Chapter 7 - SEBASTIAN WAS NOT SALVATORE'S SON
Sebastian laughed once.
No humor.
Just disbelief.
“Convenient.”
Norah said nothing.
He had inherited that word from her now.
DNA was not jewelry.
This was beyond her bench.
But family secrets did not care about professional boundaries.
Vivian finally agreed to meet.
Neutral location.
Church basement near Wicker Park.
No Romano security inside.
Sebastian hated it.
He complied.
Vivian looked exhausted.
She brought copies of Adrian’s letters.
One began:
Isabella, if Sebastian ever learns, Salvatore’s final lie dies with him.
Another:
Elena begged me not to tell him who the boy belonged to.
Sebastian read the page.
“Who?”
Vivian shook her head.
“My father never wrote the name.”
Sebastian looked at her.
“Then why hide this?”
“Because Salvatore knew.”
That was the real danger.
If Sebastian was not biologically Romano, Salvatore had spent years raising another man’s son as heir.
For a man obsessed with bloodline, that could explain rage.
But why not kill Sebastian?
Why raise him?
Vivian answered:
“Because your mother made him useful.”
“How?”
“Publicly, you were his son.”
“Privately?”
“She threatened him.”
Norah watched Sebastian absorb it.
Elena apparently knew enough criminal secrets to ensure Sebastian’s safety.
As long as she lived.
Then she died.
Yet Sebastian survived.
Maybe Salvatore needed him too much by then.
Or maybe the secret was more complicated.
Luca arranged a discreet DNA comparison against preserved personal items from Salvatore.
Results could take days.
Meanwhile, they traveled to Milwaukee.
The duplex had new tenants.
The former landlord remembered “Isabel Moreno.”
Quiet woman.
Italian accent.
Always paid cash.
Received letters.
No visitors.
Except one man once a year.
Tall.
Older.
Gray hair.
Scar near left ear.
Sebastian looked at Luca.
“Carlo.”
His uncle.
Salvatore’s younger brother.
Carlo Romano.
Still alive.
Still part of Sebastian’s inner circle.
Still attending Sunday dinners.
Carlo had visited Isabella in hiding for years.
Sebastian called him immediately.
No answer.
Security checked his house.
Empty.
Office empty.
Phone abandoned.
Car gone.
Then Luca found a storage unit rented under Carlo’s name.
Inside:
Old passports.
Cash.
Jewelry boxes.
And one photograph.
Isabella.
Alive.
Taken two years earlier.
Standing beside Carlo.
In Naples.
Sebastian stared.
“She’s alive.”
Norah touched the edge of the photograph.
“Was.”
He looked at her.
“We don’t know now.”
Then she noticed something.
Around Isabella’s neck—
A simple gold chain.
No Romano necklace.
But on her wrist, a bracelet made from nine ruby cabochons.
Norah counted.
Nine.
The original necklace had nine secondary rubies.
Sebastian saw her counting.
“She broke it apart.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make it disappear.”
Norah enlarged the image.
Each ruby sat in a new gold setting.
One looked slightly larger.
Center position.
Maybe the hollow stone had been converted into a bracelet.
The original necklace was no longer a necklace.
Then Luca received a live location.
Carlo’s car had crossed into Indiana.
Heading toward Gary.
Toward an old Romano shipping warehouse.
Sebastian knew it instantly.
His face changed.
“My father used that place for interrogations.”
Norah felt cold.
“If Carlo has Isabella—”
Sebastian was already moving.
At the warehouse, they found Carlo.
Alone.
Sitting beside an empty chair.
Blood on his shirt.
Not his.
He looked at Sebastian.
“You’re late.”
Sebastian stepped forward.
“Where is she?”
Carlo smiled sadly.
“Still stubborn.”
“Where is Isabella?”
Carlo answered:
“She left ten minutes ago.”
“With who?”
May you like
His smile vanished.
“Your brother Matteo.”
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