Chapter 4 - THE CHILD'S BURNT DRAWING
Isabella let out a scream that tore through the small apartment.
It wasn't a sound of shock; it was the sound of a mother’s soul ripping in half. She stumbled backward, crashing into the kitchen counter.
“No,” Isabella gasped, shaking her head violently. “No, no, no. My baby died. The doctors told me he died from smoke inhalation!”
Luca caught his sister before her knees hit the floor. He wrapped his strong arms around her, but his eyes never left the photograph in his hand.
I stood frozen. The baby in my mother’s arms in the photo... he had Isabella’s dark curls, even as a newborn.
“Mom, what are you saying?” I begged, dropping to my knees beside her chair. “You told me the factory fire was an electrical accident.”
My mother reached out and stroked my hair, her hands shaking.
“I had to lie to you, Nattie. To keep you safe,” she wept. “Fifteen years ago, Isabella was fourteen. She was visiting the factory offices when the fire started. She was completely trapped.”
Isabella was sobbing hysterically into Luca’s chest. “I remember the smoke. I remember the heat. And then... I woke up in the hospital. Without him.”
“You were pregnant, Bella?” Luca asked gently, his voice breaking. He had been twenty-one at the time, away at college. He hadn't known.
Isabella nodded frantically. “I hid it from Dad. I hid it from everyone. But the night of the fire... the stress, the smoke... I went into early labor in the manager’s office.”
My mother wiped her tears. “I was working the night shift on the cleaning crew. I heard screaming. I found Isabella passed out on the floor. She had just given birth. The flames were everywhere.”
Luca looked at my mother, profound gratitude warring with utter confusion in his dark eyes.
“You saved my sister,” Luca said. “You carried her and the baby out?”
“I couldn't carry both,” my mother confessed, the shame heavy in her voice. “The roof was collapsing. I grabbed the baby, wrapped him in a blanket, and ran outside to get help.”
“And who saved Isabella?” I asked, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Your father did, Luca,” my mother said. “Antonio ran into the burning building. He carried Isabella out. But he inhaled too much chemical smoke. It damaged his lungs. It’s what eventually caused his heart attack years later.”
Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by Isabella’s ragged breathing.
“But my son,” Isabella cried, looking up at my mother with wild, desperate eyes. “If you saved him, why did they tell me he died? Where is my baby?!”
My mother’s face crumpled in agony.
She reached into the metal lockbox and pulled out a small piece of paper. The edges were charred and black from fire.
She laid it on the table.
It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on thick construction paper. It showed a stick figure of a man holding a little boy’s hand.
“When I ran outside with the baby,” my mother explained, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper, “Marcus Bellini was standing in the parking lot. He was watching the factory burn. He saw me holding the newborn.”
Luca’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter.
“What did Marcus do?” Luca demanded.
“He took the baby from my arms,” my mother sobbed. “He told me if I ever breathed a word about the fire, or about the child, he would kill my daughter. He would kill you, Natalie.”
I gasped, pressing my hands over my mouth.
My mother had lived in fear for fifteen years, carrying this immense secret, all to keep me alive.
“Marcus took the baby to the hospital,” my mother continued. “He paid off a corrupt doctor to tell your father and Isabella that the child didn't survive. And then...”
“Then what?” Isabella screamed, grabbing my mother’s hands. “Where is he?!”
“Marcus gave the baby to his own sister,” my mother revealed. “He raised him in the Bellini family. To use him as leverage against your father if Antonio ever tried to expose the fire.”
Luca went completely rigid.
The pieces were slamming together in his mind. I could see the terrifying realization dawning in his eyes.
“Vanessa’s younger brother,” Luca whispered, the words sounding like ash in his mouth. “Leo.”
Isabella stopped breathing.
“Leo Bellini is fifteen years old,” Luca continued, his voice dropping into a deadly, lethal octave. “Vanessa always told me her aunt died and they adopted him. She said he was a difficult child. Rebellious.”
“He’s not rebellious,” Isabella choked out, fresh tears flooding her eyes. “He’s a Moretti. He’s my son.”
Suddenly, a massive crash shattered the front window of our apartment.
Glass exploded inward, raining down across the living room carpet.
I screamed, covering my head as Luca instantly shoved Isabella and my mother to the floor, shielding them with his own body.
Heavy, aggressive footsteps pounded down the hallway.
The kitchen door was kicked open, the wood splintering off the hinges.
Three massive men in dark suits stepped into the room, holding steel pipes.
And standing behind them, wearing a pristine grey tailored suit and an arrogant smile, was Marcus Bellini.
“Well, well,” Marcus said, his cold, reptilian eyes sweeping over the broken glass and the terrified women on the floor. He locked eyes with Luca. “I warned your father what would happen if he ever let his little maid talk.”
Marcus stepped into the kitchen, pulling something out of a black trash bag.
He threw it onto the kitchen table, right next to the child’s burnt drawing.
May you like
It was a heavy, soot-stained wool coat.
“Since we’re sharing old memories,” Marcus sneered, looking down at Luca. “Why don't you check the pockets of your father’s coat, Luca? Let’s see what other secrets Antonio kept from his precious children.”
