Chapter 6 - THE BROTHER WHO DIED UNDER ANOTHER NAME
Anthony Moretti died nineteen years ago.
That was true.
But the body in the coffin was identified through dental records.
Those records had been supplied by a Moretti family dentist.
A dentist later investigated for fraud.
Vincent had never questioned it.
Why would he?
He had seen the burned body.
Ring.
Watch.
Clothing.
Enough.
Now the gold watch in hospital footage forced the question.
What if Anthony lived?
Luca looked at his father.
“You never confirmed DNA?”
“It was nineteen years ago.”
“That means no.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
Police reopened archived evidence.
The body still existed in storage because the murder case had never technically closed.
DNA testing began.
Meanwhile, we traced Northbridge ambulance records.
The vehicle that took Mom drove west.
Then disappeared from traffic cameras.
An hour later, it reappeared empty near Oak Park.
No mother.
No abductor.
But something had been left inside.
Her oxygen cannula.
And a note.
My name.
Emily, do not trust Vincent until he tells you what he did to your father.
I turned toward him.
His face changed.
“What did you do?”
Luca looked between us.
“Dad?”
Vincent did not answer quickly enough.
My anger rose.
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Did you order it?”
“No.”
“What?”
Vincent looked exhausted suddenly.
“Your father came to me the night before his crash.”
I waited.
“He asked for protection.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“I refused.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Because I believed he and Helen stole from Elena.”
My hands started shaking.
“He told you someone wanted him dead.”
“Yes.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
The room felt too small.
“So he died because you didn’t help.”
Vincent did not defend himself.
“Possibly.”
“You let my mother raise me alone.”
“Yes.”
“You watched her struggle.”
“I didn’t know where she was.”
“But when you found her later?”
His face tightened.
“I offered money.”
“She refused.”
“Yes.”
That sounded like Mom.
“What did she say?”
Vincent looked at me.
“She said she would rather starve than owe me anything.”
I almost smiled through tears.
Definitely Mom.
Then I asked:
“Why did you pay her hospital bills?”
“Because refusing once was enough.”
The answer was quiet.
Not noble.
Not redemption.
Just regret.
Then Luca’s phone rang.
DNA results.
The body buried as Anthony Moretti?
Not Anthony.
Male.
Same approximate age.
No family relation.
Vincent sat down.
His brother had been alive all these years.
And if Anthony took my mother, he was alive now.
Then the detective found another clue.
The corpse’s DNA matched a man in federal records.
A petty criminal named Samuel Greco.
Greco had a sister.
She married someone Vincent knew well.
Vincent’s longtime consigliere.
Paul Greco.
Vincent stared.
“Paul helped fake Anthony’s death.”
Luca looked at him.
“Where is Paul?”
Vincent went pale.
“With Grandma.”
I stared.
“Your mother is alive?”
Luca answered:
“Yes.”
Vincent stood so fast the chair fell.
Anthony had hidden for nineteen years.
May you like
Paul had helped him.
And Vincent’s eighty-three-year-old mother was currently spending Christmas week in Paul Greco’s lake house.
