Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER I BURIED
I had buried my younger brother eleven years earlier.
His name was Luca Moretti.
He was twenty-four when his car exploded on a deserted road outside Chicago.
I identified his watch.
I signed the funeral papers.
I stood beside his coffin while our mother cried so hard she could barely breathe.
Now Marcus Valente was telling me Luca had been inside my mansion.
Alive.
I stared at him.
"Say that again."
Marcus swallowed.
"Luca's alive."
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then anger rushed through me.
"Don't you dare use my brother's name to save yourself."
Marcus shook his head.
"I'm not lying."
I stepped closer.
"You watched me bury him."
"I know."
"You carried his coffin."
"I know."
My voice broke.
"Then explain how he's alive."
Marcus looked away.
"Because the explosion wasn't what you thought."
Before he could continue, Vincent approached.
"The package has been secured. Specialists recovered an electronic device concealed inside."
I felt my stomach turn.
"Was it dangerous?"
"They're examining it. Preliminary assessment suggests it was designed to trigger something when the box was opened."
I looked toward the hallway where Sophie had disappeared with her mother.
A five-year-old child had noticed what two hundred adults hadn't.
She had saved lives.
Vincent continued.
"There's another discovery."
"What?"
"The package contained a miniature communication transmitter."
Marcus closed his eyes.
I turned toward him.
"Who was listening?"
He whispered, "Luca."
My blood ran cold.
Vincent handed me a tablet displaying footage recovered from an internal camera.
A man stood in the east gallery.
Dark coat.
Black gloves.
His face partially obscured.
Then he turned toward the camera.
I stopped breathing.
The same dark eyes.
The same scar near his eyebrow.
The same crooked smile I'd seen thousands of times growing up.
Luca.
My brother.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakably alive.
I gripped the tablet.
"Where is he now?"
Vincent shook his head.
"We don't know."
Then Marcus spoke.
"He doesn't want you dead."
I looked at him.
"Then why place a dangerous device inside my birthday gift?"
Marcus's voice trembled.
"Because someone wanted you to believe he was trying to kill you."
I stared.
"Who?"
Marcus hesitated.
Then glanced toward the portrait hanging above the fireplace.
Our father.
Salvatore Moretti.
The man who had built the family empire.
The man who died five years earlier.
Marcus whispered, "Your father knew Luca survived."
My breath caught.
"And he kept it from me?"
Marcus nodded.
"For six years."
I felt the world shift beneath my feet.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression darkened.
"Sir, we have a visitor at the front gate."
"Who?"
Vincent swallowed.
"A woman claiming to be your father's widow."
I frowned.
"My mother died three years ago."
"I know."
Vincent turned the security monitor toward me.
An elderly woman stood outside the gates.
She wore a long black coat.
May you like
Her silver hair was pinned beneath a dark scarf.
And her face looked almost exactly like my mother's.
