Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE WHERE NO ONE USED REAL NAMES
“Then we're going to Hawthorne House.”
Luca stood so suddenly that his chair scraped across the kitchen floor.
Marie Bennett reached for his sleeve.
“No.”
Luca looked down.
“Why?”
“Because if Gabriel is still connected to that place, he will know you're coming.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“Good.”
Claire stepped between them.
“Mr. Moretti, please.”
He looked at her.
“We've spent two days uncovering what happened twenty-nine years ago. My brother may be alive. My sister may be alive. The man responsible could be sitting in that house.”
“And rushing there with armed guards could frighten everyone inside.”
Luca stopped.
Claire continued.
“What if there are people there who were children when Gabriel took them? People who've spent their lives being told not to trust strangers?”
Marie nodded.
“She's right.”
Luca looked at the little white dress.
Then at the silver bracelet.
For once, anger wasn't enough.
“What do you suggest?”
Claire took a breath.
“We go quietly. We ask questions. We let people decide whether they want to speak.”
Luca studied her.
Then nodded.
“Agreed.”
The following morning, Luca drove to Lake Geneva with Claire and Owen.
Evelyn remained at the mansion under the care of a nurse Luca personally trusted.
Vanessa had not returned.
But she had sent one message to Owen.
Ask for Sister Margaret. She knows why my mother stayed.
Luca read it twice.
Then put the phone away.
Hawthorne House stood behind tall iron gates overlooking the lake.
The building had once been a private school.
Its red brick walls were covered in ivy.
A white chapel stood beside a garden.
Nothing about the place looked sinister.
That bothered Luca more than anything.
They were met by a woman in her seventies wearing a pale gray cardigan.
She introduced herself as Margaret Ellis.
Not Sister Margaret.
She explained she'd left her religious order years earlier.
“Mr. Moretti,” she said, studying Luca's face. “I wondered when you'd come.”
Luca felt his chest tighten.
“You know me?”
“I knew a little boy who looked like you.”
Claire stepped forward.
“We're trying to find out what happened to children who came here in August, twenty-nine years ago.”
Margaret's expression changed.
“Then you'll need to come inside.”
She led them into a sitting room filled with old books and framed photographs.
Residents moved through the hallways.
Some were elderly.
Others were middle-aged adults with disabilities.
A few worked in the garden.
Luca studied their faces.
“Are any of the former St. Agnes children still here?”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
“Were they kept here against their will?”
Margaret looked at him sadly.
“Some were.”
Owen stiffened.
Margaret raised a hand.
“Before you decide what this place is, understand that it changed.”
She pointed toward a framed photograph.
It showed a younger Margaret standing beside Vanessa's mother.
“Helena Bellini helped us end Gabriel's control.”
Luca stared.
“Helena?”
“She risked her life to get the children out.”
Claire remembered Vanessa's fear.
Her mother's hidden residence.
Her warnings.
“Then why didn't she tell the police?” Claire asked.
Margaret looked away.
“Because Gabriel had friends in law enforcement. And because some families were willing to pay to keep their secrets hidden.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
Margaret continued.
“Helena stayed because the children needed someone who knew their real names.”
“Where is she now?”
“She's at a care center in Wisconsin.”
“We know,” Luca said.
Margaret studied him.
“Then perhaps you also know why she stopped using her own name.”
Luca shook his head.
“She didn't die. She disappeared.”
Margaret nodded.
“After Gabriel threatened Vanessa.”
Luca went still.
“Vanessa?”
“She was still a child. Helena chose her daughter over the truth.”
Luca looked toward the window.
He remembered Vanessa standing in his office.
Knowing something terrible and knowing how to stop it are not the same thing.
For the first time, he understood.
Margaret brought out an old ledger.
She opened it carefully.
Rows of names filled the pages.
Some had been crossed out.
Others replaced with initials.
“Gabriel didn't always sell children or move them to wealthy families,” she explained.
“Sometimes he used them as leverage. He threatened parents, witnesses, and employees.”
Claire felt sick.
Margaret turned the page.
