Chapter 10 - THE BROTHER WHO NEVER DIED
The sedan disappeared into Manhattan traffic.
Vincent’s vehicles followed.
They lost it near the Queensboro Bridge.
Marco vanished again.
But this time we had a face.
Thomas Reed brought us to a federal office instead of Belladonna House.
Vincent hated it.
He went anyway.
So did I.
Vivian arrived twenty minutes later.
The moment she saw Margaret, she rushed forward.
“Where is my mother?”
Margaret didn’t answer immediately.
Vivian grabbed her shoulders.
“Where is Camille?”
“She’s safe.”
“Take me to her.”
“I can’t.”
Vivian’s expression became furious.
“She is my mother.”
“And Salvatore is your father.”
Vivian stepped backward as though struck.
Margaret’s voice softened.
“Camille is terrified he will use you to reach her.”
Vivian’s face broke.
“He already did.”
No one spoke.
Thomas Reed spread photographs across a conference table.
Marco Moretti appeared in different countries.
Different hair.
Different passports.
Different names.
He had spent decades moving through shell companies.
One company owned part of the staffing agency that had rejected my original application.
Another held debt connected to Daniel Caruso’s father.
A third had employed Ethan Pike.
Marco had never really left.
He had simply hidden behind other people.
Vincent stared at the photographs.
“My father knew.”
Thomas nodded.
“For years.”
“And did nothing?”
“Antonio benefited from Marco’s existence.”
“How?”
“Marco handled activities Antonio wanted separated from the Moretti name.”
I looked at Vincent.
He seemed disgusted.
Thomas continued.
“Then they became rivals.”
“Why?”
“The trust.”
Of course.
Everything returned to the trust.
“Alessandra’s pregnancy changed the succession structure.”
“If Alessandra and her child survived, Marco could never control the assets.”
“If they disappeared permanently, Vincent eventually became controlling heir.”
“And Marco believed Vincent would be easier to manipulate.”
Vincent looked at Thomas.
“He was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Was Salvatore working with him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Against him?”
“Sometimes.”
Vivian laughed bitterly.
“So all these people destroyed our families while switching sides whenever money changed.”
Thomas looked at her.
“That is a fair summary.”
I stared at the red ledger copy.
“What happened to my mother at the lake house?”
Thomas leaned back.
“We know fragments.”
“Give them to me.”
“Alessandra arrived shortly before midnight.”
“Camille followed.”
“Marco arrived next.”
“He attempted to take the trust papers.”
“Alessandra refused.”
“There was a struggle.”
“Camille intervened.”
“Salvatore arrived.”
“Then Luca.”
“Then Elena.”
“What about Daniel?”
Gabriel, standing near the window, answered.
“I arrived last.”
Everyone looked at him.
He had been quiet since Saint Cecilia’s.
His face was exhausted.
Thomas continued.
“By then Alessandra was gone.”
I looked at Gabriel.
“Did you see her?”
“No.”
“Did you see my mother again before her death?”
“Yes.”
“But twenty-eight years later.”
“Yes.”
I wanted to hate him.
It would have been easier.
But he looked like a man who had hated himself longer than I had been alive.
Thomas pointed at Margaret.
“Maria was also there.”
I stared.
“She would have been a child.”
“Seven.”
Margaret nodded.
“My father brought me.”
“Why?”
“He was supposed to take me to my grandmother.”
“Instead he took you to an ambush?”
“He used me to make Camille lower her guard.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
Margaret continued.
“I remember Alessandra screaming.”
“I remember Camille pulling me behind a sofa.”
“I remember my father searching for papers.”
“Then Elena arrived.”
“What happened?”
“My father left through the rear door.”
“With the papers?”
“No.”
“Alessandra had already hidden them.”
“Where?”
Margaret looked at me.
“In your blanket.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“You were there.”
The room went silent.
“I was a newborn.”
“Yes.”
