Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WE BURIED
My mother died twenty-three years ago.
At least that was the story carved into stone.
Maria Moretti.
Beloved mother.
Faithful wife.
1961–2003.
I stood at her funeral beside Matteo while rain fell over two hundred mourners.
I watched the casket lowered.
I watched my father throw the first handful of dirt.
I watched him drink himself unconscious that night.
A dead mother was not complicated.
Until my brother told me she was alive.
Matteo woke in a private medical room beneath my estate four hours after the shooting.
He opened his eyes and found me sitting beside him.
“No hospital?” he murmured.
“You’d disappear before breakfast.”
He smiled weakly.
“Probably.”
His wound was clean.
The bullet had passed through muscle.
He would live.
For now.
“Mother,” I said.
His smile faded.
“You really don’t waste time.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
I leaned forward.
“Wrong answer.”
“You think torture will make information appear inside my head?”
“It might improve your memory.”
He studied me.
“You saved me.”
“For answers.”
“Still counts.”
“No.”
He laughed and immediately winced.
“Where is she?” I repeated.
Matteo looked at the ceiling.
“I found out eight years ago.”
“How?”
“Father’s files.”
“Our father burned everything before he died.”
“Not everything.”
He turned his head.
“There was a storage vault in Queens.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because by then I had learned what she was.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was she?”
“The person Richard Bell trusted most.”
The room became very quiet.
“Our mother worked for Bell?”
“Worked with him.”
“What does that mean?”
“Bell created the network. Mother ran enforcement.”
I almost laughed.
Maria Moretti baked bread every Sunday.
She cut coupons.
She prayed the rosary.
She slapped me when I cursed.
The idea that she ran a political criminal machine seemed absurd.
Matteo watched disbelief cross my face.
“You never knew her.”
“I was twenty when she died.”
“You knew the version she allowed you to know.”
“Where is she?”
“She staged her death when the network began attracting federal attention.”
“And Father?”
“Knew.”
Rage moved through me again.
“My entire childhood was a lie.”
Matteo shrugged.
“Most childhoods are.”
I nearly hit him.
Instead I stood.
“What does she want with Sofia?”
Matteo’s face became serious.
“Control.”
“Of the Bell trust?”
“Of everything.”
“Richard Bell left it to Sofia.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena was his only child.”
“And Mother?”
“Was his partner.”
Something in the way he said partner made me pause.
“What kind of partner?”
Matteo smiled faintly.
“There’s the question.”
My blood cooled.
“Were they lovers?”
“Sometimes.”
I stared at him.
“You’re saying—”
“No.”
He laughed.
“Don’t worry. Bell wasn’t our father.”
“Then why does this matter?”
“Because Mother believed Bellweather should become hers after Richard died.”
“But he left it to Sofia.”
“Yes.”
“So Mother wants her dead.”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Mother needs her alive.”
“Why?”
“Because several trusts require Sofia’s biometric authorization when she turns eighteen.”
Ten years.
“She can’t control it without her.”
“Exactly.”
“So who ordered the kidnapping?”
Matteo shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expected Whitmore to take her. But Whitmore was too frightened when you arrived.”
True.
He had seemed desperate.
Not in control.
“Who shot you?”
“That,” Matteo said, “I definitely don’t know.”
A knock sounded.
Luca entered.
His face told me something was wrong.
“What?”
“DNA results.”
I had ordered Sofia’s toothbrush tested against mine.
Fast private laboratory.
No paperwork.
No outside databases.
Luca handed me the envelope.
I looked at Matteo.
He smiled.
“Open it.”
I wanted to throw him out.
Instead I tore the seal.
Probability of paternity:
99.9987%.
I read the number twice.
Then again.
Sofia was mine.
Not emotionally.
Not symbolically.
Biologically.
My daughter.
Eight years old.
I had missed her first word.
Her first step.
First day of school.
First tooth lost.
Every birthday.
Every nightmare.
Every Sunday morning Gabriel burned pancakes.
Eight years.
Gone.
Luca placed a hand on my shoulder.
I could not speak.
Matteo watched me.
For once, there was no mockery on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I looked at him.
“For what part?”
He lowered his eyes.
Good question.
I left the room.
Sofia was asleep in my bedroom because she refused to stay anywhere security cameras had failed.
Bear had been treated by a veterinarian.
The bullet only grazed his leg.
He lay in a thick blanket beside her.
Sofia opened her eyes when I entered.
“You’re bleeding again.”
My shoulder bandage had soaked through.
“I’ve been told.”
“Doctor said you shouldn’t move it.”
“Doctors complain.”
She sat up.
“What happened to Matteo?”
“He’ll live.”
She looked disappointed.
I almost laughed.
“Did he hurt Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did he hurt Daddy?”
“I don’t know.”
She stared at me.
“You found out.”
Children noticed everything.
“Found out what?”
“If I’m your daughter.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Yes.”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
“And?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“Yes what?”
“You’re my daughter.”
For several seconds, she just looked at me.
Then tears filled her eyes.
“Okay.”
That was all.
Okay.
I had faced bullets with less fear than the silence after that word.
“Are you angry?” I asked.
“At you?”
“Yes.”
She thought.
“A little.”
Fair.
“Why?”
“You weren’t there.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
That somehow made it worse.
“But Daddy was.”
“Yes.”
“He’s still my daddy.”
The words struck deeply.
I nodded.
“Absolutely.”
“You’re not replacing him.”
“No.”
She studied me.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“I can have two?”
The question nearly broke me.
“If Gabriel comes home, you can have as many fathers as you can tolerate.”
She smiled through tears.
Then leaned against me.
Carefully avoiding my injured shoulder.
I put my arm around her.
For perhaps the first time in twenty years, I felt something like peace.
It lasted eleven seconds.
Luca appeared at the doorway.
“Boss.”
His voice was different.
Urgent.
I stood.
“What?”
“We found Anthony Vale.”
The security supervisor who betrayed us.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He turned himself in.”
“To police?”
“No.”
Luca glanced at Sofia.
“To a woman waiting outside the gate.”
My stomach tightened.
“What woman?”
“She says her name is Maria Moretti.”
The world stopped.
Sofia looked at me.
“Is that your mom?”
I stared toward the hall.
“No.”
My voice sounded distant.
“That’s impossible.”
Then an older woman walked into view behind Luca.
Silver hair.
Dark eyes.
A scar across her left cheek.
Twenty-three years older than the mother I remembered.
But unmistakable.
She smiled at me.
“Hello, Nicolò.”
Only my mother had ever called me that.
My hand fell toward my gun.
She looked at Sofia.
Then she began to cry.
“My beautiful granddaughter.”
Sofia moved behind me.
I drew my weapon.
“You take one more step toward her, and I will kill you.”
My mother stopped.
The smile disappeared.
And she whispered,
“Then Elena failed to tell you the most important part.”
I kept the gun aimed at her chest.
“What part?”
Maria looked at Sofia.
“Gabriel isn’t hiding from Matteo.”
May you like
She turned back to me.
“He’s hiding from Elena.”
