Chapter 3 - I Discovered I Was a Viscari Heir—Then the Woman I Thought Was Dead Called Me From an Unknown Number
Three days passed.
I stayed at the mansion.
The doctors treated my injuries.
Adrien's security team monitored every entrance.
But the hardest part was not the danger.
It was the word family.
I had spent my entire life believing I had none.
Now I had a brother whose last name terrified half of New York.
Adrien didn't know how to be a brother.
I didn't know how to be a sister.
So we started awkwardly.
Coffee.
Arguments.
Silence.
Small conversations.
Then one morning, he knocked on my door.
“I brought breakfast.”
I opened it.
He held two coffees and a bag.
“What is it?”
“Bagels.”
“You came all the way upstairs for bagels?”
“No.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I wanted to check on you.”
I smiled.
“You can come in.”
He did.
It felt strange.
Normal.
Until his phone rang.
He answered.
“Tell me.”
His expression changed.
He looked at me.
“It's her.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
He placed the phone on speaker.
An older female voice whispered:
“Lena.”
I began crying instantly.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Then:
“You shouldn't have found me.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they're listening.”
Adrien stepped closer.
“Evelyn.”
The voice changed.
“Adrien?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
She began crying.
“My children.”
I covered my mouth.
Children.
She had said children.
“Mom,” I whispered.
“You must listen carefully.”
“I'm listening.”
“Your father didn't die.”
I froze.
“My father?”
“Daniel.”
My mother continued.
“Daniel is alive.”
The room spun.
I sat down.
“What?”
“He has been hiding.”
“From whom?”
“From everyone.”
Adrien looked at me.
“Where?”
The line went silent.
Then my mother said:
“The Blue Room.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
“What is the Blue Room?”
Adrien was already searching.
“Something from my father's network.”
Marco entered.
“Boss.”
Adrien looked at him.
“Find every reference to Blue Room.”
Marco nodded.
“The old records?”
“All of them.”
Hours later, they found it.
A private room beneath the Viscari family's first nightclub.
Closed for decades.
We went there after midnight.
The room had no windows.
Blue walls.
One table.
A safe.
Inside the safe were documents.
Photographs.
Bank records.
And one file.
Daniel Vance.
My father.
Alive.
His photograph was recent.
He looked older.
But alive.
The last page contained an address.
We drove there.
A small house in Connecticut.
No guards.
No alarm.
Adrien knocked.
The door opened.
A man stood there.
My father.
My breath stopped.
“Dad?”
His face broke.
“Lena.”
I ran to him.
He hugged me.
The smell of his old cologne nearly destroyed me.
I cried into his chest.
He held me like I was seven again.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you leave me?”
“Because staying would have killed you.”
He looked at Adrien.
“I never expected a Viscari to bring you home.”
Adrien stared.
“Your daughter saved herself.”
My father nodded.
“She always was stronger than me.”
I stepped back.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“Your mother discovered the Blue Room.”
“What is it?”
“A network of judges, police officials, lawyers, and businessmen who controlled criminal cases in New York.”
“And the Viscari family?”
“Your biological father was involved.”
“Giovanni?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“So my father was a criminal.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Your biological father wanted out.”
“And you?”
“I helped him.”
Adrien's expression hardened.
“My father wanted out?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Giovanni was killed.”
“By whom?”
Daniel looked at me.
“The Vane family.”
Silence.
I understood.
The entire system had been built around eliminating anyone who threatened it.
Marcus was connected.
The judge.
The police.
The lawyers.
Everyone.
My father continued.
“Your mother escaped.”
“But she was with Giovanni?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she wanted you safe.”
“Why hide from me?”
“She didn't know who to trust.”
My father looked at Adrien.
“Not even me.”
Adrien's expression changed.
“Then who did she trust?”
Daniel's answer was quiet.
“Lucien.”
Adrien froze.
“My uncle.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
My father hesitated.
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Adrien stepped forward.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
I looked at him.
The same phrase.
The same convenient explanation.
May you like
My father whispered:
“It wasn't an accident.”
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