Page 2 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire
Theo’s brow furrowed. “Of course. Anything.”
“Do you remember Livia?”
Lorenzo paused, his gaze drifting to the flames. Theo stilled. The name drifted through him like smoke—sweet, choking, impossible to hold.
“Yes,” Theo replied softly, thinking of Lorenzo’s youngest daughter—Lucinda’s twin. “She was wild, untamed… a spark in every room she entered.”
Lorenzo’s expression darkened with old grief. “Her death was… a tragic accident.” He took a slow sip of his whisky. “We still grieve her as if it were yesterday.”
Theo set his glass down with care. “I know no parent wants to outlive their child. As long as she is in your hearts, she is never truly gone.”
Lorenzo looked up, his voice steady but laced with sorrow. “The pain does not lessen, but we have learned to live with it. Now… there may be a part of her that we can still hold. She had a child before she died.”
Theo stared, stunned.
“She—?” he started to repeat. “But… Livia was what? Sixteen? Seventeen years old when she died?”
Lorenzo nodded, his expression taut with restrained emotion. “Seventeen and stubborn. Just like me.”
Theo sat forward, disbelief tightening in his chest. “Are you sure? You’re saying you have a grandchild… and you’ve only just learned of them now?”
Lorenzo didn’t answer with words. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket and withdrew a cream-colored envelope. His hands trembled faintly as he passed it to Theo.
“It arrived two weeks ago. No return address. Postmarked from New York.”
Theo took the envelope, noting the elegant handwriting on the front—slanted and unmistakably feminine. The paper was smooth, pristine.
He frowned and slid the contents free. There was no letter—only a photograph.
He held his breath.
In the faded image, Livia sat barefoot on a sunlit blanket, her long, black hair wild around her shoulders, her smile radiant and so full of life it made his heart ache. A young man sat beside her, his arm slung around her shoulders, his eyes shining with a proud, jovial expression.
Cradled in Livia’s arms was a tiny baby swaddled in a pale, pink blanket. She was holding out one slender arm, and the infant’s arm lay alongside it. On each, in the same spot near the inner elbow, was a birthmark—an uncanny shape resembling the Italian peninsula.
Theo swallowed hard.
That birthmark wasn’t a coincidence.
He turned the photo over, revealing scribbles on the back. Scrawled in blue ink, almost too faint to see, were the words: Chris and Livia. The infant's name was illegible, lost in a smear of faded ink.
The date: twenty-three years ago.
No last name. No clue who Chris was. Just a moment in time, frozen and haunting.
He looked up slowly. Lorenzo’s eyes glistened, glassy with unshed tears, and when he spoke, his voice was raw.
“It’s her handwriting, Theo. My Livia’s. I’d know it anywhere.” He cleared his throat. “Someone mailed that, after all these years… I don’t know why, but it doesn’t matter. A part of Livia is out there—somewhere—and I need you, I’m asking you, to find her.”
Theo’s throat felt tight as he stared back down at the photo. The baby—she was beautiful. Dark hair, enormous eyes, a soft, perfect curve to her cheek. A tiny hand curled over Livia’s breast.
The sight hit him harder than he expected.
He wasn’t one to notice babies. He never thought of them at all, really. But this one tugged at something deep inside him—a protective feeling he didn’t understand.
Maybe it was because his brother was about to become a father. Or maybe it was the way Livia and Chris looked—whole and happy, as if nothing in the world could touch them.
“Do you have any idea what her name is?” Theo asked quietly.
