Chapter 4 - THE FATHER I NEVER KNEW
“Grandfather?”
I read it again.
Then a third time.
Salvatore was my uncle.
Not my father.
At least that was what I had believed for thirty-three years.
Naomi saw my face.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
The SUV became painfully quiet.
Julie whispered:
“Could it just be false paperwork?”
“It could.”
But something inside me had already begun rearranging old memories.
My father, Antonio Moretti, had been distant.
Salvatore had been the one who taught me to drive.
To shoot.
To tie a tie.
He attended every school event Antonio missed.
Then six years ago, Salvatore vanished in a yacht fire.
I grieved him harder than I grieved my own father.
At the time, I never understood why.
Maybe some part of me knew.
We went to the Moretti townhouse instead of a hotel.
Naomi stopped at the entrance.
“I’m not staying here.”
“It’s secure.”
“So was my apartment.”
That silenced me.
“Then choose another place.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re giving me a choice?”
“Yes.”
“That’s new.”
“I’ve had five years to become less annoying.”
Julie muttered:
“Apparently not enough.”
I almost liked her.
Naomi finally agreed to stay for one night because Lily was exhausted.
After putting Lily to sleep upstairs, we gathered in my office.
Marco had already obtained the custody filing.
Attached was a DNA report.
Salvatore Moretti.
Matteo Moretti.
Probability of biological parent-child relationship:
99.98%.
Naomi stared at me.
I felt nothing for several seconds.
Then too much.
“My mother.”
I called her.
Sofia Moretti answered from Connecticut.
“Matteo?”
“Was Salvatore my father?”
Silence.
That was enough.
“Mother.”
Her voice cracked.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Antonio Moretti had raised another man’s child.
Salvatore had spent decades pretending to be my uncle.
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore was twenty-one and reckless. Antonio was his older brother. He loved me. He knew.”
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone knew except me?”
“Not everyone.”
“Just everyone who mattered?”
Naomi touched my arm.
I almost pulled away.
Then didn’t.
My mother continued.
“Salvatore disappeared because Antonio discovered he was building something dangerous behind the family’s back.”
“What?”
“A succession plan.”
I frowned.
“For me?”
“No.”
Her voice lowered.
“For any biological child you might have.”
I looked toward the ceiling.
Toward Lily sleeping upstairs.
“Why?”
“Because under your grandfather’s original trust, the first direct descendant of Salvatore’s bloodline gains control of twenty percent of Moretti Holdings at age five.”
My heart stopped.
Lily was four.
“How long until her birthday?”
Naomi whispered:
“Twenty-three days.”
I turned back to the phone.
My mother began crying.
“Matteo, listen to me. Salvatore doesn’t want custody because he loves that little girl.”
“Then why?”
“Because once Lily turns five, he can use guardianship to control her voting trust.”
Everything became clear.
This was inheritance.
Power.
Money.
But my mother added one final sentence.
“And there’s something worse.”
“What?”
“Salvatore isn’t the person who forged the DNA report.”
I stared at the phone.
May you like
“Who did?”
“The report is real.”
