Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO DIED THREE DAYS TOO EARLY
Dante Moretti had buried his mother eleven years earlier.
Now a photograph suggested she had been alive three days after the date recorded on her death certificate.
He sat silently inside his attorney's office.
Alessia watched him study the photograph again and again.
"Maybe the date is wrong," she said gently.
Dante shook his head.
"My mother was wearing the necklace she disappeared with."
He pointed toward the silver chain around Bianca's neck.
The pendant matched Alessia's bracelet.
A black rose.
His attorney, Rebecca Sloan, leaned forward.
"We need to verify the photograph's origin and the medical records before drawing conclusions."
Dante nodded.
"Find everything."
Over the next two days, investigators examined the documents recovered from Locker 317.
The medical records revealed serious inconsistencies.
Bianca's official death certificate listed cardiac failure at the Moretti residence.
But a separate hospital billing record showed a patient named Beatrice Martin receiving treatment three days later.
Her date of birth matched Bianca's.
So did her physical description.
And the physician responsible for the account was Dr. Victor Hale.
Alessia stared at the report.
"Beatrice Martin?"
Dante nodded.
"My mother used the name Bianca Maria Moretti. The initials match."
Rebecca looked serious.
"The evidence suggests she may have been treated under an assumed identity."
Dante leaned forward.
"Where was she taken?"
Rebecca opened another document.
"A private rehabilitation facility in Wisconsin."
Alessia felt her heart race.
"Is the facility still operating?"
"Yes."
Dante stood.
"Then we're going."
Rebecca raised one hand.
"We'll coordinate with local authorities. If Bianca was unlawfully confined, we need to make sure any evidence is preserved."
Dante sat back down.
For once, he didn't argue.
That evening, Alessia found him alone in the mansion's music room.
He sat at the piano.
His fingers rested on the keys, but he wasn't playing.
She stopped in the doorway.
"Am I interrupting?"
"No."
He glanced toward the empty bench.
"Come in."
Alessia approached.
Dante looked toward the window.
"My mother taught me to play when I was eight."
Alessia smiled faintly.
"Mine taught me to sing."
He turned.
"Really?"
"She wasn't very good."
Dante almost laughed.
"Neither was I."
Silence settled between them.
Then Alessia sat beside him.
"Do you think she's alive?"
Dante stared at the piano keys.
"I don't know what to believe anymore."
She nodded.
"That's understandable."
He looked at her.
"How are you so calm?"
Alessia smiled sadly.
"I'm not."
He noticed her trembling hands.
Without touching her, he asked:
"May I?"
She nodded.
He gently took her hand.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Dante whispered:
"If my mother is alive, I don't know how I'll face her."
Alessia squeezed his fingers.
"You'll start by telling her you missed her."
His eyes filled with tears.
Then his phone rang.
Rebecca.
Dante answered.
"Tell me."
Her voice was urgent.
"We found the Wisconsin patient."
Dante stood.
"Is she alive?"
A pause.
Then Rebecca said:
"Yes."
Dante closed his eyes.
But Rebecca wasn't finished.
"There's something else. Her medical records list a second long-term patient under the same protection agreement."
Dante frowned.
"Who?"
Rebecca hesitated.
"Rosa Romano."
Alessia stopped breathing.
Because her mother had been in Illinois for years.
May you like
Which meant someone had been using Rosa's identity.
And nobody knew why.
