Chapter 7 - THE CHILD DOMINIC NEVER KNEW
“Benjamin Moretti?”
Dominic repeated the name as though it belonged to a stranger.
Lily stood in the doorway, clutching her red bracelet.
“Miss June said that was his name.”
Dr. Bennett gripped the back of a chair.
His face had gone white.
“Lily,” he asked, “did she tell you how old Benjamin was?”
Lily thought for a moment.
“He was little. Maybe two.”
Dominic slowly turned toward the doctor.
“Samuel.”
The older man couldn't meet his eyes.
“Why does your daughter have a child with my last name?”
Dr. Bennett sank into the chair.
For several seconds, he looked incapable of answering.
Then he reached into his jacket and removed a worn leather wallet.
Inside was a photograph.
A little boy with dark curls sat in a backyard swing.
His cheeks were round.
His smile was unmistakably familiar.
Dominic stared.
The boy had his eyes.
“His name is Benjamin,” Dr. Bennett whispered.
Dominic reached for the photograph.
“How old is he?”
“Six.”
“Where is he?”
The doctor closed his eyes.
“Safe.”
Dominic's voice turned cold.
“That's not an answer.”
“Dominic, please understand—”
“Is he my son?”
The doctor nodded.
I saw the exact moment Dominic Moretti's world broke open.
His hands stopped trembling.
His expression emptied.
Then he looked at the photograph again.
“Six years.”
Dr. Bennett covered his face.
“Julia wanted to tell you.”
“Then why didn't she?”
“Because Caleb convinced her you'd ordered her removal from Chicago.”
Dominic stared at him.
“What?”
Dr. Bennett spoke slowly, as if each word hurt.
“Four years ago, Julia came to me terrified. Someone had shown her a recording of you threatening to have her taken away if she spoke about your business.”
Dominic shook his head.
“I never threatened Julia.”
“I believe that now.”
“Now?”
The doctor looked toward the floor.
“Caleb brought me the recording. He said you were having violent episodes and couldn't remember everything you did.”
Dominic pressed the photograph against his chest.
“And you believed him?”
“I saw your medical records. I knew you'd been having seizures.”
“You were my doctor.”
“I was also her father.”
The room went silent.
Dr. Bennett's eyes filled with tears.
“When Julia was seventeen, her mother died. I raised her alone. When she told me someone might hurt Benjamin, I did what I thought would protect them.”
“You hid my child.”
“Yes.”
The single word seemed to cost him everything.
Dominic stepped backward.
For a frightening moment, I thought he might strike the older man.
Instead, he turned toward the window.
“Does Benjamin know who I am?”
Dr. Bennett shook his head.
“He knows his father is alive. Julia never told him you were dead.”
“Where is Julia?”
The doctor hesitated.
Then Lily spoke.
“She went to find the book.”
Everyone looked at her.
“What book?” I asked.
“The blue one. Uncle Anthony said it had all the names.”
Dominic turned toward me.
“Anthony kept financial ledgers.”
“Maybe this wasn't a financial ledger.”
Dr. Bennett looked alarmed.
“Julia has been looking for that book for years.”
Dominic spun around.
“You know where she is?”
“I know where she was living until last month.”
“Last month?”
“She left after receiving a photograph of Benjamin outside his school.”
The doctor's voice shook.
“Someone was watching him.”
I felt sick.
“Who sent the picture?”
“She never found out.”
Dominic looked toward the hospital door.
“Then Benjamin isn't safe.”
“He's staying with my sister outside Chicago,” Dr. Bennett said.
“Does Caleb know?”
“I don't think so.”
“You thought my son was safe for four years.”
The doctor lowered his head.
Dominic turned to me.
“Penny, I need you to help me.”
I looked at the photograph.
Then at Lily, who was watching the adults with frightened eyes.
“Help you do what?”
“Find Julia. Find Benjamin. Find out what happened to Anthony.”
I crossed my arms.
“And when you find Caleb?”
Dominic didn't answer.
That frightened me more than if he'd shouted.
“Dominic, children are involved. You can't settle this the way you usually settle business.”
He looked at me.
“You think I don't know that?”
“I think you're furious. And you have every reason to be. But if you turn this into a war, Lily and Benjamin will pay for it.”
