Chapter 6 - THE BROTHER WHO KNEW WHERE JACK WAS
I turned toward Matteo.
He didn't move.
For several seconds, the only sound came from the clock beside Bellamy's fireplace.
Then I asked the question that had begun to feel like the only one that mattered.
“Where is my son?”
Matteo looked at the floor.
“Luca, I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
His jaw tightened.
“When I knew he was safe.”
I stepped closer.
“You've been looking for Jack for three months?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I couldn't.”
“Couldn't?”
Matteo finally looked up.
“Because somebody was watching him.”
Bellamy lowered his head.
I turned sharply.
“Who?”
Matteo exhaled.
“I don't know. That's what I've been trying to find out.”
I looked at Bellamy.
“You sent my son to a family. Tell me who they are.”
Bellamy reached for a glass of water.
His hands shook badly.
“Michael and Sarah Whitcomb. They lived in Rockford.”
I waited.
“They adopted Jack through a private placement.”
I felt something twist in my chest.
“Adopted?”
Bellamy nodded.
“The paperwork listed his parents as deceased.”
I turned away.
My son was growing up with another family.
Another father.
Another surname.
I had missed his first steps.
His first words.
His birthdays.
And now I was discovering that a stranger had been called Daddy while I stood at a grave every Sunday.
“Where are the Whitcombs now?”
Bellamy looked at Matteo.
Matteo answered.
“Sarah died last winter.”
I closed my eyes.
“Michael?”
“He's raising Jack alone.”
“Where?”
“In Wisconsin.”
I stared at him.
“You know where?”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven't you brought him home?”
Matteo's expression hardened.
“Because he's a child, Luca. Not a piece of property.”
The words struck me harder than I expected.
I took a step toward him.
Matteo didn't retreat.
“He's been raised by a man who loves him. You can't just walk into that house and announce you're taking him away.”
I stopped.
For the first time that afternoon, my brother had said something I couldn't argue with.
I thought about Nora.
About the way she'd reached for Emily when she was frightened.
About how carefully Emily had watched me when she asked what would happen to them.
My children had lives.
They had people they loved.
And I had already lost enough time.
“I don't want to hurt him,” I said quietly.
Matteo nodded.
“I know.”
“Then why were you watching him?”
Matteo hesitated.
“Because someone was leaving things at the Whitcomb house.”
“What things?”
“Photographs of Sofia.”
My stomach tightened.
“Photographs?”
“One arrived in August. Another in September.”
“Why?”
“Both had the same message written on the back.”
I looked at him.
“What message?”
Matteo swallowed.
“Ask your father what happened to Teresa Moretti.”
Bellamy closed his eyes.
I felt cold.
The threat wasn't meant for Jack.
It was meant for whoever knew the truth about our mother.
I turned back to Bellamy.
“You said Sofia made a recording.”
He nodded.
“Where is it?”
“I never had the original.”
“Who did?”
“Sofia.”
“Then where did she hide it?”
Bellamy looked at the necklace.
“She told me she'd leave it where only someone who truly remembered her would look.”
I picked up the silver heart.
I'd given it to Sofia years earlier.
It had always been special to her.
But the necklace contained no recording.
I had already examined it.
Then I remembered something.
Sofia had worn two pieces of jewelry almost every day.
The silver necklace.
And a simple gold wedding band.
I looked at Bellamy.
“What happened to her ring?”
He frowned.
“I assumed you had it.”
I shook my head.
“The funeral director told me it had been removed at the hospital.”
Bellamy looked stunned.
“I never authorized that.”
I turned to Matteo.
“Did you?”
“No.”
A new silence settled over the room.
Somebody had taken Sofia's wedding ring.
Somebody who knew the jewelry mattered.
I put the necklace into my pocket.
“Daniel will obtain the relevant hospital and property records through the proper channels,” I told Bellamy. “You need to cooperate fully.”
He nodded.
“And Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“If you've held anything else back, this is your last opportunity to tell me.”
Bellamy looked toward a framed photograph of his late wife.
His face crumpled.
“I lied about Sofia's last words.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“She didn't ask me to protect the Moretti name.”
I stared at him.
“What did she say?”
His voice shook.
“She said, 'Tell Luca not to blame himself.'”
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Bellamy continued.
“She knew you would.”
I looked down.
For four years, I had carried the guilt of our final argument.
I had left her alone.
I had chosen business over one more conversation.
And somehow, in her final hours, she'd still been thinking about protecting me from that pain.
I pressed my fingers against my eyes.
When I lowered my hand, Bellamy was crying.
“She trusted you, Luca. Whatever she feared, she trusted you.”
I looked at him.
“Then I wish she'd called me.”
Bellamy's expression changed.
“She did.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She asked the hospital to call your private number at 1:16 a.m.”
I stared at him.
“I never received a call.”
Bellamy swallowed.
“The records show someone answered.”
My heart hammered.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Matteo was already reaching for his phone to contact Daniel.
But Bellamy stopped him.
“There was a recorded authorization code used to verify the person receiving the call.”
I looked at him.
“What code?”
Bellamy took a trembling breath.
“Your family used a phrase for emergencies.”
I knew it.
My father had created it years earlier.
Only four people had known it.
Dad.
Mom.
Matteo.
And me.
“What phrase?” I asked.
Bellamy whispered it.
“Blue winter.”
My blood ran cold.
The voice that answered the hospital had used our family's emergency phrase.
And whoever answered had told the staff not to contact me again.
I turned to Matteo.
His face had gone white.
“I didn't answer that call,” he whispered.
I believed him.
Because I had already realized something worse.
There was a fifth person who knew the phrase.
Someone I'd trusted with my household and private communications for seven years.
Richard Harland.
I looked at Matteo.
“Harland answered for me.”
But my brother shook his head.
“No, Luca.”
He swallowed.
“Harland didn't start working for you until the year after Sofia died.”
I stared at him.
Matteo looked at the doctor's desk.
“There's one other person who could have known that phrase.”
Bellamy lowered his eyes.
May you like
And Matteo finished the sentence.
“Sofia herself.”