“Many of the children were eventually reunited with their families.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Was Matteo here?”
Margaret stopped turning pages.
“Yes.”
The word struck him like a blow.
Luca sat down.
“Where is he now?”
Margaret looked at him.
“He left years ago.”
“Under what name?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Thomas Reed.”
Luca stared.
Thomas Reed.
The name meant nothing.
But somewhere, a grown man had lived with that identity while his family believed he was dead.
“Was he well?”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“He was kind.”
Luca swallowed.
“Was?”
“He still is, as far as I know.”
For the first time all morning, Luca could breathe.
Margaret continued.
“He worked with children. He helped some of the younger residents learn to read.”
Claire smiled faintly.
“That sounds like Matteo.”
Luca looked at her.
“You never knew him.”
“No,” Claire said. “But someone who survived what he did and still wanted to help children sounds like a good man.”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“He is.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Where can I find him?”
Margaret closed the ledger.
“Before I answer, there's something else you need to understand.”
She reached into a drawer.
Inside was a small wooden box.
She opened it.
There lay a child's silver whistle.
A train ticket.
And a photograph of two boys standing beside a lake.
One was seven.
The other eleven.
Luca recognized the older boy from the family album.
The real Luca Moretti.
Margaret touched the photograph.
“Both boys came here.”
Luca's heart stopped.
“Matteo and Luca?”
She nodded.
“Gabriel brought them three days apart.”
Luca gripped the chair.
“You're telling me the real Luca survived?”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Luca couldn't speak.
For twenty-nine years, he had carried another boy's name.
Now he knew that boy had survived.
“Where is he?”
Margaret looked toward the garden.
“He lives nearby.”
Luca stood.
“Take me to him.”
Margaret hesitated.
“He may not want to see you.”
“Why?”
She looked at him sadly.
“Because he knows who you became.”
Luca felt a cold weight settle in his chest.
He thought about the years he'd spent building the Moretti empire.
The fear attached to his name.
The people who crossed the street when they saw his car.
The decisions he'd made believing he was Antonio's son.
“Does he hate me?” Luca asked.
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why wouldn't he want to see me?”
“Because he believes you chose the life Gabriel planned for him.”
Luca stared.
Margaret opened another drawer.
She removed a folded newspaper clipping.
The headline showed Luca standing outside a courthouse.
LUCA MORETTI TAKES CONTROL OF FAMILY ORGANIZATION AT 28.
Beneath the clipping, someone had written:
HE GOT THE NAME. I GOT THE YEARS.
Luca read the words slowly.
Claire watched his expression change.
Not anger.
Shame.
Margaret placed a hand on his shoulder.
“The real Luca lost his childhood. He lost his family. He spent years watching someone else live the life that should have been his.”
Luca lowered his head.
“I didn't know.”
“I believe you.”
Margaret's voice softened.
“But knowing that doesn't erase what he lost.”
Claire looked toward the garden.
A man stood beside a wooden bench, helping an elderly resident fasten her coat.
He was tall.
Dark-haired.
About Luca's age.
His face matched the boy in the first family photograph.
Margaret followed her gaze.
Then whispered:
“That's him.”
Luca slowly stood.
The man looked up.
For a moment, they stared at each other through the window.
Then the man walked toward the building.
Luca moved toward the door.
Margaret caught his arm.
“There's one more thing.”
Luca looked back.
Margaret's voice trembled.
“The real Luca didn't come here alone.”
Luca frowned.
“He came with Matteo?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Margaret looked toward the hallway.
“Annie was with them.”
Luca stopped.
“My sister?”
Margaret nodded.
“She's alive.”
Claire covered her mouth.
Luca looked toward the garden again.
The man was approaching the door.
Behind him walked a woman with brown curls and a silver bird necklace.
And holding her hand was a little girl wearing a yellow ribbon.
Margaret whispered:
“Luca, before you open that door, understand something.”
He looked at her.
“Your brother and sister have built a family without you.”
The door opened.
The man stepped inside.
He looked directly at Luca.
May you like
And said:
“You've been using my name for twenty-nine years.”
