Chapter 2 - Sofia’s Last Embryo
I slept for twenty-three minutes that night.
Not because I wasn't tired.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw four faces that looked like mine.
Elena refused to take the boys away.
For once, I agreed with her.
The mansion was locked down.
No phones left the property.
Every guard was searched.
Nico was confined downstairs until I could determine whether his betrayal was real or manufactured.
At three in the morning, I walked into the family room.
The boys were asleep together on two sofas pushed side by side.
Matteo had one hand wrapped around the photograph of Sofia.
I stood there staring.
My sons.
The word still felt impossible.
Elena appeared beside me.
“You should sit.”
“I've done enough sitting.”
“Alejandro.”
“How?”
She understood.
“How are they yours?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the boys.
“You remember the fertility treatments.”
Of course I remembered.
Sofia and I had spent years trying to have a child.
Three failed cycles.
Two miscarriages.
One doctor telling us gently that biology sometimes had no explanation.
After the final attempt, Sofia told me the embryos had failed.
Months later, she became ill.
Eleven weeks after that, she was dead.
At least that was the story I had lived with.
Elena continued.
“The final cycle produced two viable embryos.”
My head snapped toward her.
“No.”
“Sofia lied.”
“Why?”
“Because three days after the procedure, she found something.”
“What?”
“I don't know everything.”
“Elena.”
“She found financial records in your private office.”
I stared at her.
“Which records?”
“Payments. Doctors. Security officers. Judges. People close to your family.”
I almost laughed.
“Sofia had access to my office. She could have asked me.”
“She was going to.”
“What changed?”
Elena looked toward the sleeping children.
“Someone tried to kill her.”
The room seemed to contract.
“Sofia died from complications of a heart infection.”
“That is what you were told.”
“What happened?”
“She collapsed in the garden after drinking tea. The hospital called it an infection because the bloodwork supported that conclusion.”
“And you think she was poisoned?”
“I know she believed she was.”
My hand tightened.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because every move you made somehow reached the same people she was investigating.”
That stopped me.
Elena walked to a cabinet.
From inside, she removed a small metal case.
She entered a code.
Inside were medical records.
Embryo identification numbers.
A fertility clinic agreement.
A gestational carrier contract.
My name was listed as biological father.
Sofia Moretti as biological mother.
The carrier was Isabel Ramirez.
“Elena…”
“My niece.”
I stared at her.
“Sofia asked Isabel to carry one embryo if she died.”
“One?”
Elena gave the faintest broken smile.
“One embryo was implanted.”
I looked at four boys.
“It split.”
“Yes.”
Identical quadruplets.
So rare that the doctor involved had reportedly stared at the ultrasound for almost ten minutes before speaking.
Isabel went into premature labor thirty-four weeks later.
All four survived.
Sofia never saw them.
She had died seven months before their birth.
I felt something inside me crack.
“She died knowing they might exist.”
“Yes.”
“And she kept them from me.”
“She kept them from everyone.”
“That photograph says she wanted them protected from me.”
Elena's eyes filled.
“You're reading five words without the rest of the story.”
“Then give me the rest.”
She shook her head.
“I promised.”
“She is dead.”
“And promises don't die because the person who asked for them does.”
My anger rose.
“These are my sons.”
“I know.”
“I missed four years.”
“I know.”
“They had birthdays.”
“Yes.”
“They got sick.”
“Yes.”
“They learned to walk.”
Her voice broke.
“Yes.”
“And where was I?”
Elena finally shouted back.
“Alive!”
The room went silent.
She covered her mouth.
The boys stirred but didn't wake.
Elena lowered her voice.
“Sofia believed if you discovered them too early, all five of you would die.”
I stared at her.
“All five?”
“You and the boys.”
She handed me another document.
It came from a private trust company in Switzerland.
A legal trust created by my father thirty-one years earlier.
The Moretti Continuity Trust.
I had never heard of it.
Its value was staggering.
Not millions.
Hundreds of millions.
Legitimate holdings hidden beneath layers of corporations my father established before he died.
The terms were simple.
If I died without a legitimate descendant, control passed to another Moretti family branch.
My uncle Vittorio.
If I had children, ownership transferred to them in equal shares when the youngest reached five.
Nine days from now.
“That’s what the man meant.”
Elena nodded.
“Once they turn five, Vittorio loses any claim.”
I looked toward the sleeping boys.
“So this is about money.”
“No.”
“What else?”
“Sofia believed the trust contained something more valuable than money.”
“What?”
“She never told me.”
Then Matteo shifted in his sleep.
A small silver chain slipped from beneath his shirt.
Something hung from it.
I walked closer.
A tiny key.
Not decorative.
Real.
I looked at Elena.
“What does that open?”
Her face changed.
“I don't know.”
But Gabriel, half asleep on the sofa, heard me.
He opened his eyes.
“The room under the church.”
I froze.
“What church?”
He rubbed his face.
“The church where Mama Sofia talks.”
Elena went white.
I looked at her.
“Sofia died before they were born.”
Gabriel shook his head sleepily.
“No.”
May you like
Then he whispered:
“We hear her every Sunday.”
