Chapter 6 - THE SON WE BURIED WITHOUT SEEING
Matteo Moretti had lived for eleven minutes.
That was what Sofia had been told.
She had gone into labor at twenty-nine weeks.
There had been blood.
Screaming.
Emergency surgery.
Then darkness.
When she woke, Alessandro sat beside her bed.
Their son was dead.
The hospital discouraged them from seeing the body because of his condition.
Sofia had been too broken to fight.
Now she stared at a trust created in Matteo’s name three months after his supposed death.
“That’s impossible.”
Alessandro looked equally stunned.
“We buried him.”
“No.”
Sofia’s voice cracked.
“You buried a casket.”
Alessandro went still.
Neither had seen the body.
The realization destroyed the room.
Marco began making calls.
The hospital had closed nine years earlier.
Records had been transferred.
Several files were missing.
But one neonatal nurse remained alive.
Her name was Teresa Cole.
They found her in Indiana.
When Sofia showed her the photograph from the hospital, Teresa began crying.
“I always wondered if you’d come.”
Sofia nearly stopped breathing.
“My son?”
Teresa looked at Alessandro.
Then back at Sofia.
“He survived.”
The words were too large to understand.
Sofia gripped the table.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Alessandro’s face became terrifying.
“Who took him?”
Teresa trembled.
“Your father.”
Alessandro closed his eyes.
Vittorio again.
Teresa explained that Matteo had stabilized after birth.
He needed intensive care but had a good chance of survival.
Then men arrived with legal documents.
A transfer.
A private clinic.
An adoption order under sealed identity.
“Why?”
Sofia whispered.
Teresa looked ashamed.
“I heard Vittorio arguing with a doctor.”
“About what?”
“He said the child would become leverage against the family.”
Alessandro’s hand closed into a fist.
His father had stolen their son.
Sofia stood so quickly the chair fell.
“You told me he was dead.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“I believed it.”
“You handled the funeral.”
“My father handled the hospital.”
“You believed him.”
“Yes.”
“How could you?”
His voice broke.
“Because I was twenty-nine and stupid enough to believe my father would not steal my child.”
Sofia stared.
For the first time in fourteen years, Alessandro looked completely powerless.
Not a boss.
Not a feared man.
A father who had just learned he had failed his son.
Teresa gave them one final document.
A transfer order.
The infant had been sent to a private pediatric facility outside Milwaukee.
Under a temporary name.
Michael Rossi.
Sofia touched the page.
“How long was he there?”
“Six weeks.”
“And then?”
“Private adoption.”
“By whom?”
Teresa shook her head.
“Sealed.”
But Marco uncovered the name by midnight.
The adoptive parents were both dead.
Their son was now twelve years old.
Living in Chicago.
Only seven miles from the Moretti mansion.
Sofia looked at the school photograph.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
Alessandro’s eyes.
Her mouth.
Their son.
Alive.
Then Marco quietly said:
“There’s another problem.”
May you like
“What?”
“The boy’s legal guardian is Gabriel Russo.”
