Chapter 2 - The Empty Nest
Twelve hours later, Lucien Moretti’s private Gulfstream touched down at Teterboro Airport. The rain had cleared, leaving a slate-gray sky over New York.
Lucien strode across the tarmac, his tailored wool coat sweeping behind him, flanked by Marco Vitelli and four heavily armed capos. His phone had buzzed forty times during the descent, but none of the notifications were from Serena.
"Where is the transport?" Lucien demanded as he slid into the back of the bulletproof Maybach.
"Parked outside Mercy General, boss," Marco replied, checking his tablet nervously. "The detail reports everything is quiet."
When the Maybach pulled up to the Manhattan penthouse, the silence inside was heavy, suffocating, and entirely wrong. There was no sound of a crying newborn, no nurse bustling about, no trace of Serena.
Lucien walked through the double doors, dropping his leather briefcase onto the marble foyer. "Serena?"
Only echo answered him.
He strode into the master nursery. The pale gray carpet was spotless. The crib, which had cost a small fortune, was impeccably made, the blue cotton blanket folded with geometric precision. But on the side table sat his wedding ring—left behind, the diamond catching the harsh afternoon light.
Lucien’s breath hitched. He stepped forward and picked up the ring. Beneath it was a single sheet of hospital stationery. In Serena’s clean, sharp handwriting, three words were written:
May you like
He has my eyes.
That was all. No explanation. No demands. No threats. Just an absolute erasure.
