Chapter 6 - THE BOY WHO DIDN'T KNOW HIS NAME
Nicholas Morelli was seventeen years old.
He had dark hair, gray eyes, and the same crooked smile I remembered from childhood photographs of my father.
When I saw his picture, my hands began shaking.
But resemblance wasn't proof.
Rebecca reminded me of that.
I agreed.
For once, I wanted certainty.
Nicholas had been questioned by investigators after Daniel was stopped at the private airstrip.
He wasn't accused of wrongdoing.
He appeared frightened and confused.
According to his statement, Daniel had told him they were traveling to visit a family friend.
Nicholas had no idea why police were interested in his identity.
And he believed Lorenzo Morelli was his biological father.
I stared at the report.
“Does he know about Isabella?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Not yet.”
I looked toward Vincent.
“What do we do?”
He answered carefully.
“Give him information through appropriate professionals and let him decide whether he wants contact.”
I nodded.
That mattered.
I didn't want Nicholas treated like a prize in a family dispute.
He was a person.
A teenager whose world might be changing as quickly as mine.
Through an attorney and a youth advocate, Nicholas learned that historical records raised questions about his parentage.
He chose to participate in independent identity testing.
Then we waited.
The results arrived four days later.
Rebecca called me into the study.
Her expression was serious.
“Sarah.”
I stood.
“What?”
“The results confirm a close biological relationship.”
My knees weakened.
“How close?”
She smiled gently.
“Half siblings.”
I covered my mouth.
My brother.
Alive.
For seventeen years, he'd been growing up somewhere in the same country while I believed our family had ended with Grandma and me.
Vincent offered me a chair.
I sat.
Then began crying.
The first call with Nicholas happened two days later.
His face appeared on my laptop screen.
He looked nervous.
“Sarah?”
I nodded.
“Hi.”
He gave a shaky smile.
“So... we're related.”
I laughed through tears.
“Apparently.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he asked something that broke my heart.
“Did Mom want me?”
I stared.
“Of course she did.”
“How do you know?”
I swallowed.
“Because Grandma spent seventeen years trying to find you.”
His eyes filled.
“She did?”
I nodded.
“And I would've looked too, if I'd known you existed.”
Nicholas wiped his face.
For a long time, we talked.
About school.
Music.
The books we liked.
The strange feeling of recognizing familiar expressions in a stranger's face.
Then Nicholas hesitated.
“Sarah, there's something you should know.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Lorenzo isn't my father.”
I went still.
“You know?”
He nodded.
“He told me last month.”
I stared.
“Why?”
Nicholas looked frightened.
“Because he said my real mother was coming back.”
My pulse quickened.
“Isabella?”
He nodded.
Then whispered:
“She visited me three weeks ago.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother was alive.
And Nicholas had seen her.
May you like
But his next words turned my hope into terror.
“She told me not to trust anyone named Russo.”
