Chapter 7 - The Woman Who Raised His Sister
“Anne Brooks never adopted a child named Isabella,” Emma said.
She stood in Dante's office, staring at the intake photograph.
Marcus remained near the door.
Dante placed the picture beside Emma's family photograph.
“Are you certain?”
Emma nodded.
“My mother raised Tyler and me. There was nobody else.”
Dante watched her carefully.
“Did she ever talk about fostering children?”
“No.”
“Did she have relatives who lived with her?”
Emma thought for a moment.
“My aunt Claire.”
Dante leaned forward.
“Tell me about her.”
Emma frowned.
“She wasn't really my aunt. She was Mom's best friend.”
“Where is she now?”
“Phoenix.”
“How old?”
“About thirty-seven.”
Dante felt his pulse quicken.
His missing sister would be thirty-seven.
“Do you have a photograph?”
Emma reached for her phone.
She scrolled through several pictures.
Then she stopped.
A woman with dark brown hair stood beside Emma and Tyler at a birthday party.
She wore a simple white blouse.
Around her neck hung a small gold pendant.
Dante stared.
A star.
“Emma,” he said slowly, “what's your aunt's full name?”
“Claire Morgan.”
“Was she adopted?”
Emma hesitated.
“I think so. She said Mom helped raise her when she was little.”
Dante sat back.
“Does she know where she came from?”
“She never talked about it.”
“Can we find her?”
Emma nodded.
“But before we do, I need to tell you something.”
Dante looked up.
“Claire doesn't trust wealthy families.”
“Why?”
Emma's expression tightened.
“Her husband died after a factory accident. The company fought her insurance claim for almost four years.”
Dante looked at the photograph again.
“How long ago?”
“Six years.”
“And she has children?”
“One daughter. Lily. She's nine.”
Dante felt something unexpected.
A sudden, sharp hope.
His sister might have a child.
He might have a niece.
A family he'd never known.
Then Emma added:
“Claire told me once that the worst thing you can do to someone is make them feel like they don't belong anywhere.”
Dante looked toward the window.
He understood that feeling.
They drove to Phoenix the following morning.
Dante refused to arrive with a large security entourage.
Only Marcus accompanied them, driving a second car at a distance.
Emma sat beside Dante.
Her wrist remained in a brace.
“You don't have to come,” Dante told her.
Emma looked at him.
“Claire is family.”
He nodded.
“She may be my family, too.”
Emma gave him a small smile.
“Then we'd better make a good first impression.”
The drive was quiet.
Dante watched the desert pass.
He had imagined his sister countless times since learning her name.
A child in a pink blanket.
A little girl wearing a star necklace.
A woman somewhere in the world, unaware that her brother had spent twenty-four years mourning their mother.
He wondered if Isabella had ever felt abandoned.
He wondered whether she had believed nobody wanted her.
And he wondered how much of that pain his father could have prevented.
Claire Morgan lived in a modest neighborhood outside Phoenix.
Her house had a small garden and a wooden porch swing.
A bicycle leaned against the garage.
Emma knocked.
A woman opened the door.
“Emma?”
Claire smiled.
Then she noticed the brace.
“What happened to your arm?”
“Long story.”
Claire hugged her carefully.
Then she looked at Dante.
“Who's your friend?”
Emma hesitated.
“Claire, this is Dante Bellini.”
Claire's smile vanished.
She looked at him for several seconds.
Then she stepped backward.
“You need to leave.”
Dante remained on the porch.
“Mrs. Morgan—”
“I know who you are.”
Emma looked confused.
“Claire?”
Claire's eyes filled with anger.
“My mother warned me this day might come.”
Dante felt a chill.
“Your mother?”
Claire glanced toward the hallway.
“Emma, take Lily to the backyard.”
Emma frowned.
“Why?”
“Please.”
A small girl appeared behind Claire.
She had brown pigtails and wore a purple T-shirt.
“Mom, is Aunt Emma here?”
Emma smiled.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Lily ran into her arms.
Claire watched until Emma had taken the child outside.
Then she turned back to Dante.
“You're Vincent Bellini's son.”
“Yes.”
“And you came looking for Isabella.”
Dante stopped breathing.
“You know that name?”
Claire nodded.
“It's mine.”
Dante stood motionless.
Claire crossed her arms.
“I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“I didn't come to take you anywhere.”
“Then why are you here?”
He swallowed.
“Because I only found out you existed yesterday.”
Claire stared at him.
She had prepared herself for threats.
Not that answer.
“You're lying.”
Dante reached into his jacket.
He removed the old photograph of Isabella.
Claire looked at it.
Then she took a step forward.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father.”
She stared at the baby.
Dante continued.
“My mother kept searching for you.”
Claire's expression changed.
“Your mother?”
“Elizabeth Bellini.”
