Dominic's POV
"Where is she?"
Dominic grabbed Dr. Harrison's arm before the hospital director could escape into the crowd. The older man's champagne glass tilted, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"Mr. Kane, I don't know who—"
"The woman in red. Dr. Castellano." Dominic's grip tightened. "Where did she go?"
Dr. Harrison's eyes widened with recognition. "Ah, yes. Our new neurosurgery fellow. Brilliant surgeon, trained in Geneva. She left early—mentioned something about jet lag." He pulled free, rubbing his arm. "Is there a problem?"
Neurosurgeon. Geneva. The words felt like punches to Dominic's chest. Elena had wanted to be a pediatric cardiologist, not a brain surgeon. She'd dreamed of fixing children's hearts, of saving kids like her little brother who'd died when she was twelve.
What happened to you, Elena?
"I need her address. Her file. Everything you have on her."
Dr. Harrison stepped back. "That's confidential information. I can't just—"
Dominic pulled out his phone, fingers flying across the screen. Five seconds later, Harrison's phone buzzed. The director glanced down and his face went pale.
"That's a wire transfer," Dominic said quietly. "Five million dollars to your hospital's pediatric wing. Consider it a donation. Now, her information."
"Mr. Kane, even with your generosity, I can't breach—"
"Ten million."
Harrison's mouth opened and closed like a fish. His fingers trembled as he clutched his phone. Around them, the gala continued—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except finding her.
"She lives in the hospital housing," Harrison finally whispered. "Building C, apartment 7B. But Mr. Kane, she's a private person. Very private. If you harass her—"
Dominic was already walking away, phone pressed to his ear.
"Marcus. I need everything on Dr. Elena Castellano. Last six years. Where she's been, who she's talked to, every breath she's taken." He pushed through the ballroom doors into the cool night air. "And I need it in one hour."
"Boss, it's almost midnight—"
"Fifty thousand dollar bonus if you deliver in thirty minutes."
He ended the call and stared up at the hospital towers rising into the Manhattan sky. Building C was the smaller residential tower on the east side. He could see lights glowing in some windows. Was she up there right now? Could she see him standing here?
His second phone buzzed. James, his lawyer.
"Don't do anything stupid," James said without preamble. "I heard you cornered Harrison. Dominic, you can't force yourself into this woman's life."
"She's not 'this woman.' She's Elena."
"The Elena who disappeared six years ago without a word? The Elena who clearly doesn't want to be found?" James's voice softened. "Brother, I know you loved her. But people leave for reasons. Maybe you should respect—"
"She was pregnant."
Silence on the other end.
"What?"
"The night before she left, she took a pregnancy test. I found it in the bathroom trash the next morning. Positive." Dominic's voice cracked. "She was carrying my child, and she ran."
More silence. Then: "Holy hell. Did you ever—"
"No. I never found her. My investigators couldn't track her past the Canadian border. It was like she became a ghost." He laughed bitterly. "But ghosts don't become neurosurgeons. Ghosts don't show up at hospital galas in designer dresses."
"So what are you going to do?"
Good question. Storm up to her apartment and demand answers? Hire guards to follow her every move? He'd spent six years imagining this moment, and now that it was here, he didn't know what to do with the rage and relief and desperate need burning through his veins.
"I'm going to get my answers."
He hung up and started toward Building C. His reflection caught in the glass doors—a man in a ten-thousand-dollar suit, fury in every line of his face. He looked like his father, and the thought made him sick.
The lobby was empty except for a sleepy security guard who barely glanced at him. Dominic headed for the elevator, but movement outside the glass wall stopped him cold.
A woman in red, hurrying across the courtyard. Not toward Building C, but away from it. Toward the parking garage.
Elena.
He sprinted back outside, his dress shoes pounding against concrete. She was almost to the garage entrance when he shouted her name.
"Elena! Stop!"
She froze. Even from fifty feet away, he saw her shoulders stiffen. Then she started running.
Dominic chased her into the garage, footsteps echoing off concrete pillars. She rounded a corner and he followed, nearly colliding with her as she spun around, car keys clutched in her shaking hand.
"Please," she whispered. "Please just let me go."
"Where's my child?"
Her face crumpled. And that's when he heard it—a small sound from the SUV behind her. A child's sleepy voice.
"Mama? Are we going home?"
Dominic's world stopped.
The rear door opened, and a small boy climbed out, rubbing his eyes. Dark curly hair. Olive skin. And eyes—bright green eyes exactly like Dominic's own—that stared up at him with innocent curiosity.
"Mama, who's that man?"