Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER WHO NEVER EXISTED
By the time we escaped Harbor Pines through the east stairwell, smoke was pouring from the basement.
The fire had been designed to destroy evidence.
That was obvious even before firefighters arrived.
Three separate ignition points.
No electrical failure.
No kitchen accident.
Someone wanted Locker 314 erased.
And they had waited until after we found the recording.
I stood beside Matteo’s SUV while red emergency lights flashed across the building.
“My mother is with Gabriel voluntarily.”
Matteo glanced toward me.
“We don’t know that.”
“She hugged him.”
“That proves she recognized him.”
“It proves more than being dragged into a car.”
Matteo didn’t argue.
That worried me.
Leo approached holding his phone.
“Fire department found accelerant near the storage hall.”
Matteo looked toward the building.
“Any injuries?”
“None.”
“Good.”
Leo lowered his voice.
“I ran Gabriel Vescari again.”
“And?”
“There’s no legal record of him after 2009.”
“You said he died seventeen years ago.”
“That was what we believed.”
I folded my arms.
“So where has he been?”
Leo looked toward me.
“There are passport records under three identities that could be him. Montreal. Lisbon. Buenos Aires.”
“And now Boston.”
“Yes.”
Matteo opened the SUV door.
“We’re going home.”
I laughed without humor.
“Your home is beginning to feel like the place where people bring me whenever they don’t want to answer questions.”
His eyes met mine.
“This time, I’ll answer.”
That was new.
The drive back to Brookline passed in uncomfortable silence.
Inside Matteo’s study, he unlocked the same cabinet where he had found my mother’s photograph.
Then he removed everything.
Boxes.
Old ledgers.
Letters.
Photographs.
Thirty years of Conti family history covered the floor.
“There was no brother,” he said.
I sat opposite him.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because there wasn’t.”
“You were fourteen in 2001. How do you know?”
“My mother would have told me.”
“Would she?”
The question landed harder than I intended.
Matteo looked down.
His mother, Teresa Conti, had died when he was twenty.
Cancer.
At least, according to newspapers.
“What was your father like?” I asked.
He gave me a look.
“You’ve read about him.”
“I’ve read what newspapers thought.”
“That was mostly accurate.”
“Cold?”
“Yes.”
“Violent?”
“When necessary.”
“That sounds convenient.”
His mouth almost curved.
Almost.
Then disappeared.
“He loved his family.”
“Did he?”
Matteo’s eyes hardened.
“You’re angry.”
“Someone tried to murder me because my mother has apparently been lying about my entire life. I’m allowed.”
“Yes.”
“And your father apparently invented a dead brother.”
Matteo picked up a photograph.
“I would have remembered another child.”
“Unless he wasn’t raised with you.”
That made him stop.
Leo entered.
“Found something.”
He placed an envelope on the desk.
It had been hidden inside one of Salvatore’s accounting books.
The envelope said:
FOR MATTEO — IF GABRIEL RETURNS.
Matteo stared at the handwriting.
“My father.”
I felt goose bumps rise along my arms.
“Open it.”
He did.
Inside was a single key.
And a letter.
Matteo read silently.
His expression changed.
“Read it out loud.”
He hesitated.
Then did.
“Matteo. If Gabriel Vescari comes back to Boston, then everything I tried to bury has failed.”
Leo stopped moving.
Matteo continued.
“You will be told I lied to you. That is true.”
My stomach tightened.
“You will be told you had a brother. That is also true.”
Matteo’s voice faltered.
Just once.
Then steadied.
“His name is Luca.”
Leo whispered something under his breath.
Matteo kept reading.
“Luca was born eleven months before you.”
I stared at him.
Irish twins.
Almost the same age.
“But Luca was not raised as a Conti because his mother was not Teresa.”
Matteo stopped.
I could see pain gathering behind his calm expression.
“Continue,” I said softly.
He did.
“His mother was Margaret Vale, daughter of Judge Alexander Vale.”
The name sounded familiar.
Leo recognized it instantly.
“Federal judge.”
“Was,” Matteo said. “Killed in a car bombing in 1998.”
My pulse quickened.
The letter continued.
“Luca learned who he was at seventeen. He hated me for abandoning him. He had reason.”
Another pause.
“In 2001, Luca became involved with Daniel Bennett.”
My breath stopped.
Matteo’s eyes rose to mine.
Daniel Bennett.
My supposed father’s surname.
He looked back at the letter.
“Daniel told Luca I murdered Margaret and Judge Vale.”
“Did he?” I asked.
Matteo continued.
“I did not.”
“Convenient,” I whispered.
Matteo ignored it.
“Daniel was building a case against me using evidence stolen from our family.”
Leo leaned forward.
“Daniel Bennett was law enforcement?”
The answer came two paragraphs later.
“Daniel worked for Boston Police Intelligence.”
I felt the world shift again.
My father had been a cop.
Or something close.
According to my mother, Daniel Bennett died in a highway accident six months before I was born.
That had always been the story.
But if I was already alive on March 14, 2001…
The dates didn’t work.
“My mother lied about when he died.”
Matteo watched me.
“Apparently.”
I wanted to be angry at Eleanor.
Instead, I was frightened for her.
