Chapter 4 - MY MOTHER’S SECOND CHILD
My mother had another daughter.
That was the first explanation my mind could accept.
The worse possibility came next.
I turned the photograph over again.
No date except the handwritten note.
MIA — 8 MONTHS.
Marco said:
“Could she be Gabriel’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
But I did not believe myself.
The resemblance was too strong.
Same dark eyes.
Same shape around the mouth.
My mother had held the child like a woman holding something she loved more than fear.
Inside the steel box we found three letters.
All addressed to me.
None delivered.
The first began:
My sweet Luca,
If you are old enough to read this, then your father kept his promise to make me disappear from your life.
I sat on the chapel floor.
My mother had not abandoned me.
She had tried to write.
She explained that Vittorio discovered she was helping Gabriel collect evidence.
He accused her of betrayal.
She decided to leave.
She intended to take me.
But the night before, men loyal to my father moved me to my uncle’s estate “for protection.”
By the time she reached the house, I was gone.
She ran without me because Gabriel convinced her that staying would get us both killed.
I read the second letter.
She had reached New York.
She was hiding.
And she had given birth.
My breath stopped.
The child was mine.
Not my daughter.
My sister.
Mia Lucia Rossi.
My mother had been pregnant when she disappeared.
Vittorio never knew.
The third letter was dated nine months later.
Luca,
Gabriel is dead.
I know your father ordered it.
They found us.
I have to separate from Mia for her safety.
Serena’s aunt will take her.
I will try to come for both of you when I can.
There were no more letters.
I stared at Marco.
“Mia survived.”
“Possibly.”
“Serena would know.”
His face tightened.
“So would Isabella.”
My phone rang.
Unknown.
I answered immediately.
The woman’s voice returned.
“You found the chapel.”
“Yes.”
“Then you finally know your father lied.”
“Where is Isabella?”
“She’s safe.”
“Put her on.”
“No.”
My anger rose.
The woman continued:
“You’re still trying to control the order of the conversation.”
I forced myself silent.
She seemed almost surprised.
“Good.”
“What do you want?”
“The ledger.”
“I told you. Isabella may have found it, but I haven’t.”
“She did.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she called me before she went to her childhood home.”
My stomach tightened.
“Isabella went there to meet you?”
“Yes.”
“So you didn’t take her from the house?”
Silence.
Then:
“No.”
My pulse changed.
“Then who did?”
For the first time, fear entered the woman’s voice.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to make you understand.”
Marco moved closer.
The woman whispered:
“I never kidnapped your wife.”
My chest went cold.
“Then who was holding her in Warehouse 17?”
“She called me from there.”
“What?”
“She escaped whoever took her.”
I looked at Marco.
The woman continued:
“I helped her move before they returned.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
She took a breath.
“But Isabella knew one of them.”
My heart hammered.
“Who?”
“She said his name before the line cut.”
I gripped the phone.
“Tell me.”
The woman whispered:
“Marco.”
I slowly turned.
May you like
My chief security officer stood three feet away.
And for the first time in ten years, Marco looked afraid.
