Chapter 7 - THE LAST CONFESSION
I didn't sleep.
Not that night.
Not the next.
We moved Daniel to a secure safehouse outside Manhattan.
Elena stayed.
Vincent stayed.
I stayed awake with a gun beside me.
At sunrise, Vincent finally told me everything.
My father had created the Black Ledger decades ago.
It wasn't simply a criminal network.
It was a financial machine.
Money moved through shell companies, private banks, construction firms and political organizations.
My father had accumulated billions.
Then he discovered the one thing he couldn't control.
Isabella.
She had evidence.
And she was pregnant.
“With my child,” I said.
Vincent nodded.
“Your father believed the baby could eventually inherit the offshore assets.”
“So he hid Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“Why tell me he was mine?”
“Because if you believed Daniel was yours, you would protect him.”
I stared at him.
“So my father used me.”
“Yes.”
“And Isabella?”
“She escaped.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
Elena finally spoke.
“I do.”
Everyone looked at her.
She held a photograph.
“She contacted me two months ago.”
My heart stopped.
“Where is she?”
Elena handed me a note.
One address.
Queens.
I drove there myself.
Vincent followed.
Elena and Daniel stayed behind.
The house was small.
Old.
Paint peeling.
I knocked.
No answer.
I tried the handle.
Unlocked.
Inside, everything was clean.
Too clean.
A cup of tea sat on the table.
Still warm.
Then I heard footsteps upstairs.
I drew my weapon.
“Isabella?”
Silence.
I climbed the stairs.
At the end of the hallway stood a woman.
Thin.
Pale.
Dark hair.
Her eyes were exactly as I remembered.
She looked at me.
“Gabriel.”
My gun lowered.
“Isabella.”
She began crying.
I couldn't move.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father wanted me dead.”
I stepped closer.
“Why didn't you come back?”
“Because he told me if I did, he'd kill Daniel.”
My chest tightened.
“You could've told me.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The night you were told I died.”
I remembered.
The storm.
The accident.
The phone call.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
She pulled a small envelope from her coat.
“I sent this to you.”
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
Six years old.
My hands shook as I read.
She had written everything.
Daniel's birth.
My father's threats.
The Black Ledger.
The thirty-two billion dollars.
And one final sentence:
If Gabriel ever learns the truth, tell him I never stopped loving him.
I looked at her.
“You knew about Daniel's condition?”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was sick?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you come?”
She looked away.
“Because I was protecting him.”
Then the front window shattered.
A bullet struck the wall.
Isabella screamed.
I pulled her down.
“Stay behind me.”
More shots.
I returned fire.
Vincent rushed through the door.
“Boss!”
“Get Isabella out!”
“What about you?”
“GO!”
Then I heard another sound.
A child crying.
I froze.
Not Daniel.
Another child.
Isabella looked at me.
Her face was white.
“Gabriel…”
“What?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Daniel isn't my only child.”
