Chapter 13 - THE WOMAN CALLED ELENA
Police never came to Pier 19.
Not officially.
The surviving Bellini men disappeared into federal custody through channels Lorenzo didn't control.
Salvatore was taken alive.
Marco survived surgery.
For three days, he refused visitors.
Emma slept beside Sophia with her gray rabbit pressed beneath her chin.
Lucia remained safe at a private estate in Connecticut.
Lorenzo did not leave Isabella's side.
But Salvatore's final words followed them home.
Ask her mother.
Isabella's mother, Elena Conti, had supposedly died when Isabella was six.
Car accident.
Closed casket.
Another death defined by paperwork.
Another body Isabella had never seen.
Lorenzo hated coincidences now.
Antonio searched records.
The crash had occurred twenty-three years earlier.
No DNA.
No dental verification.
The coffin had been sealed due to fire damage.
Isabella stared at the report.
“My whole life.”
She whispered.
“I believed she died.”
Lorenzo touched her shoulder.
“We don't know otherwise.”
Antonio placed a photograph on the table.
A woman entered Switzerland six months after Elena Conti's supposed death.
Her passport name was Eleanor Chase.
The photograph was blurry.
But Isabella recognized the eyes.
“My mother.”
Her voice cracked.
Lorenzo looked at Antonio.
“Current location?”
“No official record after 2018.”
“But there's a financial trail.”
“Where?”
“Manhattan.”
Isabella looked up.
Antonio slid a company profile across the table.
Eleanor Chase Foundation.
A private philanthropic organization funding children's hospitals.
Its headquarters were twelve blocks from the DeLuca mansion.
Isabella laughed once.
Not from humor.
From disbelief.
“My mother has been living twelve blocks away?”
“Possibly.”
Lorenzo stood.
They visited the foundation that afternoon.
No guards.
No weapons visible.
The receptionist looked at Isabella and stopped breathing.
Then she whispered, “She's been waiting for you.”
The elevator took them to the tenth floor.
A woman stood beside the windows.
Silver threaded her dark hair.
She turned.
Isabella stopped.
The resemblance was undeniable.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
Same small tilt of the head.
“Bella.”
Isabella began crying before the woman even crossed the room.
Elena Conti opened her arms.
Isabella did not enter them.
“You let me bury you.”
Elena stopped.
“I had no choice.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
Elena's eyes moved toward Lorenzo.
“So you finally found her.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“You knew Isabella survived?”
“I helped arrange Vermont.”
Isabella stared at her.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you come?”
“Because I am the reason they attacked you.”
Silence.
Elena walked to a safe.
She removed a black leather book.
Matteo Conti's missing ledger.
She placed it on the desk.
“Your father didn't create this to protect money.”
“He created it to protect you.”
Isabella opened the first page.
Names.
Dates.
Photographs.
Then she turned another page.
Lorenzo saw a familiar name.
Vittorio DeLuca.
Beneath it were six murders.
Lorenzo stared.
Elena looked at him.
May you like
“Before you decide which side of this war was innocent, you should know something.”
“Your father wasn't the man you think he was.”
