Louis's text remained on the screen.
Cassiano clutched his phone so hard that his knuckles turned pale.
He raised his head and looked around.
The sharp smell of disinfectant hung in the abortion procedure room. Two nurses were clearing instruments from a tray. There was no blood, only sealed sterile gauze and a cold metal curette.
Sylvia Hart had never come.
She had taken the child he himself had condemned to death and vanished from the life he had always believed he controlled.
Cassiano called Sylvia again. The same automated message told him her phone was off.
He turned and strode into the hallway.
Cassiano's assistant ran toward him from the elevators, his dress shoes striking the tile in a frantic rhythm.
"Mr. Moretti, something's wrong."
Still struggling to catch his breath,
