Chapter 4 - WHAT MY HUSBAND STOLE
The first thing Gabriel did was remove my wedding ring.
I had not even realized I still wore it.
Not on my finger.
I had carried it on a chain beneath my uniform for eighteen months.
A strange monument to a marriage I thought death had ended.
Gabriel tore the chain from my neck.
The ring fell into his palm.
“You kept it.”
I stared at him.
“You were supposed to be dead.”
The van moved fast through dark roads.
Two armed men sat near the rear doors.
Gabriel sat across from me.
He looked almost comfortable.
I hated him for that.
“What happened to Damian?”
Gabriel smiled.
“You care?”
“He was shot.”
“He’ll survive.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Damian Caruso is inconveniently difficult to kill.”
I lunged toward Gabriel.
One of the men grabbed my shoulders.
“Don’t touch me!”
Gabriel raised a hand.
The man released me.
“I don’t want you hurt.”
I laughed.
It came out broken.
“You stole my child.”
“I protected her.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s true.”
“From who?”
Gabriel looked at me for several seconds.
“Your father.”
I stared at him.
“My father died when I was twelve.”
“No.”
The answer came casually.
Like he was correcting a dinner reservation.
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Your father is alive.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“His name isn’t Michael Russo.”
My mind rejected every word.
“My father was Michael Russo. He taught history. He died from pancreatic cancer.”
“The man who raised you was Michael Russo.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“He wasn’t your biological father.”
I stared at him.
“Who is?”
Gabriel’s eyes became colder.
“Vittorio Caruso.”
The van seemed to disappear beneath me.
Caruso.
“No.”
“Damian’s father.”
I felt sick.
“That would make Damian—”
“Your half-brother.”
I turned toward the window.
Nothing outside looked real.
Streetlights blurred past.
“No.”
Gabriel watched me.
“Bianca was your half-sister too.”
I shut my eyes.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Your mother had an affair with Vittorio thirty-two years ago.”
“My mother hated organized crime.”
“She hated Vittorio after he abandoned her.”
I opened my eyes.
“You expect me to believe this?”
“No. I expect you to see the evidence.”
He removed a folder from beneath the seat.
Inside were photographs.
My mother.
Young.
Standing beside a man I recognized instantly from newspaper archives.
Vittorio Caruso.
Damian’s father.
The photographs showed them together repeatedly.
A restaurant.
A beach.
A hospital corridor.
Then one image made my hands shake.
My mother was visibly pregnant.
Vittorio stood beside her.
His hand rested on her stomach.
I pushed the photos away.
“Fake.”
“They’re not.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Sofia wasn’t stolen because of me.”
“You arranged it.”
“Yes.”
The admission shocked me.
Gabriel did not even blink.
“I arranged for you to be told she died.”
I slapped him.
Hard.
One armed man moved.
Gabriel stopped him.
Blood appeared at the corner of Gabriel’s mouth.
He wiped it slowly.
“You deserved worse,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
That answer unsettled me.
“Then why?”
“Because Vittorio learned you existed.”
I froze.
“He discovered you approximately eight months before Sofia was born.”
“So?”
“So Vittorio was dying.”
Gabriel leaned back.
“He had rewritten his estate plan.”
I stared at him.
“Damian inherited everything.”
“No.”
Gabriel smiled without humor.
“You did.”
I could not speak.
“Vittorio left controlling interest in several legitimate holdings to his biological children. Damian. Bianca.”
He pointed toward me.
“And Elena.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t want his money.”
“It wasn’t about what you wanted.”
“Then what?”
“Your daughter inherited your claim if you died.”
I began to understand.
Someone had needed Leah.
Or needed her dead.
“Who knew?”
“Very few people.”
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Bianca?”
“Eventually.”
“Damian?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gabriel’s expression finally shifted.
Something like shame appeared.
“Because I was not the man you thought I married.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That much is clear.”
“My real work was financial intelligence.”
