Chapter 3

At nine the next morning, all seven of us sat in the waiting area at Nassau County Court.

Sofia wore an ivory pantsuit and the sapphire bracelet. She gave me a careful smile, as if showing up erased the night before.

The clerk checked the packet, then looked at Luca. "Where is the notarized original of the DNA report? This is a scan."

Luca emptied his briefcase twice before his expression changed. "It's in the safe at the estate."

Nico asked whether we could go before the judge anyway, but the clerk shook her head. "The original is required. Have someone bring it. There's still time on today's calendar."

Sofia folded her hands in her lap. "This is my fault. I couldn't find the spacer for my nebulizer last night, and Luca stayed up helping me look."

"He forgot the file," I said. "You didn't forget it for him."

Luca called a driver and ordered him back to Oyster Bay. We hadn't waited twenty minutes when Sofia's phone buzzed.

She opened the security alert, and the blood drained from her face. The camera feed showed staff carrying clothing racks, studio lights, and sample trunks out of the west wing.

The suite wasn't her bedroom. Three years ago, Mom had promised to turn it into mine. Then Sofia's jewelry label expanded, and the rooms became her temporary photo studio. Temporary had quietly become permanent.

"They're throwing out all my design archives." Sofia shot to her feet, her breath quickening. "Mom, I have to go back."

Mom grabbed her bag. Luca and Nico stood at the same time.

Matteo caught Sofia's wrist to check her pulse. "Sit down first. Give me the inhaler."

"I can't breathe." Tears ran down Sofia's face as she shook her head. "Please, take me home."

I stepped in front of the elevator, not to block them but to make them look at me before they left. "Last night, every one of you promised you would stay."

Mom hesitated. "We can finish the paperwork this afternoon. Those designs are years of Sofia's work."

"The staff are boxing them up. Nothing is being destroyed."

"Look at her," Nico snapped. "Can't you cut her some slack for once?"

"You call it once every time."

Sofia doubled over, coughing hard with one hand clamped to her chest. Matteo steadied her. Luca punched the elevator button, Mom called for the car, and Nico kept his arm around Sofia's shoulders. In under two minutes, all five of them were inside the elevator.

Dad's phone rang just as the doors opened. There was trouble at a Moretti pier. He told me, "Wait for the original," and walked toward the other elevator without even pretending he'd return soon.

The six people who had promised not to leave had all found a reason to go.

I sat alone beneath the fluorescent lights while court staff called other families forward. Beside me, an elderly man held his granddaughter's hand through an adoption hearing. Across the aisle, two women took pictures of a newly signed certificate and laughed when one of them cried. No one in that hallway had more power than the Morettis, yet somehow they had managed to stay in their seats.

When the elevator doors closed, the clerk approached with my folder. "Ms. Hart, once the original arrives, would you still like to proceed?"

I looked at the new name waiting on the application. The surname Moretti sat above the blank signature line.

The first time I entered their estate, I'd believed that name would prove I'd finally been found. I had spent three years treating it like a key to a locked house. Now I understood that a last name couldn't make anyone keep a promise, and it couldn't turn a hierarchy into a family.

I drew a line through the signature box and handed the packet back. "Withdraw it. I'm keeping Hart."

The clerk blinked. "Are you sure? A new filing will mean another wait."

"I'm sure. I've waited long enough."

The clerk didn't try to change my mind. She stamped the withdrawal, handed me a copy, and said, "For what it's worth, Hart is a good name."

It was the name my adoptive mother had given me when she brought me home. She'd never had guards, a private jet, or a crest over her front door, but when she made a promise, I didn't need six witnesses to believe it.

Outside the courthouse, I called Maya, our HR director, and asked whether the employee apartment she'd mentioned was still available.

She confirmed my tenure and move-in date, then emailed the lease ten minutes later.

[Unit 18C is yours. Keys are available after five.]

The Morettis had spent three years making me wait for a welcome.

Elena Hart needed ten minutes to find a door she could open herself.