Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF FINDING MY MOTHER
Ten million dollars.
That was supposedly the amount Grandma Julia demanded from Lorenzo Morelli.
I stared at Daniel's number on my phone after the call ended.
It felt like someone had taken every memory of my grandmother and turned it upside down.
Julia Bell.
The woman who taught me Italian.
The woman who made soup whenever I was sick.
The woman who worked extra shifts so I could attend college.
Blackmailing a billionaire?
It didn't make sense.
Vincent found me sitting alone in the library.
“Sarah?”
I looked up.
“Was my grandmother a criminal?”
He sat across from me.
“I don't know what she did.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because pretending to know would be worse.”
I looked down.
He was right.
But I hated how much uncertainty hurt.
The next morning, Rebecca obtained records of communications between Julia and Lorenzo's attorney.
The exchanges were real.
Julia had demanded a meeting.
She mentioned evidence involving St. Catherine's.
And she requested ten million dollars.
But there was something Daniel hadn't mentioned.
The money wasn't intended for Julia.
It was designated for an independent restitution fund benefiting the seventeen children.
I stared at the documents.
“She wasn't trying to get rich.”
Rebecca nodded.
“She was negotiating for the victims.”
Tears filled my eyes.
Of course.
Grandma had spent her whole life quietly helping people.
Even when she had almost nothing.
But one part of the correspondence troubled Rebecca.
Julia had written:
I know Isabella is alive.
I know where she was taken.
And I know which child Lorenzo kept.
I stopped breathing.
“Which child?”
Rebecca looked toward the photograph.
Seventeen children.
Seventeen missing identities.
Then she pointed toward the final entry.
Child Seventeen.
A boy.
Born seventeen years earlier.
Original surname: Bellini.
My heart hammered.
“Another Bellini?”
Rebecca nodded.
I looked toward Vincent.
His expression had changed.
“Sarah,” he said slowly, “did Julia ever tell you your mother was pregnant when she disappeared?”
I stared.
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Isabella was expecting a child shortly before Alessandro's murder.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“My father?”
Vincent shook his head.
“We don't know.”
I looked at the list.
The boy's name had been altered.
His birth record was incomplete.
But the photograph included a small child sitting on Isabella's lap.
A little boy with dark hair.
Gray eyes.
My mother's eyes.
I covered my mouth.
“Is that my brother?”
Rebecca took a breath.
“It's possible.”
For twenty-six years, I'd believed I was an only child.
Now I might have a younger brother who'd spent his life under another name.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
His security chief, Marco DeSantis.
Vincent answered.
His face darkened.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked directly at me.
“Sarah, investigators have located Daniel.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“At a private airstrip outside Albany.”
“Was he arrested?”
“Detained for questioning.”
Vincent hesitated.
Then added something extraordinary.
“He was traveling with a seventeen-year-old boy.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who?”
Vincent swallowed.
“The boy's identification says his name is Nicholas Morelli.”
May you like
Lorenzo Morelli's son.
And according to the old records, he may have been born Nicholas Bellini.