“For the government?”
“For whoever paid.”
I stared at him.
“You were laundering money.”
“I was moving it.”
“For the Carusos?”
“For several organizations.”
My skin crawled.
“And you married me because of who my father was?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I looked at him.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“I met you before I knew.”
“Convenient.”
“I loved you.”
“You murdered our life.”
“I loved you badly.”
I turned away.
That sentence hurt because some part of me believed it.
“What happened at the hospital?”
I asked.
Gabriel lowered his eyes.
“When Sofia was born, I received information that someone planned to take her before you left Zurich.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t know.”
“So you took her first?”
“I arranged a false neonatal death record.”
My stomach twisted.
“You let me wake up believing my child was dead.”
“If you believed she was dead, so would everyone else.”
“Except somebody didn’t.”
“Correct.”
“What happened next?”
“I placed Sofia with Bianca.”
I stared at him.
“You knew Bianca.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She discovered what Thomas was doing.”
“What was Thomas doing?”
Gabriel looked toward the driver.
“We’re close.”
“Answer me.”
“Thomas had been working for your uncle.”
“My uncle?”
“Vittorio’s younger brother. Salvatore Caruso.”
I knew that name.
Everyone did.
Salvatore had built businesses in Florida.
He had returned to the city after Vittorio’s death.
He and Damian were publicly described as close.
I suddenly remembered seeing him in photographs beside Leah.
Smiling.
Holding her.
“Salvatore knows?”
“Salvatore knows everything.”
I felt cold.
“Does Damian?”
“Not yet.”
The van turned.
“Why did Bianca bring Sofia to Damian?”
“Because I disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Someone found us.”
“Who?”
“I still didn’t know.”
“And Bianca?”
“She took Sofia and ran.”
“Then she was shot.”
Gabriel nodded.
“You let Damian believe she was Bianca’s daughter.”
“It kept Sofia protected.”
“Until I found her.”
“Yes.”
“So why appear now?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because Salvatore saw the restaurant footage before Damian shut down the security network.”
My heart dropped.
“He knows Leah is mine.”
“Yes.”
“And if Leah proves she is my daughter—”
“She becomes the legal descendant tied to Vittorio’s hidden trust.”
I looked at Gabriel.
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“Nearly four billion dollars.”
I laughed once.
Not from humor.
From disbelief.
“You destroyed our family over money?”
“No.”
His expression darkened.
“Salvatore will destroy everyone over money.”
The van stopped.
The doors opened.
We were inside an underground garage.
Gabriel stood.
“Come.”
I stayed seated.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Elena.”
“Did you fake your death to protect me too?”
“Yes.”
“Did Thomas arrange it?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Thomas now?”
Gabriel’s face changed.
That was answer enough.
“Alive.”
“Unfortunately.”
My stomach tightened.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Gabriel looked away.
Before he could answer, gunfire erupted somewhere above us.
The armed men reacted immediately.
Gabriel grabbed me.
“Move.”
We ran through a concrete hallway.
More gunshots.
Then an explosion shook the building.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Someone shouted.
Gabriel pushed open a steel door.
Inside, Dr. Warren remained tied to the chair.
“Get him loose!”
Gabriel ordered.
I stared.
“You weren’t holding him?”
“Not originally.”
I froze.
“What?”
Gabriel cut the doctor’s restraints.
Warren gasped.
“They knew you’d come.”
I looked at Gabriel.
“You showed the video.”
“Yes.”
“But who kidnapped Warren?”
Gabriel opened his mouth.
Then a bullet hit the glass behind him.
We dropped.
A man appeared at the doorway.
Not Damian.
Not Salvatore.
Thomas Keller.
My dead husband’s attorney.
The man who had arranged the funeral.
The man who had helped bury my daughter on paper.
He pointed his gun at Gabriel.
Then at me.
“Sorry, Elena.”
May you like
He smiled.
“You were never supposed to meet your daughter twice.”
