MAFIA BOSS SECRETLY INSTALLED A CAMERA IN HIS BABY DAUGHTER'S NURSERY—BUT WHEN HE WATCHED THE FOOTAGE AT 1:13 A.M., HE SAW HIS MAID'S THREE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER DOING SOMETHING THAT BROUGHT HIM TO TEARS.

Alessandro read the anonymous message three times before he showed it to Salvatore.

The security chief was a former detective with a nose broken twice and a talent for making himself seem less intelligent than he was. He studied the photograph, enlarged the edges, and pointed at a thin brass inlay beside the desk.

"That's your uncle's private office," he said. "The one off the east gallery."

"I know whose office it is. I want to know who sent the photograph."

Salvatore rubbed his jaw. "Could be someone with access to his rooms. Could be one of the accounting staff. Or he could have sent it himself."

"Why would he?"

"To tell you he knows what you've seen."

Alessandro hated that the explanation made sense. Vittorio had helped raise him after his father's stroke. For fifteen years the uncle had been the smiling public face of Moretti family charities, forever attending ribbon cuttings and shaking hands with nurses. Alessandro handled the business that needed iron. Vittorio handled the business that needed velvet.

He had never imagined velvet could hide a knife quite so well.

"Bring him to the winter room," Alessandro said. "No weapons in the room. And don't tell the rest of the house why."

When Vittorio arrived, he wore a camel coat and a burgundy scarf, looking every inch the kindly patriarch interrupted during important paperwork.

"Alessandro," he said, embracing the air near his nephew's shoulder rather than embracing the man himself. "I hear you've been reviewing nursery cameras. Grief can turn a father into a suspicious fellow."

"I'm reviewing my daughter's safety."

"Naturally."

Alessandro placed the photograph on the table.

Vittorio looked at it. Not quickly. Not slowly. With a measured attention that was almost theatrical.

"A toy," he observed.

"The toy Isabella gave a child at Mercy House."

The older man's fingers tightened on his scarf. "Is that what the housekeeper told you?"

"Where is it?"

"I don't know."

"It's in your office in that picture."

"Then perhaps someone put it there." Vittorio met his gaze. "You're allowing an employee with a sad story to manufacture trouble."

"She knew Isabella's lullaby."

A pause. "Your wife was generous. She knew many families."

Alessandro leaned forward. "Did you know she was investigating Mercy House?"

Vittorio's face softened into practiced sorrow. "She had concerns. She always did. After the baby was born she became sensitive about displaced children. I told her our trustees would review any irregularities."

"Did they?"

"Of course."

"Show me the report."

Vittorio sat back. "You don't need to do this now. Isabella is gone, and Sophia needs a father who can sleep."

For a moment Alessandro could hardly breathe. That was the phrase Vittorio had used every time he asked questions about the shooting. Your daughter needs a father who can sleep. He had used it to end conversations about the missing security footage, the stalled investigation, and the sealed clinic records.

"Bring me the report," Alessandro repeated.

"I will ask Thomas to locate it."

"No. You'll tell him now while I'm listening."

The older man raised his eyebrows. "Is this an interrogation?"

"It can become one."

Vittorio studied him for another second, then stood with offended dignity. "You're making a terrible mistake."

"Perhaps," Alessandro said. "It's been eleven months of other people's decisions. I'd like to make one of my own."

After Vittorio left, Alessandro told Salvatore to keep eyes on him without detaining him. He did not yet have enough evidence to start a family war, and he knew it. Rage had made him rich enemies before; this time he needed facts.

At noon Elena came to the nursery with Mia, carrying a change of clothes and a notebook in which she'd written every date she remembered from Mercy House. Alessandro was waiting near the rocking chair. The camera remained mounted in a corner, its indicator switched off.

"I won't turn it on without telling you," he said.

Elena seemed surprised he remembered her objection.

Mia ran to the crib but stopped herself when her mother held up a hand. "We wait for permission," Elena reminded her.

The little girl nodded solemnly. "May I see Baby Sophia?"

Alessandro opened the gate of the low safety barrier and sat close enough to supervise. Sophia was awake, gazing at a mobile of white felt clouds. When she saw Mia, her face opened into a delighted, toothy grin.

