Chapter 7 - The Secret Isabella Kept for Eleven Years
Lorenzo stared at the phone.
"What do you mean, our only child?"
Isabella's voice trembled.
"There's another child."
My heart stopped.
Lorenzo gripped the edge of the desk.
"Where?"
"I can't explain everything over the phone."
"Isabella, I buried you."
She began crying.
"I know."
"Eleven years."
"I'm sorry."
His voice broke.
"Do you have any idea what I went through?"
"I do."
"No. You don't."
Silence.
Then Isabella whispered:
"Adrian made me disappear."
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
"He threatened Sofia. He threatened the other baby. I had no choice."
I watched him struggle to remain standing.
"What other baby?"
Isabella hesitated.
"A boy."
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know anymore."
The call disconnected.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Lorenzo threw his phone across the room.
It struck the wall and shattered.
I flinched.
He noticed immediately.
His expression changed.
"Lily."
I stepped backward.
He looked horrified.
"I'm sorry."
I swallowed.
"It's okay."
"No."
His voice softened.
"It isn't."
He looked at the broken phone.
"I frightened you."
I didn't answer.
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
Then he walked toward the door.
"I need a minute."
For the first time since I'd known him, he seemed ashamed of losing control.
I stayed in the room, staring at the pieces of his phone.
A few minutes later, Marco entered.
"Miss Morgan?"
I looked up.
"Yes?"
"We found something connected to Isabella's call."
My heart raced.
"What?"
"The number was routed through an old family property in upstate New York."
"Can you trace it?"
"We're trying."
He placed a printed photograph on the desk.
It showed a small stone house surrounded by trees.
I recognized it immediately.
My breath caught.
"That's impossible."
Marco frowned.
"What?"
I pointed toward the house.
"My grandmother used to live there."
He stared at me.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
My grandmother, Eleanor Morgan, had died when I was sixteen.
I'd spent summers in that house as a child.
Then Marco showed me a second photograph.
A young boy stood on the porch.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
A small scar beneath his chin.
The boy looked about ten.
I covered my mouth.
"I know him."
Marco went still.
"Who?"
My voice trembled.
"His name is Daniel."
May you like
I looked at Lorenzo's shattered phone.
"And I was told he was my cousin."
