"Do you think she's scared?"
Sofia considered the question.
"Probably."
Emma's eyes filled.
"Because I left?"
"No, sweetheart."
Sofia gently touched her hand.
"Because she loves you."
Emma nodded, but she did not seem convinced.
Alessandro had been watching from the doorway.
He entered the room.
"Would you like to see something?"
Emma looked up.
"What?"
He walked to a cabinet and opened a drawer.
Inside was a small wooden box.
He removed a photograph.
A young woman stood beside him on a beach, laughing at something outside the frame.
Emma leaned closer.
"That's Mommy."
Alessandro looked at the photograph.
"Yes."
"Why are you in the picture?"
He swallowed.
"Because we knew each other."
"Are you friends?"
He looked at the child.
"Once, I was more than a friend."
Emma studied the photograph.
Then she looked at him.
"Mommy keeps a picture of you."
Alessandro's fingers tightened around the frame.
"Where?"
"In her bedroom. Inside a book."
He sat down.
"Does she talk about me?"
"Sometimes."
"What does she say?"
Emma considered her answer.
"She says you were good at making pancakes."
A faint laugh escaped him.
He remembered the mornings.
Isabella had been terrible at cooking.
She burned toast, forgot coffee on the stove, and once managed to ruin a perfectly good omelet.
He had learned to make pancakes because she refused to admit defeat.
"She also says you had a sad face."
Alessandro's smile disappeared.
"Did she?"
Emma nodded.
"She says you were lonely even when lots of people were around you."
For a moment, the room became very quiet.
Then Emma asked the question he had been avoiding.
"Are you my daddy?"
Sofia looked up.
Alessandro did not move.
He could have asked for a test.
He could have demanded proof.
He could have questioned Isabella's timeline.
But the child's face was enough to make the possibility feel real.
He looked at her small hands.
At the dark eyes.
At the photograph.
"Do you want me to be?" he asked.
Emma shrugged.
"I don't know."
He nodded slowly.
"That's fair."
She studied him.
"Would you be a good daddy?"
Alessandro had spent most of his life being a difficult son, a ruthless employer, and a dangerous man.
He had never been asked to be something as ordinary as a good father.
"I would try."
Emma considered that answer.
Then she moved closer and placed her teddy bear on his knee.
"Then you can hold him."
Alessandro looked down at the toy.
It had one missing button eye and a small tear near its ear.
He accepted it carefully.
"What's his name?"
"Mr. Buttons."
"An impressive name."
Emma smiled.
For the first time that night, Alessandro smiled too.
And then his telephone rang.
Marco.
"Boss, we found her."
Alessandro stood immediately.
"Where?"
"An apartment in Queens. But there's a problem."
"What problem?"
"Vittorio's people are already there."
Alessandro looked at Emma.
"Isabella?"
"Alive. We have confirmation."
"Get her out."
"We're trying."
Alessandro's voice became dangerously quiet.
"Marco, listen carefully. Nobody touches her. Nobody frightens her. Nobody makes a decision without my permission."
"Understood."
"Where are you?"
"Six minutes away."
Alessandro looked toward the elevator.
Then he turned to Sofia.
"Stay with Emma."
Sofia nodded.
He placed Mr. Buttons beside the little girl.
"I need to find your mother."
Emma stood.
"Can I come?"
"No."
"Please."
He knelt.
"I need you to stay here where you're safe."
"But Mommy said you would help me."
"I am helping you."
"Then don't leave me too."
The words struck him harder than any accusation.
He took both of her hands.
"I'm not leaving you. I'm going to bring her back."
Emma searched his face.
Then she nodded.
Alessandro stood and walked toward the elevator.
Before the doors closed, he looked back.
Emma was standing beside Sofia.
Holding the teddy bear.
Watching him go.
He had spent six years convincing himself that losing Isabella had been the worst thing that could happen to him.
He was beginning to understand how little he knew about loss.
***
The apartment building in Queens was old.
The stairwell smelled of dust, cooking oil, and damp concrete.
Alessandro entered through the side entrance with Marco and two trusted security officers.
He did not bring the usual procession of men.
He did not want a spectacle.
He wanted Isabella alive.
On the third floor, Marco raised one hand.
Two men stood near the apartment door.
They wore dark jackets and carried themselves like professionals.
Alessandro recognized one of them.
It was a man who had once worked for his uncle.
"Where is Isabella?" he asked.
The man looked surprised.
"Mr. Moretti."
"Move."
"Sir, we're waiting for instructions."
Alessandro stepped closer.
"You have received them."
The man looked at Marco.
Then back at Alessandro.
"We were told to bring her in."
"By whom?"
He hesitated.
"Mr. Vittorio."
Alessandro nodded.
"I see."
He looked at the other guard.
"Open the door."
Neither man moved.
Alessandro did not raise his voice.
"Do not make me ask twice."
The first guard finally stepped aside.
Marco opened the apartment door.