“Alessandra had you in a basket beneath the kitchen table.”
My mother had carried me into the center of the nightmare.
Margaret continued.
“When Marco arrived, she placed several documents beneath your blanket because she knew nobody would search a baby first.”
“Then where did the documents go?”
“Luca took you.”
Everyone turned.
Luca was not in the federal office.
He had remained outside.
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
Thomas nodded.
“We believe Luca unknowingly carried the original trust papers away with Isabella.”
I remembered childhood boxes my mother refused to throw away.
One old yellow baby blanket.
She kept it until I was sixteen.
Then it disappeared.
“Maybe my mother recovered them.”
Thomas nodded.
“Likely.”
“Then why is everyone searching for the red ledger?”
“Because ownership documents matter financially.”
He looked around.
“The ledger matters criminally.”
I pointed at the photograph of Marco.
“Why come back now?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Because Teresa died.”
My stomach twisted.
“He was waiting?”
“For twenty-eight years.”
“Why?”
“While Alessandra lived, Marco couldn’t be certain where she had hidden her evidence.”
“Once she died, he started watching you more closely.”
Vivian looked sick.
“My father hired her because Marco told him to?”
Thomas glanced toward her.
“We don’t know.”
My phone buzzed.
A text message.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Camille DeMarco sat in a wheelchair beside Elena Moretti.
Both women were alive.
Both held today’s newspaper.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
BRING THE LOCKET TO BELLADONNA HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.
COME WITH VIVIAN.
NO VINCENT.
NO FEDERAL AGENTS.
OR THE TWO MOTHERS DISAPPEAR FOREVER.
Vivian saw the screen.
Her face went white.
“My mother.”
Vincent took the phone.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“No what?”
“You’re not going.”
Vivian spoke immediately.
“I am.”
Vincent turned.
“This is Marco.”
“I don’t care.”
“He wants the locket.”
“I don’t care.”
“He wants Isabella.”
“I care about my mother.”
Her voice shattered.
“And for the first time in my life, I know she didn’t abandon me.”
Silence followed.
I understood her.
That frightened me.
Thomas Reed studied the message.
“It’s a trap.”
“Obviously.”
I looked at the picture.
Elena.
Camille.
Two women who had carried twenty-eight years of answers.
The people Marco could not allow us to question.
I closed my hand around the locket.
“I’m going.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Then I’m going too.”
“The message says no Vincent.”
“I’m done letting dead relatives decide where I’m allowed to stand.”
Thomas began planning.
But Vivian leaned toward me.
Her voice became barely audible.
“There is something they don’t know.”
“What?”
“My father showed me a hidden entrance into Belladonna House when I was thirteen.”
“Does Vincent know?”
“No.”
“Why tell me?”
She looked at the image of her mother.
“Because if Marco is waiting for us at the obvious entrance, we should enter somewhere he doesn’t expect.”
I studied her.
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
That answer was the first thing she had said that made me consider doing exactly that.
At eleven forty-five that night, Vivian and I stood beneath the snow-covered eastern wall of Belladonna House.
No guards.
No Vincent.
At least none visible.
Vivian pressed against an old stone.
A hidden door opened.
A narrow tunnel descended underground.
She looked at me.
“Once we go inside, we stay together.”
I stared at her.
“Yesterday you were trying to send me to prison.”
“Yes.”
“Tonight we’re walking into a tunnel together.”
“Yes.”
“This family is insane.”
For the first time, Vivian smiled.
“On that, we completely agree.”
We entered.
The door closed behind us.
Neither of us saw the figure watching from the trees.
An elderly woman.
White-haired.
Thin.
Elena Moretti waited until we disappeared underground.
Then she lifted a phone.
“They took the tunnel.”
A male voice answered.
“Good.”
Elena looked toward Belladonna House.
“They still think Marco sent the message.”
“Didn’t he?”
Elena’s expression became cold.
“No.”
May you like
“I did.”
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