The letter continued.
“Daniel was not corrupt when I first met him. By the end, I no longer knew who controlled him.”
That sentence chilled me.
“I helped Eleanor disappear because Daniel had threatened the child.”
Me.
“Luca refused to believe me.”
Matteo’s voice grew quieter.
“He helped Daniel reach a safe house on March 14.”
The next sentence had been underlined.
“Gabriel was ordered to kill them both.”
Leo frowned.
“But Gabriel didn’t.”
“No,” Matteo said.
“Why?”
He read the final lines.
“Because Gabriel discovered what I discovered too late.”
Matteo stopped.
“What?”
He turned the page.
Blank.
I stood up.
“That’s it?”
“There’s something on the back.”
He held it beneath the desk lamp.
Three words.
ASK YOUR MOTHER.
Matteo’s face hardened.
“My mother has been dead six years.”
Leo looked uncomfortable.
“Boss…”
“What?”
“I checked St. Agnes Cemetery after Gabriel’s call.”
“Why?”
“Because if Salvatore lied about one death…”
Matteo stared at him.
Leo continued.
“Your mother’s grave was opened six months ago.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Court order.”
“By whom?”
“A private attorney claiming the family plot needed structural repairs.”
Matteo rose.
“And?”
Leo swallowed.
“The coffin was empty.”
I felt my mouth open.
Matteo didn’t move.
For one horrible second, his face looked fourteen years old.
Then everything disappeared behind the cold mask again.
“Who authorized it?”
Leo handed him the phone.
Matteo read the name.
“Henry Vale.”
I remembered the judge’s surname.
“Related to Luca’s mother?”
“Her younger brother,” Leo said.
Matteo began pacing.
“So Gabriel is alive. My mother’s grave is empty. Luca may be alive.”
“And Daniel?” I asked.
Matteo stopped.
Nobody answered.
My phone buzzed.
A text.
Unknown number.
There was an address in South Boston.
Below it:
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT ELEANOR ALIVE.
Matteo saw it over my shoulder.
“No.”
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“That’s my mother.”
“And it’s an obvious trap.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The words came too fast.
We both froze.
Matteo looked away first.
Leo pretended to inspect his phone.
I lowered my voice.
“Then help me make the trap fail.”
Twenty-eight minutes later, I walked alone into an abandoned church on West Fourth Street.
At least I looked alone.
Matteo had three teams covering every exit.
A tiny microphone sat beneath my collar.
The church smelled like dust and cold stone.
“Mom?”
Nothing.
I walked toward the altar.
“Gabriel?”
A figure stepped from behind the confessional.
Not Gabriel.
A man around Matteo’s age.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
Tall.
Same shoulders.
Same eyes.
Matteo’s eyes.
I stopped breathing.
The stranger studied me.
“You look like Eleanor.”
My voice shook.
“Luca?”
He smiled sadly.
“So Salvatore finally told him.”
Matteo’s voice exploded in my earpiece.
“Sophie, get out.”
Luca heard the faint sound.
His smile vanished.
“You brought Matteo.”
He raised his voice toward the darkness.
“Little brother.”
Matteo stepped from a side aisle, gun low at his side.
For the first time, the two men faced each other.
The resemblance was undeniable.
Luca laughed softly.
“You got old.”
Matteo’s expression didn’t move.
“You should see a mirror.”
“That’s the Conti charm I remember.”
“Where is Eleanor?”
Luca’s humor vanished.
“Safe.”
“Prove it.”
Luca lifted his phone.
A live video appeared.
My mother sat in a warm kitchen.
Gabriel stood behind her.
She looked unharmed.
“Mom!”
She stared through the screen.
“Sophie?”
“I’m okay.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Baby, you shouldn’t have come.”
Luca lowered the phone.
Matteo moved one step closer.
“Why are you targeting Sophie?”
“I’m not.”
“Someone is.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Luca’s gaze shifted to me.
“That depends on whether Eleanor finally tells her daughter the truth.”
“What truth?” I demanded.
Luca looked toward Matteo.
Then back to me.
“The bullet at the nightclub wasn’t ordered because of anything Eleanor did.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then why?”
“Because someone recently learned you survived.”
“Survived what?”
He stared at me.
“March 14, 2001.”
I shook my head.
“I was a baby.”
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly did I survive?”
Luca’s answer came softly.
“The same house fire that supposedly killed Matteo’s brother.”
Matteo looked at him sharply.
“What house?”
Luca ignored him.
I felt dizzy.
“My mother never said anything about a fire.”
“Because she didn’t rescue you.”
I stared.
“What?”
Luca stepped closer.
“Your father did.”
“Daniel?”
His expression changed.
Not hatred.
Pity.
“No, Sophie.”
My heart stopped.
“Daniel Bennett wasn’t your father.”
Behind us, a church door slammed shut.
Matteo raised his weapon.
Someone began clapping slowly from the balcony.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
An older woman stepped into the light.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
Alive.
Matteo’s gun lowered by an inch.
His face broke completely.
“Mom?”
Teresa Conti smiled down at him.
“Hello, Matteo.”
Then her eyes moved to me.
“And Sophie…”
Her smile vanished.
May you like
“We need to talk about your real father.”
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