Chapter 4 - The Brother Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Rocco had locked us inside the archive.
Carmine did not panic.
That frightened me almost as much as panic would have.
He pulled his phone out.
No signal.
“Of course,” I muttered.
“There’s another exit.”
“Where?”
“My father believed every room should have two ways out.”
“Your father sounds cheerful.”
“He wasn’t.”
We moved through darkness using Carmine’s phone flashlight.
Rocco’s voice came through the old intercom.
“You always were curious, Carmine.”
Carmine ignored him.
“Did you hear me?”
Still nothing.
Rocco laughed.
“Elena, has he told you what happened to your mother yet?”
I stopped.
Carmine grabbed my hand.
“Keep moving.”
“What happened to her?”
“Elena.”
“What happened?”
Rocco answered for him.
“She didn’t die naturally.”
My blood froze.
Carmine turned toward the ceiling speaker.
“Rocco.”
That single word carried more threat than shouting could have.
Rocco laughed again.
“Ask him.”
I looked at Carmine.
“My mother had cancer.”
“Yes.”
“Did someone cause it?”
“No.”
“Then what is he talking about?”
Carmine’s face tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
Rocco’s voice came again.
“Not about the cancer, sweetheart. Ask who paid the hospital.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Ask Carmine why Margaret Vale’s last year of treatment was mysteriously covered after insurance refused.”
I remembered.
There had been an anonymous charitable foundation.
My mother called it a miracle.
I turned to Carmine.
“You?”
He nodded once.
“Why?”
“I found her.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“You knew where we lived?”
“Yes.”
“You watched her die?”
Pain flashed across his face.
“I paid every expense I could.”
“But you never came to us.”
“She made me promise.”
I could barely breathe.
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Six months before she died.”
Everything inside me cracked.
“My mother knew you.”
“Yes.”
“She knew I worked here?”
“No.”
“I started eleven months ago.”
“She had already passed.”
Of course.
The dates.
My anger had nowhere to go.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your mother asked me never to bring you into this.”
“You hired me.”
“I didn’t.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Mrs. Bell did.”
“Did you know who I was?”
“Not until after you started.”
“Then why let me stay?”
“Because I thought keeping you close might keep you safer.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Excellent job.”
He accepted the blow.
Then Rocco interrupted.
“You two can finish your family therapy later.”
A hiss sounded overhead.
Carmine looked up.
Ventilation.
“What is that?”
“Smoke.”
I smelled it.
Not fire.
Chemical.
Carmine covered his mouth.
“We need out.”
He pulled a shelf aside.
Behind it was a mechanical latch.
A narrow passage opened.
We climbed through.
The tunnel led beneath the gardens and emerged inside an abandoned greenhouse.
Fresh air hit my lungs.
Carmine immediately called security.
No answer.
Then his phone rang.
Daniel.
I grabbed it.
“Danny?”
“Elena?”
His voice was real this time.
Relief nearly dropped me to my knees.
“Where are you?”
“At home. Why?”
“Lock your door.”
“What happened?”
“Please.”
Silence.
“Elena, there’s somebody outside.”
Carmine took the phone.
“Daniel, listen carefully. Go to your bedroom. Open the second drawer of your dresser.”
Daniel swore.
“How do you know my dresser?”
“Do it.”
A minute passed.
“I’m there.”
“Remove the drawer completely.”
“What?”
“Behind it is a metal panel.”
Silence.
Then Daniel said, “What the hell?”
I stared at Carmine.
“You put something in his apartment?”
“Your mother did.”
Daniel found a small lockbox.
Inside was a passport under another name.
Matteo Moretti.
And photographs of him as a baby.
Daniel stopped breathing.
“What is this?”
Carmine closed his eyes.
“Your original identity.”
There was no gentle way to say it.
No safe way.
Daniel listened as Carmine told him enough to keep him alive.
Not everything.
Only that Margaret had adopted him to protect him.
That his biological family had enemies.
That someone had discovered his identity.
“Who are you?” Daniel asked.
Carmine stared into darkness.
“I’m your brother.”
Silence.
Then Daniel hung up.
Twenty minutes later, security reached his building.
His apartment was empty.
Window open.
No Daniel.
No lockbox.
Only one message written across the bathroom mirror.
ONE BROTHER FOR ANOTHER.
Rocco had him.
The next twelve hours changed Carmine.
I watched the controlled man disappear.
Not into rage.
Into focus.
He mobilized every person he trusted.
Cars.
Cameras.
Phone records.
Properties.
Rocco had served the Moretti family for fourteen years.
He knew every safe house Carmine owned.
So Carmine searched places he did not own.
At noon, they found footage of Daniel being forced into a gray van.
At two, the van appeared near the old Moretti textile mill.
At three, Carmine prepared to leave.
I stood in front of the door.
“You’re not going alone.”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s my brother.”
“And mine.”
The words stopped both of us.
Carmine’s voice softened.
“I lost him once before I was old enough to understand loss. I am not losing him again.”
“Then don’t make me lose both of you.”
He stared at me.
Something passed between us that had nothing to do with fear.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Two people connected by a dead woman’s secret.
He finally nodded.
“You stay in the car.”
“I’m not agreeing to that.”
“It was not a negotiation.”
“Then your negotiation skills are terrible.”
For the first time in nearly a day, Carmine laughed.
Briefly.
Then we went to the textile mill.
Daniel was alive.
Rocco stood beside him.
Gun in hand.
And beside Rocco stood someone I never expected.
Mrs. Bell.
My heart fell.
“No,” I whispered.
But Mrs. Bell was crying.
Rocco held the gun against her too.
“She didn’t betray us,” Carmine said.
Rocco smiled.
“No. She just knew too much.”
Then another man stepped out from behind the machinery.
Older.
Silver hair.
A face Carmine clearly recognized.
Carmine stopped.
“You’re dead.”
The man smiled.
“That was the idea.”
I looked between them.
“Who is he?”
Carmine’s voice became hollow.
“My father.”
Vittorio Moretti had been officially dead for nine years.
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And apparently he had spent every one of them waiting for his stolen son to come home.
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