Page 3 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire
“No, that is all I have,” Lorenzo said, his voice barely above a whisper. “There was nothing else. No surname. No address. No explanation. Just… this.” He gestured toward the photo. “I’ve had the envelope tested. The only thing we found was the New York postmark. That’s all I have. That—and you.”
Theo met his godfather’s eyes. A man he’d admired all his life. A man who ruled with grace and strength in equal measure, now vulnerable and pleading in a way Theo had never seen before.
“Please, Theo. Use whatever resources you have. Whatever strings you must pull. Just… find her. Bring her home.”
Theo nodded slowly, then looked down once more at the image in his hands. Twenty-three years. One photo. A single clue. It wasn’t much to go on.
But it was enough.
He lifted his glass, his voice steady. “To family.”
Lorenzo touched his glass to Theo’s with a quiet clink, then drank deeply.
As the fire crackled softly beside them, Theo felt the weight of something shift inside him—like a door cracking open to a future he’d never seen coming.
The Gerster Theatre, New York City
The soft crackle of old vinyl drifted from the record player, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice wrapping around Rose like her favorite sweater on a chilly day. The basement apartment smelled faintlyof lemon oil and cedar—fresh polish layered over memories too old to name.
It had taken her four months, but she’d finally finished. The last of her grandfather’s belongings sat neatly folded in a cardboard box marked for the local thrift shop.
She exhaled slowly, a deep, almost reverent breath, and set the last sweater into the box before she pulled it out again and held it against her.
As her hand caressed the worn fabric, a strange calm settled over her, like a gentle exhale from the walls themselves. She would keep this one—her grandfather’s favorite.
She glanced around the apartment. It felt quiet now, still in a way that made every creak of the floorboards above feel louder.
The small space, carved into the far corner of The Gerster Theatre’s basement, had always felt cozy when her grandfather was alive. Now, with his knickknacks and blueprints and antique tools gone, it felt enormous. The emptiness just reminded her she was all alone.
Her gaze fell on the worn picture frame propped on the end table. She picked it up gently, running her thumb over the image of herself and her grandfather—both grinning, covered in grime, elbow-deep in the guts of a rusted-out lighting panel.
A lump rose in her throat.
Her father had passed away after years in a vegetative state—injuries from before she was even old enough to understand. It had been the death of her grandmother when she was sixteen that had truly devastated her—until four months ago.
After her grandmother’s death, it had just been her and her grandfather. He had filled that hole with quiet strength, scratchy flannel hugs, and stories that made the walls echo with laughter.
Losing him had shattered her all over again. The cancer had come fast, brutal and unrelenting. From diagnosis to goodbye, it had been just weeks.
“I miss you, Pop,” she whispered, kissing the corner of the photo before gently placing it back on the end table.
She closed the small carry-on suitcase that she had filled with the stuff she wanted to keep. Old photo albums were nestled between a bundle of letters and a faded handkerchief.
A knock at the door startled her out of the moment.
“Come in!” she called, wiping a tear with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie.
The door creaked open, Kerry Evans’s pixie-cut curls bounced with her enthusiasm as she poked her head inside.
“Damn, girl! This place looks… spiffy!”
Rose chuckled as she stood and stretched. “It’s amazing what happens when you remove thirty years’ worth of ‘potentially useful junk’.”
Kerry stepped in, her eyes scanning the clean shelves, the newly scrubbed wood floors, the vintage light fixtures that now gleamed with polish. “Wow. It looks… huge. You sure you’re not just gonna start roller-skating through here?”
Rose laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Are you staying on at the theatre?”
