Chapter 7 - The Mother Buried Without a Body
I had seen photographs of Elena Bellini’s funeral online.
Flowers.
Black cars.
Hundreds of people.
An engraved memorial.
No body.
There had never been one.
“She died ten years ago,” I said.
Enzo shook his head.
“She disappeared ten years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because Carlo tried to have her declared mentally incompetent after she threatened to expose what happened to you.”
I felt sick.
Dominic turned toward Enzo.
“You knew?”
“Not until Sofia found out.”
Apparently Sofia’s investigation began when she discovered payments from one Bellini trust to a private residence in Maine.
The beneficiary name was Helen Vale.
Sofia visited.
Found Elena.
Alive.
Older.
Traumatized.
But lucid.
“She knew about me?” I whispered.
Enzo nodded.
“She never stopped knowing.”
“Then why didn’t she find me?”
“She didn’t know where Rosa took you.”
That hurt differently.
Rosa and Elena had separated for safety.
Each woman believing distance protected me.
Two mothers spending decades apart because men with power had convinced them fear was permanent.
We drove north the next morning.
Dominic offered a plane.
I chose a car.
I needed hours.
Road.
Silence.
When we arrived at the private coastal home, Elena was sitting in a sunroom.
She looked up.
The cup fell from her hand.
“Alessia.”
I stopped.
Nobody had ever said that name with love before.
She tried to stand.
Her legs failed.
I crossed the room instinctively.
We met halfway.
Her hands moved over my face.
My hair.
My shoulders.
Then she pressed her forehead against mine.
“My baby.”
I cried so hard I could barely see.
“I’m twenty-seven.”
She laughed through tears.
“You’re still my baby.”
I thought I would be angry.
Maybe I was.
But anger had nowhere to stand while she was holding me.
Later, after Dominic stepped outside, Elena told me the truth.
My grandfather’s will split family control between his grandchildren.
Sofia.
Alessia.
Carlo hated the arrangement because he believed his own son deserved leadership.
But my father, Vittorio, had his own reason to fear two daughters.
He believed twins created vulnerability.
Two heirs.
Two possible marriages.
Two people Carlo could manipulate.
So when threats emerged after our birth, Vittorio made a terrible decision.
He agreed to hide one child temporarily.
Me.
“He let Rosa take me?”
Elena nodded.
“Only for a week.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?”
“Carlo changed the plan.”
Hospital records were destroyed.
Rosa disappeared.
Carlo told Vittorio the baby had been killed during the escape.
My father believed him.
Elena did not.
She secretly contacted Rosa twice.
Then Carlo discovered the contact.
He threatened Sofia.
Elena stopped.
“So Dad didn’t know I survived.”
“Not then.”
“When did he find out?”
Elena looked away.
“Years later.”
My stomach dropped.
“How many?”
“Seventeen.”
I stood.
“He knew for seventeen years?”
“He found a letter from Rosa.”
“And did nothing?”
“He was afraid reopening the search would bring Carlo back to you.”
I laughed bitterly.
Everyone had a beautiful word for cowardice.
Protection.
Then Elena said something that changed even that story.
“Your father planned to bring you home.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“What happened?”
“He died before he could.”
Vittorio Bellini’s heart attack.
Sudden.
Unquestioned.
Elena looked toward the ocean.
“I never believed it was natural.”
My skin prickled.
Then she opened a drawer and removed a sealed file.
“Vittorio left this with me.”
Inside were financial records and a handwritten confession.
My father admitted hiding me.
Admitted failing to bring me back.
And named the man he believed had spent decades manipulating the Bellini family.
Carlo.
But one sentence stood out.
If anything happens to me, look at the Rinaldi accounts from 2018.
I stared at the name.
Dominic’s family.
May you like
Elena whispered:
“Your father believed someone in the Rinaldi organization was helping Carlo.”
