Chapter 8 - THE DEAD MAN WHO CAME HOME
Gabriel didn't speak for nearly a minute.
“My father died when I was fifteen.”
Lucia shook her head.
“No.”
“I saw his coffin.”
“Did you see his body?”
Gabriel stopped.
I watched the answer appear in his face.
No.
His father, Alessandro Moretti, had supposedly died overseas.
An explosion aboard a yacht.
The remains had been considered too damaged for viewing.
Renato had raised Gabriel and Matteo afterward.
Lucia knew details nobody outside the family should have known.
A scar beneath Alessandro's left shoulder.
A habit of tapping his wedding ring against a glass when angry.
The nickname he'd called Gabriel as a child.
“Falco.”
Gabriel looked sick.
“Nobody knows that.”
“Your father told me.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
The room went silent.
“Where?”
“He came here.”
Lucia pointed toward the door.
“He asked about Isabella.”
Gabriel grabbed the chair opposite her.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted to know if she had found Elina.”
“Why?”
“He said Renato had lost control.”
Everything we believed shifted again.
Lucia explained.
Alessandro hadn't disappeared because of enemies.
He had disappeared because he discovered Renato was stealing from both families.
He planned to expose him.
Renato arranged the yacht explosion.
Alessandro survived.
But instead of returning, he went underground, building evidence.
“For nineteen years?” Matteo asked later over speakerphone.
Lucia nodded.
“He believed returning would get his sons killed.”
Gabriel laughed bitterly.
“Excellent father.”
Pain lived beneath the sarcasm.
Lucia continued.
Alessandro learned Isabella had uncovered the same network.
He contacted her.
Together they planned to expose Renato.
Then the bomb exploded.
“So Alessandro ordered it?” I asked.
Lucia shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why did you say ask his father?”
“Because Alessandro knows who did.”
“Where is he?”
Lucia looked toward the window.
“He said if Isabella died, he'd disappear permanently.”
Gabriel stood.
“This is insane.”
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No voice.
Just coordinates.
And a photograph.
A man standing outside Restorante Orelio.
Older.
Scarred.
But unmistakably similar to Gabriel.
Alessandro.
The message read:
COME ALONE.
Gabriel looked at me.
“No.”
I knew that expression.
“You're going.”
“Yes.”
“Then I'm coming.”
“No.”
“You're really committed to this argument.”
“Elina.”
“Gabriel.”
Lucia unexpectedly smiled.
“Isabella argued the same way.”
I looked at her.
She corrected herself.
“Not because you're the same.”
That mattered.
“Because you're sisters.”
Gabriel eventually lost the argument.
Three hours later, we returned to Chicago.
Restorante Orelio was closed.
Gabriel entered first.
I followed.
An old man sat at table twelve.
The same table where Gabriel had first handed me Leo.
Alessandro Moretti stood when he saw his sons.
Matteo had come too.
Nobody spoke.
Then Alessandro said, “You got tall.”
Matteo laughed.
It wasn't happy.
“You've been gone nineteen years and that's what you've got?”
Alessandro looked ashamed.
Gabriel said nothing.
His father approached.
Gabriel stepped back.
That hurt Alessandro more than any bullet could have.
Good, I thought.
He deserved some pain.
Finally Gabriel asked:
“Who killed Isabella?”
Alessandro looked at me.
His face changed.
“You must be Elina.”
“Answer him.”
A faint smile.
“Definitely Lucia's daughter.”
“Answer him.”
Alessandro sat.
“Carlo Bellandi.”
My stomach dropped.
Gabriel's face hardened.
“Carlo?”
“Yes.”
“Her father?”
“Not biologically.”
Another secret.
Of course.
Carlo had married Lucia after she became pregnant.
He raised Isabella publicly as his daughter.
But he wasn't our biological father.
“Who is?” I asked.
Alessandro looked at me.
“Me.”
Silence swallowed the restaurant.
I stared at Gabriel.
Then Alessandro.
Then back.
“No.”
Gabriel looked equally horrified.
“No.”
Alessandro stood quickly.
“You misunderstand.”
“I really hope so,” Matteo muttered.
“Lucia's daughters are not mine.”
I exhaled.
Alessandro rubbed his forehead.
“Poor choice of words.”
“No kidding.”
He explained.
Our biological father was Alessandro's younger cousin, Tomas Moretti, who died before we were born.
Carlo married Lucia afterward and claimed the children.
“Why?”
“The Bellandi inheritance required a recognized male trustee until the daughters turned twenty-five.”
“Money,” I whispered.
“Always.”
Carlo had spent decades controlling the Bellandi fortune.
When Isabella reached twenty-five, he began losing that control.
Then she discovered Elina.
If both sisters asserted their rights, Carlo lost everything.
“Why did Renato cover up the bombing?” Gabriel asked.
“Because Carlo had evidence against him.”
“What evidence?”
“That Renato killed Sofia.”
My stomach tightened.
They had protected each other.
Two powerful men sharing crimes.
Gabriel paced.
“Where's Carlo?”
“I don't know.”
I did.
Not physically.
But I knew where he'd go.
The one place every part of this story returned to.
Restorante Orelio.
Union Station.
Saint Catherine's.
And the Moretti estate.
Then I remembered the photograph behind the bar.
“Why was Isabella's picture hanging here?”
Antonio looked at me.
“Because she owned the restaurant.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She bought it seven years ago.”
“Why?”
Antonio looked almost apologetic.
“To watch you.”
My heart twisted.
Isabella had owned the place where I eventually worked.
Coincidence?
“No,” Antonio said.
“She left instructions. If you ever applied, I was supposed to hire you.”
My eyes filled.
“She knew I'd come?”
“She knew it was your favorite restaurant.”
It had been.
Sofia brought me here every birthday.
Isabella had bought a place connected to my happiest memories and waited.
Not approaching.
Just keeping a door open.
“There's something else,” Antonio said.
He removed Isabella's photograph from the wall.
Behind it was a small compartment.
Inside was a letter.
FOR MY SISTER.
I opened it.
Elina,
If you ever stand here reading this, then I was too afraid or too late to meet you.
I cried before I reached the second line.
She wrote about watching me graduate.
Watching me laugh with friends.
Watching from far away because Sofia had convinced her any contact could expose me.
She wrote:
You deserved one sister who didn't bring danger to your door.
I pressed the paper to my chest.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
If anything happens to me, Carlo did it.
Not because he hates us.
Because he thinks we belong to him.
The restaurant windows exploded.
Everyone dropped.
Gunfire ripped through the dining room.
Gabriel covered me.
Marco returned fire.
Then smoke flooded the restaurant.
Someone grabbed Antonio.
Someone else fired toward Matteo.
Through the shattered front windows, I saw Carlo standing beside a black SUV.
He wasn't running.
He was waiting.
His eyes met mine.
Then he raised a phone.
My phone rang.
I answered.
“Enough,” Carlo said.
“What do you want?”
“What I've always wanted.”
“Control?”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“My family.”
“You murdered Isabella.”
“She betrayed me.”
Rage burned through me.
“She was never yours.”
Silence.
Then Carlo said:
“Come outside, Elina.”
“No.”
“Then ask Gabriel where Leo is.”
My heart stopped.
I turned.
Leo wasn't with us.
He was supposed to be at Gabriel's sister's house.
Gabriel's phone rang.
He answered.
His face went white.
Carlo smiled through the shattered window.
“I have the boy.”
My knees weakened.
“Come outside alone.”
Gabriel grabbed my arm.
“No.”
May you like
Carlo continued.
“Or this time, Elina, Isabella's son dies with her secrets.”