He studied my face.
Then he looked at Lily.
She had moved closer to Rosa.
The older woman held her hand.
Dominic drew a long breath.
“Then we do this legally.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You?”
A faint, humorless smile crossed his face.
“Don't sound so surprised.”
“I'm not surprised. I'm checking whether you understand what you're agreeing to.”
He nodded.
“Everything. Even if it means opening my company's records to investigators.”
Dr. Bennett looked up.
“Dominic, that could destroy you.”
Dominic stared at his son's photograph.
“I've spent six years not knowing my own child. What exactly do I have left to protect?”
That answer changed something between us.
Not forgiveness.
Not trust.
But the beginning of respect.
The next morning, police investigators reviewed the footage from the carriage house and arranged for Lily's protection.
Because Caleb was her legal guardian, child protective services became involved.
Lily cried when the social worker explained that she couldn't immediately return to her grandfather.
“I didn't do anything wrong,” she whispered.
Rosa knelt beside her.
“No, sweetheart. You didn't.”
“Are they going to make me leave?”
The social worker spoke gently.
“We're going to make sure you have a safe place to stay while the adults sort things out.”
Dominic asked whether Rosa could serve as a temporary caregiver.
The social worker agreed to assess the arrangement.
Lily looked relieved when Rosa promised not to leave her alone.
Meanwhile, Ethan uncovered something remarkable.
The old Moretti Transport office had been sold three years earlier.
But its secure storage lockers hadn't been transferred to the new company.
They were maintained by an independent archival service.
Lily's brass key was legitimate.
And the number wasn't a code.
It was a locker identifier.
41172\.
The police obtained a warrant to examine it.
Dominic insisted I be present when the contents were opened.
I wasn't certain why.
Perhaps because my father had died protecting whatever Anthony placed inside.
Or perhaps Dominic understood that the truth belonged to more than the Moretti family.
The locker was located in a climate-controlled storage facility near the Chicago River.
An investigator opened it while we watched.
Inside stood a small metal box.
A blue ledger.
A brown envelope.
And my father's old leather work gloves.
I recognized them instantly.
He'd worn those gloves for more than twenty years.
One had a crooked stitch across the thumb.
My mother had repaired it.
I touched the leather.
For a moment, I was eight years old again, waiting for Dad to come home from work.
Dominic stood quietly beside me.
“I'm sorry, Penny.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
The investigator opened the brown envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Julia holding Benjamin as a toddler.
Beneath it lay a handwritten statement signed by Anthony Moretti.
The investigator began reading.
Anthony had discovered that company resources were being diverted through a chain of shell businesses.
Someone was using legitimate transport vehicles to move people who needed protection.
But the operation had been corrupted.
Vulnerable witnesses were being pressured for money.
Some were threatened.
And the proceeds were funding unauthorized deals.
Dominic looked sick.
“I never approved that.”
The investigator continued.
Anthony suspected a senior executive.
But the name wasn't written in the statement.
Instead, the final page directed investigators to the blue ledger.
Dominic opened it.
Dozens of entries filled the pages.
Dates.
Payments.
Property numbers.
Initials.
And beside several transactions, a small symbol resembling a crown.
Then I noticed something strange.
The handwriting changed halfway through the ledger.
The first entries were Anthony's.
The later entries were written by someone else.
Dominic turned the page.
A loose photograph slid out.
It showed Caleb Mercer shaking hands with a tall gray-haired man outside the warehouse.
Dominic went rigid.
I looked at him.
“Who is that?”
He swallowed.
“Franklin Moretti.”
“Your father?”
Dominic nodded.
“He died eight years ago.”
I stared at the photograph.
The date printed along its lower edge was only four years old.
Dominic's hands began shaking.
Then he turned it over.
A message was written on the back.
FRANKLIN DIDN'T DIE. HE TOOK A DIFFERENT NAME.
Beneath that was an address.
And a second sentence in Anthony's handwriting.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, FIND THE MAN WHO TAUGHT DOMINIC HOW TO TRUST CALEB.
Dominic stared at his father's face.
May you like
Then he whispered something I'd never expected to hear from Chicago's most feared mafia boss.
“My father taught me how to bury a man. Apparently, he also taught everyone how to bury the truth.”
