Chapter 6 - THE TRAIN TICKET TO NOWHERE
I stared at the crayon drawing on the mahogany desk, unable to breathe.
To my big sister, Elena. Love, Lily.
“I don't have a sister,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
Vanessa watched me with cold amusement, flanked by her two Falcone guards.
“Are you sure about that, Elena?” Vanessa asked softly. “Because when I was tearing apart this orphanage looking for my daughter’s records, I found another file hidden in the headmistress’s floorboard. A file your mother paid handsomely to keep buried.”
“You’re lying,” I said, though my hands were shaking.
“Your mother was a saint to everyone in the Chicago syndicate,” Vanessa sneered. “She protected the illegitimate heirs. She hid the money. But she wasn't a saint, Elena. She was a hypocrite.”
Vanessa gestured toward the drawing.
“Your mother had a child late in life. An affair with a man she couldn't publicly acknowledge. She hid the girl here, in Montana, far away from you and the dangerous men she worked for.”
The room spun.
My mother, the quiet, dignified woman who had raised me, had a secret child?
“Where is she?” Marco demanded, his voice echoing like thunder in the small office. “Where is Lily?”
Vanessa shrugged, a cruel smile returning to her lips.
“I don't know. When my men breached the building this morning, the nuns had already evacuated the other children. But I did find one interesting detail in Lily’s file.”
Vanessa leaned forward, her eyes locking onto mine.
“Lily’s father wasn't just some random affair, Elena. Her father was Dante Falcone.”
The name hit Marco like a physical blow. He lowered his gun a fraction of an inch, pure shock registering on his face.
Dante Falcone was the head of the rival syndicate. The most ruthless, bloodthirsty man in the Midwest.
“My mother would never touch a Falcone,” I said, my voice rising in denial.
“She did more than touch him,” Vanessa mocked. “She had his child. And she hid that child from him. If Dante finds out he has a daughter, he will burn Chicago to the ground to get her back.”
Vanessa stepped back, motioning for her guards to move toward the back exit.
“I’m taking my daughter and leaving the country, Elena. Anthony is going to prison. The Moretti family is broken. You and your new brother Marco can deal with the Falcones when they realize what your mother stole from them.”
She turned to leave.
“Wait!” I shouted, stepping forward.
Vanessa paused, looking over her shoulder.
“Did you kill her?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Did you cause my mother’s car crash six years ago?”
Vanessa’s expression hardened.
“No,” she said quietly. “I hated your mother, but I didn't kill her. You want to know who killed Sofia? Ask your precious grandmother sitting in the car outside.”
Before I could process the words, Vanessa and her guards slipped through the back door, disappearing into the Montana woods.
I stood frozen, the child’s drawing clutched in my hand.
Ask Isabella?
Marco looked at me, his jaw clenched. “Don't listen to her, Elena. She’s trying to tear us apart.”
“I need to know the truth,” I whispered.
We ran back to the armored SUV. The rain had turned into a freezing drizzle.
I opened the back door.
Isabella was sitting exactly where we had left her, holding her silver-tipped cane, her eyes closed in quiet prayer.
She opened her eyes as I slid into the seat beside her.
“Did you find the child?” Isabella asked gently.
I didn't answer. I held up the child’s drawing with the name Lily written on it.
Isabella’s breath hitched. She looked away, staring out the rain-streaked window.
“Nonna,” I said, my voice trembling. “Vanessa told me my mother had a second daughter. With Dante Falcone.”
Isabella closed her eyes. A single tear escaped, running down her wrinkled cheek.
“It’s true,” the old woman whispered.
“You knew?” I cried, the betrayal slicing deeper than Anthony’s ever had.
“I found out the week your mother died,” Isabella said, her voice heavy with regret. “Sofia came to me. She was terrified. Dante had discovered Lily existed, and he was coming for her.”
“So my mother ran,” I said, piecing it together.
“She tried,” Isabella corrected softly.
Isabella reached into her heavy wool coat. Her frail, trembling hand pulled out a small, faded rectangular piece of paper.
She placed it in my palm.
It was a train ticket. Dated six years ago. The exact night my mother’s car plunged off the icy bridge.
The ticket was a one-way trip to Montreal.
But it wasn't for one person. It was stamped for two passengers.
“Your mother was supposed to take you and disappear,” Isabella wept, covering her face with her hands. “She packed her bags. She bought the tickets. But Anthony found out she was leaving.”
I stared at the ticket.
“Anthony knew?” Marco asked from the front seat, his voice dangerously low.
“Anthony discovered Sofia was the bookkeeper holding the offshore accounts,” Isabella confessed, sobbing quietly. “He knew if she left, he would never get the money. He chased her car that night to stop her.”
The man I had slept next to for six years had run my mother off the road.
“And you knew?” I asked Isabella, my voice completely hollow. “You knew Anthony killed her, and you let me marry him?”
Isabella reached out, trying to grab my hand, but I pulled away.
“I had to, Elena!” Isabella cried. “If I accused Anthony without proof, the family would have fractured into a bloody civil war! I forced him to marry you to keep you safe! To keep him from realizing you didn't know where the accounts were!”
She had traded my life to buy peace for her empire.
I stepped out of the SUV into the freezing rain.
I looked at the train ticket in one hand, and the child's drawing in the other.
I wasn't a victim of a cheating husband anymore. I was a pawn in a decades-long mafia war.
And somewhere out there, I had a little sister who was being hunted by the deadliest man in Chicago.
I looked at Marco, who had stepped out of the driver’s seat to stand beside me in the rain.
“Are you with me, Marco?” I asked, my voice suddenly devoid of all fear.
Marco, the true heir to the Moretti empire, looked down at me.
May you like
“Until the end, Elena.”
“Good,” I said, wiping the rain from my face. “Because we are going back to Chicago. And we are going to burn Anthony’s empire to the ground.”
