Chapter 6 - THE CHILD LEFT BEHIND
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Luca looked at Noah.
“My son?”
Noah nodded uncertainly.
“That's what Ellie said.”
Luca stepped out of the truck.
His face had lost all color.
“I didn't have a son eleven years ago.”
Henry closed his eyes.
And I knew, before he spoke, that there was another truth he'd been carrying.
“Luca,” Henry said quietly, “there was a child.”
Luca turned toward him.
“What?”
“A baby boy.”
Luca stared at the old driver.
“No.”
Henry swallowed.
“His mother was a young woman named Caroline Hayes.”
Luca's expression changed.
I had never seen him look so vulnerable.
“Caroline?”
Henry nodded.
Luca leaned against the truck.
“Caroline died.”
“Yes.”
“She died before the baby was born.”
Henry shook his head.
“That's what Richard told you.”
The barn seemed to tilt around me.
Luca covered his face with one hand.
For a long moment, he didn't speak.
Then he whispered, “I buried her.”
Henry's eyes filled.
“You buried Caroline. But the baby had already been delivered.”
Luca looked up.
“Who knew?”
“Your father.”
“And he never told me?”
“He was trying to protect the child.”
“From whom?”
Henry looked toward the red truck.
“From Richard.”
Luca's voice hardened.
“You're telling me my father knew I had a son and let me believe he was dead?”
Henry nodded.
It was the cruelest truth yet.
Not because Marco had been evil.
But because even good intentions could destroy the people they were meant to protect.
We sat in the barn while Henry explained.
Caroline Hayes had worked at a community arts center.
She was twenty-three when she met Luca.
They'd fallen in love while he was still trying to prove himself outside his father's shadow.
Richard had considered Caroline unsuitable.
She had no wealth.
No important family.
And she refused to be intimidated.
When Caroline became pregnant, Luca had asked her to marry him.
She'd agreed.
But before they could tell his family publicly, Caroline suffered complications during childbirth.
Richard controlled the private clinic where she was taken.
He arranged for Luca to receive the news that both mother and child had died.
Caroline had died.
The baby survived.
Marco discovered the truth weeks later.
By then, Richard had already moved the child.
“Why didn't my father tell me immediately?” Luca asked.
Henry looked ashamed.
“Richard threatened the baby's life if Marco interfered.”
Luca laughed bitterly.
“So my father chose silence.”
“He chose to find the child first.”
“Did he?”
Henry looked toward Noah.
“He found him.”
My heart lurched.
Noah stared at the old man.
“Me?”
Henry shook his head.
“Noah, you were with Catherine when Marco located Luca's son. You and Eleanor were supposed to help bring him somewhere safe.”
Luca closed his eyes.
The relief and disappointment on his face were equally painful.
“Where is my son now?”
Henry hesitated.
“That's what Adrian has been trying to discover.”
I thought of the map.
The children's home.
The baby in the truck.
“Could he have been adopted?”
“Yes.”
“Could he still be alive?”
Henry looked at Luca.
“I believe so.”
Luca turned toward the barn door.
For a moment, I thought he might walk away.
Instead, he pressed both hands against the wooden frame.
His shoulders shook once.
Just once.
But it was enough.
I stepped toward him.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He didn't turn.
“Caroline used to draw little houses,” he said quietly.
I waited.
“She said when we had children, she'd paint stars on their bedroom ceiling.”
His voice broke.
“I spent eleven years believing I had lost both of them.”
I didn't know what to say.
So I stood beside him.
Sometimes that was all a person could offer.
Adrian Moretti arrived shortly afterward.
He was seventy now, with silver hair and the scar Noah remembered.
He entered the barn carrying a battered leather jacket.
When Luca saw him, neither man moved.
Then Adrian said, “You look like your father.”
Luca's expression tightened.
“I don't know whether that's a compliment.”
Adrian nodded.
“Fair enough.”
He placed the jacket on the truck's hood.
“I heard what Henry told you.”
“Then tell me where my son is.”
Adrian looked down.
“I wish I could.”
Luca stepped closer.
“You had him.”
“For one night.”
“What happened?”
Adrian took a long breath.
“We were followed. Richard's men stopped us near the bridge. I got Eleanor and Noah out. But someone else took the baby.”
“Who?”
Adrian looked at Henry.
“The woman who worked at the children's home.”
Henry frowned.
“Mrs. Whitcomb?”
Adrian nodded.
“She told me she'd keep him safe until the danger passed.”
“Why didn't you retrieve him?”
“Because by the time I got back, she'd resigned and disappeared.”
Luca's hands curled into fists.
“And you never found her?”
“I spent eleven years looking.”
Adrian reached into his jacket.
He removed a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph of a baby wrapped in a cream-colored blanket.
Around the child's wrist was a hospital band.
The surname had been smudged.
But one word remained readable.
MATTHEW.
Luca took the photograph.
His hands trembled.
“Matthew.”
Henry looked toward the floor.
“That was Caroline's choice.”
Luca closed his eyes.
“She wanted to name him after her grandfather.”
I watched him hold the photograph against his chest.
For the first time, the powerful mafia boss looked like an ordinary man grieving the years he'd lost.
Adrian opened a second envelope.
“I found something last week.”
He handed Luca a photograph taken outside a small repair shop.
A young man stood beside a motorcycle.
He looked about twenty.
Dark hair.
Gray-blue eyes.
A familiar crease between his eyebrows.
Luca stared.
“Where was this taken?”
“Wisconsin.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Who is he?”
Adrian swallowed.
“I believe his name is Matthew Reed.”
Luca looked at the photograph again.
Then at the baby's picture.
The resemblance was undeniable.
But what caught my attention wasn't his face.
It was the jacket.
A dark blue mechanic's jacket with a small embroidered rose.
I had seen that jacket before.
Not in Wisconsin.
Not at the Moretti mansion.
At our apartment.
Three weeks earlier.
A young man had visited Noah to help repair an old computer.
He'd introduced himself as Matt.
He'd been polite.
Quiet.
And strangely interested in the silver watch Noah had found.
I looked at Luca.
“I know that man.”
He turned.
“What?”
“He came to my apartment.”
Luca grabbed the photograph.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why?”
I swallowed.
“He said he was helping Noah with computer repairs.”
Noah suddenly looked up.
“Matt?”
I nodded.
He stared at the photograph.
Then whispered, “That's him.”
Luca's voice shook.
“Where is he now?”
Noah looked frightened.
“I don't know.”
Then he reached into his pocket.
He removed a folded note.
“Matt asked me to give you this if anything happened.”
I stared at my brother.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because he said only after someone mentioned his father.”
Luca took the note.
He unfolded it slowly.
There were only two sentences.
“IF LUCA MORETTI EVER COMES LOOKING FOR ME, TELL HIM I KNOW WHAT HIS FATHER DID. AND TELL HIM I DON'T WANT HIS MONEY.”
May you like
Beneath the message was a final line.
“ASK VANESSA BELLINI WHY SHE VISITED MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.”