Claire gripped the doorframe.
“She died.”
“That's what I believed.”
Claire looked at him with growing confusion.
Dante took a breath.
“She's alive.”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
“She lives at a medical residence near Las Vegas. I saw her yesterday.”
Claire's eyes filled.
“That isn't possible.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“No, you don't.”
She stepped back.
“My mother spent years trying to get someone to listen. She said the Bellinis would deny everything.”
“Anne Brooks?”
Claire nodded.
“She raised me. She told me I wasn't born into her family, but I was loved just the same.”
Dante felt his throat tighten.
“Did she tell you about your birth parents?”
“Not much.”
“Why?”
“Because she was afraid.”
Dante looked toward the garden.
Emma was helping Lily water flowers.
Claire followed his gaze.
“She never wanted me to know the full story.”
“Then why did you know I'd come looking for Isabella?”
Claire disappeared into the hallway.
She returned carrying a small metal box.
Inside lay old photographs, hospital papers, and a child's drawing.
She placed the drawing on the porch table.
It showed a yellow house.
A blue car.
And four stick figures.
Beneath them were names written in uneven letters.
Mom.
Dad.
Danny.
Bella.
Dante stared.
He remembered that drawing.
He had made it when he was six.
His mother had taped it to the refrigerator.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered.
Claire watched him.
“My mother gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”
Dante touched the paper.
“She told me it came from my first home.”
His eyes filled.
“I drew this.”
Claire stared.
“You?”
He nodded.
“I remember the yellow crayon. I wanted to draw the house bigger, but I ran out of room.”
Claire's mouth trembled.
For the first time, she looked at him not as a dangerous stranger but as someone who might share her past.
Dante lifted the drawing.
“I didn't know you were alive.”
Claire sat slowly.
“Neither did I know you were looking.”
They talked for nearly two hours.
Claire explained that Anne Brooks had raised her after a series of placements and moves.
She remembered spending time with Rebecca Miller, whom she knew as a kind older relative, though her childhood memories were blurred.
Rebecca disappeared when Claire was thirteen.
Anne later told her Rebecca had died.
Dante listened without interrupting.
Then Claire showed him a letter.
It had been written by Anne before her death.
Claire, if the Bellini family ever comes looking, don't assume they're all your enemies. Elizabeth tried to protect you. But men with money made decisions that hurt people like us.
Your name was Isabella. You were loved before you were taken, and you were loved afterward.
Dante read the letter twice.
Claire looked at him.
“Do you understand why I don't trust you?”
“Yes.”
“Your father's decisions destroyed my childhood.”
“I know.”
“And I'm supposed to believe you're different?”
Dante looked at the drawing.
“No.”
Claire blinked.
“No?”
“You shouldn't believe anything because I say it.”
He placed the paper between them.
“You should judge me by what I do.”
Claire studied him.
Then she asked quietly:
“Would your mother recognize me?”
Dante swallowed.
“She has never stopped looking for you.”
Claire looked away.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then Lily returned from the backyard.
“Mom, are you crying?”
Claire wiped her face.
“Just a little, honey.”
Lily looked at Dante.
“Did he make you sad?”
Dante felt his heart break.
Claire pulled her daughter close.
“No, sweetheart.”
She looked at him again.
“He brought me something I thought I'd lost.”
That evening, they returned to Las Vegas.
Claire agreed to visit Elizabeth, but only after Dante promised Lily could stay with Emma in a nearby guest suite.
He understood.
Claire wasn't ready to bring her daughter into a painful family reunion.
When they reached the medical wing, Elizabeth was sitting beside the window.
Dante entered first.
“Mom?”
Elizabeth turned.
“I brought someone.”
Claire stepped through the doorway.
For several seconds, Elizabeth didn't move.
Then she saw the necklace.
The gold star.
Her face crumpled.
“Isabella?”
Claire stood frozen.
Elizabeth reached toward her.
“My baby.”
Claire's lips trembled.
“I don't know what to call you.”
Elizabeth began crying.
“You don't have to call me anything.”
Claire took one uncertain step forward.
Then another.
Finally, she knelt beside the bed.
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her daughter.
Dante watched from the doorway.
For the first time in twenty-four years, his mother was holding both of her children within the same house.
But the reunion lasted only moments before Claire pulled back.
“There's something you need to know,” she whispered.
Elizabeth touched her face.
“What is it?”
Claire reached into her purse.
She removed a folded hospital form.
“My mother gave this to me before she died.”
Dante stepped closer.
Claire unfolded the paper.
At the bottom was a signature.
Vincent Bellini.
Beside it, under the heading Authorized Transfer, was another name.
Not Charles Prescott.
Not Richard.
ELIZABETH BELLINI.
May you like
Claire looked at her mother.
“You signed the paper that sent me away.”
