Marco’s phone buzzed in his hand, the sharp vibration cutting through the heavy silence in his office.
Unknown Number.
His body tensed.
Carmen and Luca, seated across from him, immediately noticed his change in expression.
“Who is it?” Carmen asked, sitting up straighter.
Marco didn’t answer. His instincts screamed at him, warning him, but he swiped to accept the call anyway and brought the phone to his ear.
The voice that followed was soft, almost soothing—yet it sent a chill down his spine.
“Say hello to Rafael.”
Marco froze.
Then, the call switched to video.
The screen lit up, and Marco felt his stomach drop.
It was Matteo.
He was sitting on a lavish bed, surrounded by silk pillows, an ornate chandelier hanging above him. The room was too perfect, too polished, as if pulled from another time.
Matteo’s small fingers clutched a stuffed bear, his wide eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.
He looked confused.
But unharmed.
Marco’s grip on the phone tightened.
“Matteo,” he breathed.
Matteo’s head snapped up, but before he could react—a hand gently smoothed back his curls.
Ella.
She sat beside him, her expression warm, motherly.
“There’s my good boy,” she murmured, brushing Matteo’s hair back with slow, careful strokes.
Marco saw the way Matteo leaned slightly into her touch.
Saw the way he didn’t pull away.
“You’re so well-behaved, Rafael,” Ella cooed.
Marco’s blood ran cold.
Matteo blinked, his small brows furrowing.
“My name is Matteo,” he mumbled softly.
Ella let out a gentle laugh, tilting her head.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, cupping his cheek tenderly. “That’s just what they used to call you. But that’s not who you really are.”
Marco’s chest tightened.
“Matteo,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Listen to me, buddy. It’s Daddy. Are you okay?”
Matteo looked at the phone, his little face filled with hesitation.
He recognized Marco. Marco could see it in his eyes. But he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for the screen.
Didn’t cry for help. Marco’s stomach twisted painfully.
Ella turned her gaze to the camera, her smile never faltering.
“You took my son,” she whispered, her voice dripping with quiet malice.
Her fingers curled protectively around Matteo’s shoulder.
“Now, I take yours.”