Elena looked at him.
“Will she let me?”
“She won’t let anyone.”
Elena approached the stroller.
The girl’s eyes remained fixed on her face.
Hazel.
Not merely hazel.
Gold near the pupil, green at the rim.
The same as Elena’s mother.
Elena’s knees weakened.
She bent and released the harness.
The child came into her arms with no hesitation.
Small.
Warm.
Real.
Her weight settled against Elena’s chest, and every scar inside Elena opened at once.
The girl pressed her face against Elena’s neck.
A tiny hand curled into the collar of her uniform.
The first boy stopped crying.
The second reached for Elena’s sleeve.
Elena held the girl tighter.
She smelled like baby soap, warm milk, and something faintly sweet.
Not memory.
Recognition.
Elena’s body recognized her.
Milk had dried in Elena’s breasts fourteen months ago while she sat alone in a rented room pressing frozen towels to her chest because there had been no babies to feed.
Now the girl rested exactly where Elena had imagined one of them might.
A sound escaped her.
Not quite a sob.
Caden watched her with a face gone unnaturally still.
“What is her name?” Elena whispered.
“Isla.”
The child lifted her head at the sound.
Elena touched one dark curl.
“And the boys?”
“Roman and Luca.”
Roman slapped one hand against the stroller rail.
“Mama.”
Gary laughed nervously.
“Well, children get confused. She probably resembles one of the nannies.”
Caden turned his head.
Gary stopped speaking.
“Get out,” Caden said.
Gary blinked.
“This is my restaurant.”
“No. You manage it.”
“Mr. Voss—”
“The owner is Elias Moran. He owes me four hundred thousand dollars.”
Gary’s face drained.
Caden looked toward one of his men.