The Moretti estate had been built for laughter, which made its silence feel almost obscene.

Alessandro froze.

The pen slipped from his fingers, rolling across the green blotter before dropping softly onto the Persian rug. In the three years since Isabella and Arya had died, children’s voices did not exist in the Moretti mansion. Silence was the law of the house, enforced by grief and terror.

He stood up, his joints popping in the heavy quiet of the study. Walking to the tall, paned window, he pulled back the heavy velvet curtain and looked down into the courtyard.

Rain slashed against the glass in blinding sheets. Below, the ancient stone pathways were slick and black under the lightning flashes.

At first, he saw nothing except the whipping branches of the weeping willow near the fountain. Then, a flash of white caught his eye.

A little girl was standing alone in the middle of the stone terrace, wearing a yellow raincoat that was far too big for her. Her hood had blown back, revealing a mop of wet chestnut curls plastered against her forehead. She was holding a small, waterlogged stuffed rabbit by one sodden ear, staring up at the dark windows of the house with a look of absolute, bone-deep terror.

It was Lily.

Alessandro’s chest tightened. Where was Sophia? The housekeeper was usually meticulous about keeping her daughter indoors during severe weather. Had she gone into town for supplies before the storm hit and gotten trapped?

He checked his watch. 9:42 PM.

For a second, he told himself to turn around. Let security handle it. Let Victor send one of the guards with an umbrella. He was Alessandro Moretti; he did not chase stray children in the rain.

Yet, his feet were already moving.

He walked out of the study, his leather-soled shoes clicking sharply against the marble corridor. He descended the grand staircase two steps at a time, bypassing the main foyer and heading straight through the heavy oak service doors that led out to the rear gardens.

The moment he stepped outside, the storm hit him like a physical blow.

The wind roared off the Sound, driving icy rain sideways into his face. The salt-heavy air tasted of ozone and churned mud. Alessandro didn't flinch. He strode across the terrace, water soaking through his custom wool trousers within seconds, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.

"Hey," Alessandro shouted over the gale, closing the distance between them.

Lily spun around at the sound of his voice. When she saw the tall, imposing figure of the man her mother warned her never to look directly in the eye, the color drained entirely from her small face. She clutched the ruined stuffed rabbit tighter against her chest, trembling so violently that her teeth chattered audibly.

"Mr... Mr. Moretti," she stammered, her voice thin and reedy against the wind. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just... I dropped Button."

She pointed a shaking, ice-blue finger toward the edge of the terrace where the stone gave way to the overgrown slope leading down to the old sunflower garden.

Alessandro stopped two feet from her. Up close, she looked impossibly fragile—a sparrow caught in a hurricane. She couldn't have weighed more than forty pounds. Her bare ankles were red from the cold, her yellow raincoat flapping wildly like a broken wing.

"Where is your mother, Lily?" Alessandro asked, his voice lower and harsher than he intended, stripped of all warmth by years of habit.

"She went to the village pharmacy to get medicine for Mrs. Gable," Lily sniffled, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. "The storm came fast. She... she called on the landline, but the phone went dead. She told me to stay locked in the cottage, but... but Button rolled out the door when the wind blew it open, and he went down the path, and..."

She didn't finish. She let out a small, choked sob that cut straight through the hard, calcified shell Alessandro had built around his heart.

He looked down at the dark, winding path leading toward the abandoned sunflower garden—a neglected patch of earth near the cliffs where nothing had been planted since Isabella died.

"Go back inside the house," Alessandro commanded, pointing toward the lit kitchen entrance. "Tell Rosa you're here. Stay by the stove."

"No," Lily whispered, her small chin trembling as she looked down at the dark garden. "Button's down there. He's all I have left from my daddy. If I leave him, the dark will take him."

Something in Alessandro’s brain snapped. A forgotten memory—sharp, burning, and agonizingly clear—flashed behind his eyes.

A little girl with chestnut curls sitting on the floor of the nursery, crying because she had lost a stuffed bear.

“Don't worry, my little bird,” a soft voice had said. “Daddy will find it. Nothing is ever truly lost if someone is looking for it.”

Alessandro closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. When he opened them, his expression had hardened into something cold and absolute.

"Show me," Alessandro said quietly.