Chapter 8
The click of the handcuffs on Vanessa’s wrists echoed through the foyer as the second officer arrested her. She didn't scream or fight this time. She just glared at me with absolute, venomous hatred as they marched her out the door into the freezing rain.
But the victory felt hollow. The lead officer, a man who had just arrested a corrupt state agent, was now slowly walking up the first few steps of the grand staircase, his eyes locked on Luca and Lucy.
“Mr. Moretti,” the officer said gently, his tone completely different now that Mrs. Gable was gone. “I’m a father, too. It makes me sick to my stomach to do this. But my body camera is rolling, and the law is black and white. The adoption is fraudulent. I cannot leave a kidnapped child in this house. Please, don't make me use force in front of the little girl.”
Luca tightened his arms around Lucy. The terrifying mafia boss looked utterly broken. His dark hair was disheveled, his broad shoulders hunched as he pressed his cheek against his daughter’s head.
“She is my daughter,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking. “I have raised her since she was four. I taught her how to ride a bike. I sat up with her every time she had a fever. She is mine.”
“Daddy, please don't let them take me,” Lucy sobbed, her little fingers grabbing fistfuls of Luca’s expensive suit jacket. “I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”
“You are perfect, sweetheart. You haven't done anything wrong,” Luca choked out, a single tear escaping his eye and rolling down his tattooed cheek.
Sarah, who was standing a few feet away, covered her mouth, her body wracked with sobs. She had spent seven years mourning a dead baby, only to find her alive, and now she was watching her daughter’s heart shatter in real-time.
“Officer,” Sarah pleaded, stepping toward him. “I won't press kidnapping charges. I won't press any charges against Mr. Moretti. Just leave her here. Please.”
“I’m sorry, ma'am. The state is the victim in a fraudulent adoption. The child must be processed through the system,” the officer said firmly. He reached the landing and held out his arms. “Mr. Moretti. It’s time.”
I couldn't stand it. My mind raced frantically, searching for any loophole, any forgotten detail. There had to be something.
Answer One, Open Two.
Why did Luca feel such an instant, undeniable connection to a random four-year-old girl in an orphanage seven years ago? Why did Elena go to such horrific lengths to secure this specific child for her husband?
I looked at Sarah. She was crying, her cheap grey coat soaked with rain. She had said she recognized Luca’s family from a newspaper. But if Vanessa stole the baby at birth, how did Sarah know who the father was?
“Sarah,” I said loudly, stepping up the stairs. “You said earlier that you couldn't afford the hospital bill. Where was the father? Why weren't you married?”
Sarah wiped her eyes, looking confused by the sudden question. “He… he was gone. He left me before I knew I was pregnant.”
“What was his name?” I pressed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Sarah looked at Luca. She stared at his dark hair, his strong jawline, the intense, protective way he held his daughter.
“His name was Vincent,” Sarah whispered. She reached into her pocket with shaking hands and pulled out a small, tattered photograph. It was cracked and faded from years of being carried around. “He was a businessman. We met in a coffee shop downtown. We were together for three months. And then one day, he just vanished. I never saw him again.”
She held the photograph out to the police officer.
The officer took the photo, squinting at it in the dim light. He looked from the photo, up to Luca, and back to the photo. His jaw dropped.
“Mr. Moretti,” the officer said, handing the photograph to Luca. “This is you.”
Luca stared at the small, faded picture. His breath hitched.
It was a photo of a young man, smiling brightly, his arm wrapped around a much younger Sarah. The man had the exact same face as Luca. The exact same dark eyes, the same jawline, the same smile.
But Luca slowly shook his head, his face pale.
“No,” Luca whispered. “That isn't me. I have never met this woman before tonight.”
Sarah gasped, taking a step back. “How can you lie? You’re right there!”
“It’s not a lie,” Luca said softly. He reached into his shirt collar and slowly pulled out a heavy, silver rosary that he always wore around his neck. He held it out for Sarah to see. “Look closely at the photo, Sarah. The man in the picture is wearing this exact rosary.”
Sarah looked at the photo, then at the necklace. “Yes. He never took it off.”
“Neither did he,” Luca said, his voice thick with an ancient, unresolved grief. “His name wasn't Vincent. His name was Lorenzo. He was my identical twin brother.”
The entire foyer went dead silent.
“Lorenzo hated our father’s criminal lifestyle,” Luca explained, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. “He used fake names to live a normal life. Twelve years ago, he was driving to the airport to leave Chicago for good. His brakes failed. He died on impact. I found this rosary in the wreckage.”
Luca slowly turned his head to look at little Lucy, who was staring up at him with wide, confused green eyes.
“My God,” Luca whispered, the realization hitting him like a freight train. “That’s why I loved you the second I saw you in that agency. That’s why Elena bought you. She must have known.”
I gasped. Elena couldn't give Luca an heir, so she had Vanessa track down Lorenzo’s secret, abandoned lover to steal the only piece of his brother he had left.
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Luca fell to his knees on the landing, pulling Lucy against his chest, sobbing openly.
“You aren't adopted, sweetheart,” Luca cried, kissing her hair. “You are a Moretti. You are my own blood.”
