Chapter 8 - The Boy Who Didn't Exist
The silence in the study was absolute, heavy enough to crush the air from our lungs.
Matteo stared at the photograph on the monitor, then at Arthur. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated shock.
“A brother?” Matteo’s voice was barely a whisper. “I have a brother?”
Arthur nodded slowly, lowering himself into the leather desk chair as if his legs could no longer support his weight. “Beatrice couldn’t have any more children after you, Matteo. But I… I made a mistake. A terrible mistake during a weak moment in our marriage. I had an affair with a woman who worked in our administrative office. Vanessa’s mother.”
Vanessa let out a strangled sob, stumbling backward until her back hit the bookshelf. “No. No, that’s impossible. My father…”
“The man who raised you was paid to raise you, Vanessa,” Arthur said softly, his eyes full of regret. “He was paid by Beatrice to take your mother away, to cover up the scandal. But before they left, your mother gave birth to a boy. My son.”
I stood near the fireplace, clutching Caleb to my side. My mind was spinning. The sheer cruelty of Beatrice’s web was unraveling before our eyes.
Matteo slammed his fist onto the desk, making the computer monitor shake. “Where is he? Where is my brother?!”
“Beatrice took him,” Arthur confessed, his voice breaking. “The day he was born. She paid off the doctors, paid off your mother, Vanessa, and she took the boy. She told me she had him placed in an orphanage across the country. She used it to blackmail me. She said if I ever tried to divorce her, or if I ever tried to stop her from taking over the family business, she would have the boy killed.”
Vanessa slid down the bookshelf, burying her face in her hands, weeping hysterically. Her entire life, her identity, her family—it was all a lie manufactured by Beatrice.
Matteo paced the room like a caged tiger. “So she held a hostage over your head for years. And then, eight years ago, when she faked her death… she took him with her?”
“No,” Arthur said, looking up at his son. “Eight years ago, David found out where the boy was.”
My heart stopped.
David.
Arthur looked at me, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. “Clara, David was the best investigator I ever had. He tracked the boy down to a foster home in Chicago. He was going to bring him back to me. That’s why Beatrice had him killed. David knew her leverage. If David brought the boy home, Beatrice would have no power over me anymore.”
Tears spilled hot and fast down my cheeks. My husband hadn't died just protecting a ledger. He had died trying to save an innocent child. He had died being a hero.
“Did he find him?” Matteo demanded, stopping in his tracks. “Did David ever find my brother?”
Before Arthur could answer, a loud, shrill ringing pierced the quiet of the study.
It was the secure landline on Matteo’s desk. A line that only three people in the world had the number to.
Matteo stared at the phone. He reached out and hit the speaker button.
“Speak,” Matteo commanded.
A distorted, heavily accented voice filled the room. “Matteo Moretti. This is Ivan, head of the Syndicate.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened. “Ivan. You sent a mercenary into my home.”
“I sent a message,” Ivan corrected smoothly. “Your mother owes me a great deal of money. The Cartel thinks they have her, but my men have surrounded the Cartel convoy. We are at a standoff.”
“I don't care if you slaughter each other,” Matteo said coldly. “Beatrice is no longer my problem.”
“Ah, but she is,” Ivan chuckled darkly. “Because before the Cartel snatched her, Beatrice made a phone call to me. She offered me a trade. Her debt forgiven, in exchange for an asset she has hidden in this city.”
Arthur sat straight up, his face draining of color.
“What asset?” Matteo demanded.
“A young man,” Ivan said. “Fifteen years old. She says he is the true heir to the Moretti empire. She gave me his location. My men are pulling up to his foster home right now. You have ten minutes to transfer the twenty-five million to my account, Matteo. Or I burn the house down with your little brother inside.”
The line went dead.
Matteo stood perfectly still for three seconds. Then, the mafia boss erupted into motion.
“Lock the gates! Get the armored SUVs ready!” Matteo roared into his radio, pulling his spare weapon from his desk drawer. He looked at his head of security. “We are going to war.”
I grabbed Matteo’s arm as he rushed past me. “Matteo, wait! You can’t go into a Syndicate ambush blind!”
He stopped, looking down at me. His dark eyes were wild with a desperate, protective fury. He looked at Caleb, who was watching him with wide, terrified eyes.
“I lost my father for eight years,” Matteo said, his voice thick with emotion. “I lost the woman I could have loved to a lie.” He reached out, gently touching the wooden rosary still resting on my chest. “Your husband died trying to save this boy, Clara. I am not going to let his sacrifice be for nothing.”
He turned to leave, but Caleb suddenly spoke up.
“Mr. Matteo?”
Matteo paused at the door. “What is it, buddy?”
May you like
Caleb reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, blue marble. He walked over and pressed it into Matteo’s large hand.
“Mr. Arthur told me this is a lucky marble,” Caleb said softly. “He said you have to bring it back to him. So you have to come back.”
