it.”

I turned the bear over. On the back, sewn into the blue yarn with clumsily stitched red thread, was a small, hidden pocket. I didn’t know how I knew it was there, but my thumb found the slit instantly.

I reached inside and pulled out a faded hospital wristband.

But it didn’t say Sarah Cole.

It said: Moretti, S.

Adrian’s breath hitched. He stepped closer, staring at the wristband.

“You gave me your last name,” I whispered, looking up at him. “But you said Elena was your wife.”

“Elena was an arrangement,” Adrian said, his voice thick with a grief he had buried for years. “A mafia truce. I never touched her. When her family demanded an heir, we hired a surrogate. You.” He reached out, his knuckles grazing my cheek. The scar on his hand was rough against my skin. “But I fell in love with you, Sarah. We were going to run away. I gave you that bracelet. I gave you my name in secret.”

The elevator doors pinged open.

We stepped inside, descending into the dark.

“Then why did I erase my memory?” I asked, my voice cracking. “If we were in love... why would I beg the doctor to make me forget my own child?”

Adrian’s eyes darkened. “Because of the wolves.”

Before I could ask what he meant, Elias reached up and touched my face. “Mommy’s crying.”

“I’m okay, baby,” I whispered, kissing his forehead.

The elevator hit the sub-basement with a heavy jolt. The doors slid open to reveal the cavernous, humid laundry facility. Shadows stretched long across the concrete floor.

“This way,” I said, pointing toward a rusty maintenance door.

We hurried through the humid air. But as we reached the heavy iron door, one of Adrian’s most trusted guards—a man who had ridden in the car with him, who had shielded him in the lobby—stepped out from behind a row of industrial washers.

He raised his weapon.

But he didn’t aim it at the door.