They Sat the Don's Quiet Wife With the Hired Help — Then He Saw What Her Bandaged Hands Had Built

Beatrice Moretti denied everything.

When Dominic confronted her at the Moretti residence, she received him in a drawing room filled with pale roses and antique mirrors. Lorenzo sat beside her, visibly uncomfortable, while Sophia watched from the staircase.

"You're accusing me of stealing a baby forty years ago?" Beatrice asked.

"I'm asking why your name appears on an adoption record connected to my grandmother."

"Records can be forged."

"Then you'll have no objection to an independent examination."

Her smile tightened.

"You sound like your father."

"Good."

Lorenzo rose.

"Dominic, this is a family matter. We should handle it privately."

"That's what everyone has said for forty years."

Beatrice stood.

"Is this about Clara? Has that little seamstress convinced you she's some lost princess?"

Clara, who had entered behind Dominic, felt her cheeks burn.

"I haven't convinced anyone of anything."

Beatrice turned.

"You've always been ambitious. First, you make Sophia's dress, then you start digging through our history. What exactly do you want?"

"The truth."

Beatrice laughed.

"Truth is what people demand when they have nothing else to bargain with."

Clara took a step forward.

"Then perhaps that's why you're frightened of it."

The room went silent.

Beatrice's eyes hardened.

"You don't understand the world you have entered."

"No," Clara replied. "But I'm beginning to understand the people who built it."

Dominic placed copies of the adoption records on the table.

"Your signature appears beside the transfer authorization."

Beatrice glanced down.

For the first time, she seemed genuinely unsettled.

Then she tore the top page in half.

"That document proves nothing."

"It proves enough to ask questions."

She looked at Lorenzo.

"Tell him."

Lorenzo stared at the floor.

"Tell him what?" Dominic demanded.

Beatrice's voice rose.

"Tell him that Isabella was unstable. That she wanted to run away with a man who would have destroyed the family. Tell him that I did what was necessary."

Clara felt a cold wave pass through her.

"You took her child."

"I saved the child from a life of violence."

"By giving her to strangers?"

"By giving her a chance."

Lorenzo finally spoke.

"Beatrice, stop."

She turned on him.

"You have benefited from every decision I made."

"Not this one."

His voice trembled, but he did not retreat.

Beatrice looked at Clara with undisguised contempt.

"Your mother begged me to take the child. She knew the family would never accept an illegitimate heir. I arranged the adoption, paid the agency, and made certain the records were sealed."

Clara struggled to breathe.

"Did Isabella know where I was?"

Beatrice's expression shifted.

"She knew you were alive."

"Did she try to find me?"

Silence.

Then Beatrice said, "She tried."

Clara closed her eyes.

For thirty-four years, she had believed her mother was the only woman who had ever loved her.

Now she was learning that another woman had spent her life searching for the daughter she had been forced to surrender.

"Where is Isabella?" Clara whispered.

Beatrice looked toward the window.