Someone had brought her a bottle of water and a small packet of biscuits.
She held the teddy bear with one hand and ate with the other.
Alessandro watched her quietly.
There was something familiar about her face.
Not merely the dark eyes or the shape of her mouth.
It was the way she frowned when she concentrated.
The way she pressed her lips together before asking a question.
Isabella had done exactly the same thing.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
Emma shook her head.
"Are you a policeman?"
"No."
"A doctor?"
"No."
She considered him.
"Are you rich?"
A faint smile touched his face.
"Some people think so."
"Then why are you sitting on the floor?"
He glanced at the polished concrete beneath his expensive trousers.
"Because you're sitting here."
Emma seemed satisfied with that answer.
She took another bite of her biscuit.
Then she asked, "Are you going to find my mommy?"
Alessandro looked directly into her eyes.
"Yes."
"Promise?"
He hesitated.
He had made promises before.
Some he had kept. Others had cost people their lives.
But this one would be different.
"I promise I won't stop looking."
Emma nodded.
Then she reached out and placed her small hand over his black ring.
"Mommy said you were supposed to help me."
He looked at her.
"Did she tell you anything else?"
Emma thought for a moment.
"She said your name."
"What did she say?"
"Alessandro."
The little girl pronounced it slowly, struggling with the unfamiliar sound.
Then she added something that made his heart tighten.
"She said you used to make her laugh."
He looked away.
For a moment, he could not speak.
Marco returned with a tablet in his hand.
"Boss."
Alessandro stood.
"What did you find?"
"The Mercedes is registered to a private security company. The company is owned by a holding group in New Jersey."
"Who controls the holding group?"
Marco glanced at Emma before answering.
"Vittorio Moretti."
Alessandro's expression did not change.
But something inside him went cold.
His uncle.
The man who had told him to forget Isabella.
The man who had comforted him after her disappearance.
The man who had sat beside him at Christmas dinners and raised a glass to the memory of his father.
"Are you certain?"
Marco turned the tablet around.
The registration documents were displayed on the screen.
"Completely."
Alessandro stared at the name.
"How long has that company been following the girl?"
"We're checking."
"Check faster."
Marco lowered his voice.
"Alessandro, there's something else."
"What?"
"The security cameras recorded the Mercedes entering this garage forty-three minutes ago."
"And?"
"It didn't come alone."
Marco enlarged an image.
A second vehicle had entered behind it.
A black SUV.
The passenger had remained inside.
Alessandro looked at the photograph.
Then at Emma.
"Get her upstairs."
Marco nodded.
"Where?"
"My private residence."
"Understood."
"And Marco?"
"Yes?"
"Nobody leaves this building without being identified."
Marco understood.
He immediately called the security team.
Alessandro returned to Emma.
"Would you like to come somewhere safe?"
She looked at the elevators.
"Will Mommy be there?"
"Not yet."
Her face fell.
He knelt again.
"But we'll find her."
Emma reached for his hand.
"Okay."
He held it gently.
And together they walked toward the elevator.
Behind them, the blue Mercedes remained beneath the fluorescent lights.
Its windows were dark.
Its engine was silent.
But someone inside the black SUV was watching.
***
Alessandro's residence occupied the top three floors of a building overlooking the Hudson River.
It had marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a private elevator that opened directly into the main living area.
There were paintings worth more than entire apartment buildings.
There were antique clocks, imported furniture, and a dining table large enough to seat twenty people.
Emma looked around as she entered.
"Do you live here?"
"Yes."
"All by yourself?"
"Most of the time."
"That's a lot of chairs."
Alessandro glanced toward the dining room.
"I suppose it is."
She walked toward the windows.
The city lights reflected in her eyes.
"Mommy likes looking at the river."
He stopped.
"She does?"
Emma nodded.
"She says water remembers everything."
Alessandro lowered his gaze.
He remembered saying something similar to Isabella during their first summer together.
They had been standing on a bridge in Brooklyn when he told her that the river carried the history of everyone who had ever crossed it.
She had laughed.
"You always make ordinary things sound tragic."
He had replied, "Only because you make them sound beautiful."
He looked at Emma.
"Does your mother still draw?"
The girl turned.
"Yes. Houses and buildings."
A small smile appeared on his face.
"She's very good at it."
"How do you know?"
He had no answer that a five-year-old could understand.
Before he could speak, the elevator opened.
A woman in her early sixties entered carrying a tray.
Her name was Sofia De Luca.
She had worked for the Moretti family for thirty years and had practically raised Alessandro after his mother died.
She stopped when she saw Emma.
Then she looked at Alessandro.