Chapter 7: Seven O'Clock
I didn't sleep again.
At six-thirty, Raymond brought breakfast on a tray — oatmeal, fruit, a bottle already warmed for Mia.
He set it on the table without ceremony and told me Mr.
Duca had asked that I stay in the suite until he sent word.
"Raymond," I said.
"How long have you known?
About Marco?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Long enough that I should have said something sooner."
"Why didn't you?"
He looked at his hands.
"Because he told me the same thing he told you.
That there would be consequences.
For my sister's family.
She's here on a work visa." He looked up.
"I have a grandniece the same age as Mia."
I didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, Elena," he said.
"I helped you hide her because I could.
But I should have done more."
"You kept her safe," I said.
"That was enough."
He nodded once, tightly, and left.
At seven-fifteen, my phone buzzed.
Alessandro's name on the screen.
*He's here.
Come down when you're ready.
Raymond will stay with Mia.*
I looked at Mia, sitting on the carpet pulling at the fringe of the blanket.
Raymond appeared in the doorway as if he'd been waiting outside.
He probably had been.
"Go," he said.
"She'll be fine."
The lobby was quiet when I stepped out of the service elevator.
Two men in plainclothes stood near the front desk.
A third was by the door.
None of them looked at me.
Marco was standing near the security station.
He was in his uniform.
Composed.
The kind of composed that takes effort.
Alessandro stood six feet away, hands in his pockets.
Marco saw me first.
Something moved across his face.
Not guilt.
Recalculation.
"Elena," he said.
"I'm glad you're still here.
I was worried about you."
"Were you," I said.
"Of course." He smiled.
It didn't reach anything.
"This has all been a misunderstanding.
I was trying to protect you.
If Mr.
Duca had found out about the baby through someone else, through building management, it would have been much worse.
I was giving you a chance to—"
"To disappear," I said.
"To make a clean exit.
With a reference.
With—"
"Marco." Alessandro's voice was quiet.
"Stop."
Marco looked at him.
The smile stayed but something behind it shifted.
"Alessandro.
I've served this family for nine years.
Whatever you think you have, we can discuss it privately.
There's no need for—" His eyes moved to the two plainclothes men.
They had taken a step closer.
"There's no need for this."
"The billing coordinator gave a statement last night," Alessandro said.
"Diane Reyes gave a statement this morning.
The courier has been identified.
The prepaid account has been traced." He paused.
"And the journalist you called at two a.m.
called my attorney at three."
Marco's jaw tightened.
"Nine years," he said.
"I want you to remember that."
"I remember all of it," Alessandro said.
"Including what you did with it."
One of the plainclothes men touched Marco's arm.
Marco looked at me one last time.
"You have no idea what you've walked into," he said.
"This family.
This man.
You think he did all of this for you?"
"I think," I said, "that you did all of this to yourself."
His expression finally broke.
Not into anger.
Into something smaller.
The detective said his name.
May you like
Marco straightened his jacket, as if that still mattered, and walked toward the door.
He didn't look back.
