Chapter 13 - THE ENEMY WHO OPENED HIS DOOR
Salvatore Moretti served my sons hot chocolate.
That was not a sentence I ever expected to say.
The Moretti estate was warmer than Gabriel’s penthouse.
Old stone.
Fireplaces.
Family photographs.
No visible weapons inside.
The armed guards remained outside.
Owen liked Salvatore immediately.
That worried me.
“You’re Dad’s bad guy?”
Owen asked.
Salvatore almost choked on his coffee.
“I suppose that depends who tells the story.”
“Dad said bad people are complicated.”
I looked at Owen.
“When did he say that?”
“Yesterday.”
Salvatore laughed.
“Your father has improved.”
I did not trust him.
Not for one second.
But Gabriel had sent us here.
That meant something.
“Why are you helping us?”
I asked.
Salvatore’s smile faded.
“Because Vincent killed my brother.”
“When?”
“Twenty-six years ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“Michael Cross?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“My brother discovered what happened to Michael.”
Salvatore explained.
Vincent had spent decades manufacturing conflict between the Cross and Moretti organizations.
Every truce collapsed.
Every negotiation leaked.
Every retaliation seemed justified.
Salvatore eventually learned Vincent was responsible for several attacks blamed on both sides.
“Why?”
I asked.
“Chaos creates dependence.”
Salvatore replied.
“Gabriel trusted Vincent because Vincent always seemed to know how to solve the disasters around him.”
I understood.
“He was creating the disasters.”
“Yes.”
It was brutally effective.
Make Gabriel afraid.
Then become the person Gabriel relied upon.
Do it from childhood.
For decades.
“You could have told Gabriel.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“What happened?”
“Gabriel nearly killed my messenger.”
I closed my eyes.
That sounded like the Gabriel I had married.
Salvatore continued.
“He believed Vincent over me.”
“Of course he did.”
“Exactly.”
“Why now?”
“Because three little boys changed the board.”
I hated the language.
“They are not pieces.”
“No.”
Salvatore’s expression softened.
“They are the reason the board finally matters.”
My phone rang.
Gabriel.
I answered.
“We’re inside.”
“I know.”
“You trust Moretti?”
“No.”
“Comforting.”
“I trust what he wants.”
“What does he want?”
“Vincent dead.”
I looked toward Salvatore.
“And you?”
“I want Vincent alive.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because dead men don’t testify.”
Gabriel was changing.
Or trying to.
“Adam’s federal escort was compromised.”
I said.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Adam found the fake agent’s identity.”
“Who was he?”
“Former Cross security.”
Of course.
“Vincent?”
“Likely.”
“Likely is not enough.”
“I know.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Are the boys okay?”
I looked toward them.
Owen was teaching Salvatore how to fold a paper airplane.
Noah was examining an antique chessboard.
Eli was feeding crackers to an enormous dog.
“They’re okay.”
Gabriel exhaled.
“Good.”
Silence stretched.
Then I said,
“You could call them.”
“I will later.”
“Why later?”
“Because if I hear them now, I might come there.”
My chest tightened.
“And that would be bad?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His voice dropped.
“Because Vincent sent me an invitation.”
I went cold.
“What invitation?”
“To the Cross Heritage Foundation.”
“Serena’s vault.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That tone.”
He sighed.
“You’re right.”
I was stunned.
“Say that again.”
“Don’t enjoy it.”
I almost smiled.
Gabriel continued.
“I don’t have to go.”
“But you will.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Serena says the original trust is inside.”
“Serena also sold our children’s existence.”
“I know.”
“So stop trusting her.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“What do you trust?”
“That she is afraid of Vincent.”
I understood.
Fear could be predictable.
“Who is going with you?”
“Adam.”
“Federal agents?”
“Yes.”
“Marco?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother?”
“Safe house.”
“Bell?”
“Hospital.”
I paused.
“Serena?”
Silence.
“Gabriel.”
“She’s already inside the Foundation.”
I stood.
“What?”
“She went before I could stop her.”
“How convenient.”
“She says she can open the vault.”
“You know what I think?”
“Probably.”
“You’re walking into another trap.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And this time I know it’s a trap.”
I hated that answer.
The call ended an hour later.
No updates.
Two hours.
Nothing.
At sunset, Serena called me.
Not Gabriel.
Me.
I answered immediately.
“Where is he?”
Her breathing was uneven.
“Claire.”
“What happened?”
“Gabriel is alive.”
My knees weakened.
“Where?”
“Foundation basement.”
“What happened?”
“We found the trust.”
“And?”
“Vincent was waiting.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“No.”
Serena’s voice cracked.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“He wasn’t alone.”
“Who was with him?”
Silence.
“Serena.”
“Michael.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Gabriel’s brother.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I saw him.”
“Michael died.”
“No.”
Serena sounded terrified.
“He’s alive.”
I gripped the table.
“Where is Gabriel?”
“He followed them.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael had something.”
“What?”
Serena whispered,
“One of your sons’ birth certificates.”
The room tilted.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are they?”
“Claire.”
“WHERE?”
Salvatore stood immediately.
The boys looked over.
I lowered my voice.
Serena answered.
“Hudson Terminal Seventeen.”
The place Vincent had opened days earlier.
The birthplace of the Cross criminal empire.
The place Gabriel swore he would never enter.
I called him.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a text arrived from Gabriel’s number.
COME ALONE.
I stared at it.
Another message followed.
BRING THE BOYS.
My blood turned to ice.
Then a photograph arrived.
Gabriel was sitting in a chair.
Blood on his shirt.
Alive.
Behind him stood an older man who looked enough like him to be his shadow twenty years from now.
Michael.
The brother everyone believed Vincent had murdered.
Under the photograph was one sentence.
MOM SAVED THE WRONG SON.
I showed Salvatore.
His face changed.
“He’s alive.”
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you think he died?”
“Because I saw the body.”
I stared.
“What?”
Salvatore whispered,
“Vincent showed me Michael’s body.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Then who did you see?”
Salvatore’s answer was barely audible.
“I don’t know.”
And suddenly I realized the Cross family did not merely have missing heirs.
It had substitute corpses.
Fake deaths.
Stolen identities.
May you like
And now someone who looked exactly like Gabriel’s dead brother wanted my children.
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