Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO DIED TWELVE YEARS AGO
I had spent twelve years believing my father was dead.
Not hoping.
Not wondering.
Believing.
There is a difference.
Hope leaves a door open.
Belief closes it.
My father had disappeared the night the Romano warehouse exploded.
Police recovered three bodies.
None could be identified visually.
One carried Gabriel Moretti's watch.
Another had his wedding ring.
Investigators said the explosion and fire had made DNA identification difficult.
My mother accepted the conclusion.
Six months later, she took me out of Chicago.
She changed our names.
She taught me one rule.
Never look backward.
Then she died seven years later.
And I obeyed her.
Until now.
Alexander's convoy drove through the rain toward the abandoned warehouse district.
I wasn't supposed to be inside his car.
Neither was Mia.
But Alexander refused to let us leave the estate until he understood why a Moretti document had appeared in his office.
I refused to let Mia out of my sight.
So there we were.
The mafia boss.
The maid.
And the eight-year-old girl who had accidentally started a war.
“Mom,” Mia whispered.
“Yes?”
“Are we in trouble?”
I looked at Alexander.
He was sitting across from us in the armored SUV.
“We're going home soon.”
Alexander's eyes met mine.
Neither of us believed that.
Mia did.
That was enough.
The old warehouse appeared through the rain.
Blackened brick.
Broken windows.
A collapsed section of roof.
The place had been abandoned since the explosion.
Alexander stared through the window.
“This is where your father tried to kill me.”
“He didn't.”
“You weren't there.”
“Neither were you when the bomb was planted.”
“I saw him that night.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
Alexander turned toward me.
“He was inside the warehouse.”
“My father?”
“He came to see mine.”
“Why?”
“I never knew.”
I stared at him.
“You never told the police?”
“My family didn't involve police.”
Of course.
“What happened?”
Alexander looked back toward the warehouse.
“I was twenty-six. My father told me to wait outside. I didn't listen.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
Not amusement.
Memory.
“I heard them arguing.”
“About what?”
“I couldn't hear everything.”
“Try.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Your father said, ‘If you do this, both families will burn.’”
My heart pounded.
“What did Anthony say?”
“‘Then let them burn.’”
The SUV stopped.
Alexander opened the door.
Daniel approached immediately.
“We found Nicholas.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Inside.”
Alexander started walking.
I followed.
Daniel blocked me.
“No.”
Alexander turned.
“She comes.”
Daniel looked unhappy.
But he moved.
Mia held my hand as we entered.
The smell hit me immediately.
Old smoke.
Wet concrete.
Rust.
Memory can live inside a smell.
Suddenly I was sixteen again, standing beside my mother while two detectives told us Gabriel Moretti wasn't coming home.
We moved deeper inside.
Flashlights cut through darkness.
Then I saw Nicholas.
He was sitting in an old wooden chair.
Hands tied behind him.
Blood on his forehead.
Alive.
Alexander rushed forward.
“Nicholas.”
His brother lifted his head.
“Alex.”
Daniel cut the ropes.
Alexander grabbed Nicholas's shoulders.
“Who did this?”
Nicholas looked at me.
Not Alexander.
Me.
“You brought her.”
Alexander followed his gaze.
“You know Isabella?”
Nicholas laughed weakly.
“Of course I know her.”
My stomach dropped.
“I've never met you.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No.”
“You were sixteen.”
I stared at him.
Nicholas had been eighteen then.
A teenager.
Barely more than a boy.
“You were at my father's funeral,” he said.
I remembered.
Rain.
Black umbrellas.
Men whispering.
A young Romano standing far away.
“You knew who I was when I started working at the mansion?”
Nicholas nodded.
“Why didn't you tell Alexander?”
“Because your mother asked me not to.”
The warehouse became silent.
“My mother?”
Nicholas reached inside his coat.
Daniel immediately drew his weapon.
Nicholas stopped.
“Relax.”
He slowly removed an envelope.
Old.
Yellowed.
My name was written on the front.
ISABELLA.
I recognized the handwriting.
My mother's.
My hands began shaking.
“Where did you get that?”
“Gabriel gave it to me.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“When?”
Nicholas looked toward the dark warehouse.
“Three days ago.”
Alexander stepped forward.
“Gabriel Moretti is alive?”
Nicholas nodded.
I couldn't breathe.
For twelve years, my father had been dead.
Now a Romano was telling me he had spoken to him seventy-two hours ago.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I'm not.”
Alexander grabbed his brother.
“You entered my office this morning.”
“Yes.”
“You changed my medication?”
“No.”
“You planted the document?”
“No.”
“Then what were you doing?”
Nicholas looked toward me again.
“Trying to warn him.”
“About what?”
“The family.”
Alexander released him.
Nicholas wiped blood from his mouth.
“Our father didn't die from a heart attack.”
Alexander's face changed.
Officially, Anthony Romano had died eleven months after the warehouse explosion.
Heart failure.
Nicholas continued.
“He was poisoned.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because Gabriel saw it happen.”
Alexander stared.
“You expect me to believe Gabriel Moretti watched our father die and disappeared?”
“He disappeared because Anthony ordered him to.”
“Why?”
Nicholas looked around the warehouse.
“Because they discovered someone was trying to destroy both families.”
Rain hammered the roof.
I opened my mother's envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Four people stood beside Lake Michigan.
My father.
Anthony Romano.
My mother.
And a woman I didn't recognize.
Behind them was a handwritten date.
Below it:
THE FOUR WHO KNOW.
I turned the photograph over.
There was another message.
If Alexander and Isabella ever stand in the same room, tell them the war was a lie.
My knees almost gave out.
Alexander took the photograph.
His face went pale.
He pointed at the unknown woman.
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“I do.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“Victoria's mother.”
My stomach twisted.
Nicholas nodded.
“Eleanor Laurent.”
Victoria's mother had supposedly died when Victoria was a child.
Another dead parent.
Another lie.
Alexander stared at Nicholas.
“Where is Victoria?”
“At the estate.”
Daniel answered.
Alexander immediately grabbed his phone.
No signal.
Daniel checked his.
Nothing.
Someone had jammed communications around the warehouse.
Alexander's head snapped up.
“Move.”
Then every light inside the warehouse died.
Darkness swallowed us.
Mia screamed.
I grabbed her.
A gunshot exploded somewhere to our left.
Then another.
Daniel shouted.
“DOWN!”
Alexander pulled us behind a concrete column.
Security returned fire.
Glass shattered.
Mia buried her face against me.
Then a voice came through an old speaker somewhere in the warehouse.
A man's voice.
Older.
Calm.
A voice I had not heard since I was sixteen.
“Isabella.”
My entire body froze.
Alexander looked at me.
The speaker crackled.
Then the voice said:
“Sweetheart, I'm sorry it took me twelve years to come home.”
May you like
My father was alive.
And he was somewhere inside the building.