Alessandro stared. He had never been certain his daughter recognized him. Yet she recognized this child at once.

"She likes you," he told Mia.

"Babies like songs," Mia said. "And bunnies."

"Can you sing the song?"

Elena's eyes met his. He gave a small nod, asking rather than commanding.

Mia began in a thin, earnest toddler voice:

"Little boat, little star,

Carry me home from where you are.

Past the bell and through the blue,

Someone waits and watches you."

Alessandro closed his eyes. He had heard Isabella sing those words while folding tiny clothes. He remembered teasing her about the missing rhyme in the final line. She had said the song wasn't finished because you never knew what home would look like until you found it.

"There was another verse," he said.

Mia shook her head. "Aunt Bella said we only sing that one when the water is dark."

Elena looked at her daughter with surprise. "She never told me that."

"Aunt Bella?" Alessandro repeated.

Mia nodded. "The pretty lady with the purple scarf. She played boats with me."

He felt the world tilt. He had never known Isabella wore a purple scarf to the shelter. He had never known she let a child call her Aunt Bella. An entire part of his wife's life had existed beyond him, and her secrets were now arriving through a three-year-old in star-patterned pajamas.

Elena opened her notebook. "She visited for six weeks before the shooting. The last afternoon, she asked us not to give the rabbit away. She said it belonged to somebody important. I thought she meant it was a sentimental gift. Mia wouldn't sleep without it."

"Who repaired its ear?"

"I did. Isabella brought it to the shelter already damaged, and I tried to stitch it."

"Did you open the stuffing?"

"No. There was a stiff piece in there, like a label or a broken squeaker. I figured it was part of the toy."

Alessandro held his breath. "Where did she get the rabbit?"

"I don't know." Elena lowered her voice. "But there was something else about that afternoon. A woman came to the shelter looking for Isabella. She wore a hospital coat over business clothes and had a blue enamel pin shaped like a bell. When Isabella saw her, she went white."

"A name?"

"Not that I heard. Isabella told us to take the children into the kitchen and lock the door."

Alessandro looked again at Sophia. The baby had begun babbling at Mia, unconcerned with the grown-up secrets tightening around her. He suddenly wanted to pick her up. The desire frightened him almost as much as the memory of blood.

He moved closer to the crib. Sophia reached toward him, fingers opening and closing. His hands remained at his sides.

"She's asking for you," Elena said softly.

"She doesn't know who I am."

"She knows you're there. That's enough to start."

Mia stepped back, as though demonstrating the correct procedure. "You hold her under the bottom," she instructed. "Mommy says babies need bottoms."

Elena tried not to laugh. "They certainly do."

Alessandro slid one hand behind Sophia's shoulders and the other beneath her body. For an instant he was back on the sidewalk, feeling warm blood and hearing his wife scream his name. He froze.

Elena stepped close without taking over. "Look at me," she said. "You're in the nursery. She's safe. You can put her down whenever you need to."

He breathed once, then lifted Sophia against his chest.

The baby blinked up at him. She touched his collar with one small hand and rested her cheek against his shirt. He stood motionless, afraid to move, until she made a contented sound and grabbed his tie.

Mia applauded quietly. "See? Bottoms."

Alessandro laughed. The sound startled him. It was his first real laugh in so long that he almost felt guilty for it.

Then his phone vibrated. Salvatore's name appeared.

"Boss, your uncle sent two men to collect the nursery rabbit. He says it contains something sentimental that belongs to him."

Alessandro looked down at Sophia. "Don't let them take it."

"We have another problem. The rabbit isn't in the east office anymore. Someone took it through the servants' passage."

"Check the cameras."

"Already have. One of our oldest housekeepers, Mrs. Bell, carried it out. She used the service elevator."

"Where did she go?"

A pause. "To the chapel on the estate."

Alessandro remembered that Isabella had spent hours there during her last month alive, saying she liked the colored light. The chapel was attached to a disused children's wing. There was a bell over its roof, and the walls were painted a faded shade of blue.

Past the bell and through the blue.

He felt the words settle into place like a key turning.

"Salvatore," he said, "seal the chapel doors, but do not go inside."

"Why?"