Chapter 4 - The Baby in the Photograph
They spent the next forty-eight hours tracing the photograph.
The original came from a private photo archive in Brooklyn.
The photographer had been dead for twelve years.
His daughter reluctantly allowed Enzo to view the remaining negatives.
There were six images from the same day.
Arthur Moretti.
Lucia Russo.
Gabriel Bellini.
And the baby.
In one photograph, Arthur held the child.
In another, Lucia kissed the baby's forehead.
In the final image, Gabriel stood behind them with a hand on Arthur's shoulder.
On the table between them was a file labeled M-17.
Enzo stared at the images.
“My father never mentioned this.”
Elena looked at him.
“What if that child was related to him?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe to my mother?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe to Gabriel?”
Enzo was silent.
The truth was becoming more dangerous with every possibility.
Then Marco found something.
An old birth registry.
The child had been born seventeen years earlier.
Male.
No father's name.
Mother listed as unknown.
Transfered to a private care home two days after birth.
The name entered into the registry:
Matteo Russo.
Elena felt the floor tilt.
“Russo?”
“Yes.”
“My mother?”
“Maybe.”
She shook her head.
“My mother never had a son.”
Enzo looked at her.
“Not officially.”
They found the care home.
It had closed fifteen years earlier.
The records were gone.
But the retired director was still alive.
She lived alone in a small house outside Milwaukee.
When Elena showed her the photograph, the old woman immediately began crying.
“You found him.”
Elena's heart stopped.
“Found who?”
“Matteo.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Please.”
The woman shook her head.
“Your mother begged me to protect him.”
“Why?”
“She said dangerous people were searching.”
“Who?”
“Arthur Moretti.”
Enzo went still.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he search for the baby?”
“Because he believed the child carried proof.”
“Proof of what?”
The woman looked at Elena.
“The child's blood.”
Elena stared.
“What does that mean?”
The woman whispered, “Matteo was not your mother's child.”
Elena felt her stomach drop.
“He was yours.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Your mother was carrying two babies.”
The room went still.
“Twins?”
The woman nodded.
“But I was told I was an only child.”
“You were the child they announced.”
“And Matteo?”
“He was hidden.”
“Why?”
“Because the second child had a different father.”
Elena looked at Enzo.
He had gone pale.
“Who?”
The old woman looked toward him.
“Arthur Moretti.”
Enzo closed his eyes.
No.
It was impossible.
Elena's mother had carried his father's child.
And Enzo had been born only days before or after the child was hidden.
The family connection was suddenly monstrous.
Then the woman said:
“Matteo was not Arthur's only secret child.”
Enzo's eyes opened.
“What?”
She handed him a second photograph.
In it, Arthur held a second baby.
This baby had dark hair.
The note on the back contained one name.
Sofia.
Enzo's mother had given birth to a child around the same period.
A child whose records had disappeared.
Elena stared.
“Your father had two families.”
“No.”
“He had two children hidden from different women.”
Enzo's voice was nearly inaudible.
“This is why they killed him.”
A crash came from outside.
Someone had broken the front window.
Marco pulled Elena behind him.
Gunfire followed.
Enzo dragged the old woman down.
“Stay low!”
The attackers opened fire.
Marco returned fire.
One man crashed through the doorway.
Enzo tackled him.
They fought across the living room.
The attacker escaped through the back.
Marco chased him.
When he returned, blood ran from a cut across his forehead.
“Gone.”
Elena looked at Enzo.
“This isn't just about money.”
“No.”
“It's about bloodlines.”
“Yes.”
“And someone still knows where Matteo is.”
Enzo nodded.
Then the old woman's phone rang.
She answered with shaking hands.
Nobody spoke on the other end.
Then a voice said:
“Tell Elena the boy was never meant to survive.”
The call ended.
Elena closed her eyes.
“We need to find him before they do.”
They returned to Chicago.
Enzo assigned Marco full-time protection over Elena.
Marco objected.
“I don't need to be around her every second.”
Enzo looked at him.
“Yes, you do.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“Is this because you trust me?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because you're the one person I know who would die before letting someone touch her.”
Marco looked toward Elena.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
For the first time, Elena noticed something strange.
Marco never looked at her like a man interested in a woman.
He looked at her like a man carrying responsibility.
The earlier jealousy began to embarrass her.
She found Enzo alone that night.
“I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“Monaco.”
He looked at her.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
“Neither did Marco.”
“I know.”
She smiled.
“You were jealous.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
Her heart skipped.
“You admit it?”
“I was jealous.”
“Why?”
He stepped closer.
“Because when I saw his hand on you, I wanted it to be mine.”
She stared.
Enzo's voice dropped.
“I've wanted it to be mine for longer than I should have.”
Her eyes filled.
“You could have said something.”
“I didn't know how.”
“You run an empire.”
“I know.”
“You negotiate with killers.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you don't know how to tell a woman you love her.”
His eyes met hers.
“I love you.”
Elena forgot how to breathe.
Then she kissed him.
The kiss was soft.
Careful.
Almost uncertain.
Until Enzo pulled her closer.
For one perfect moment, there were no ghosts.
No family secrets.
No threats.
Only them.
Then Marco burst through the door.
“I'm sorry.”
Enzo closed his eyes.
“Not now.”
Marco held up a phone.
“You need to see this.”
On the screen was a live video.
A young man sat tied to a chair.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A face uncannily similar to Elena's.
May you like
A message appeared beneath the image.
WE FOUND MATTEO.
